I’ve had a strange upbringing. You couldn’t really call it normal by most standards. I grew up as an only child – that’s weird considering I come from a large North Indian family with each parent growing up with three or four siblings each. None of my cousins were only children either. So I was taught to identify certain members of the family as brothers and sisters. Problem was, they weren’t taught the same thing. So there was never much reciprocation. Cue endless disappointments as a child.

My parents did all they could to provide financial comforts. I never went hungry (unless I chose to be super picky about what to eat – I don’t know how my mum had that battle with me five times a day whilst I was growing up). I always had a roof over my head and a warm bed to sleep in. We did a few family trips, but it was to places like Butlins (budget family friendly UK based options for those that don’t know). I was shown pictures of riding donkeys etc – but I simply don’t have any emotional attachment to them. If I can’t remember these memories, did they really happen?

Of course, there were issues in my household. My parents fought nonstop. Every day. About money. Family. Me. You name it. It literally was like waking up in a war every day for as long as I remember. And of course, being an only child meant I had no one to relate to about these experiences.

So why didn’t I talk to these so-called brothers and sisters you ask? Well, I was kept isolated from them during my childhood. It could have been for financial reasons i.e., no money to go away on expensive elaborate holidays with the extended family. Or there could have been other reasons I’m not aware of (and probably never will be). I was also taught that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas i.e. no talking about problems to anyone. So I learnt to disassociate from what was happening in my personal life.

My parents did get a few things right. They put me in the best school possible for me that wasn’t privately funded. I had to work for it, doing endless 11+ papers. I was pushed to focus on my weaknesses (verbal reasoning was difficult for me as English wasn’t my first spoken language). The school they sent me to was a specialist school for languages, as well as sports and music. I learnt to excel at Arts, History, Physics, Maths and even English Language and English Literature. My dad took me to tennis lessons and I learnt to fall in love with sport. My mum took me to swim lessons because she knew it would help me with my breathing (I suffered panic attacks when younger, for reasons unknown to this day).

I’m now in my late thirties and only just starting to realise what it is that makes me truly happy. The journey has been long and fraught with obstacles (mostly internal) but I finally see the path forward.

So to those involved in getting me here I am expressing my deepest gratitude. I will think of ways to pay it forward, as I consider myself one of the fortunate ones. But also, did it have to be this hard and painful? Am I a victim of the blame game?