I’d been with my boyfriend for over a year, and we were both doctors. I’d just finished my residency and started earning real money. He was still in his. We met at the hospital where we both worked, and for a long time, I thought we were a great match.
The fight started because I was buying plane tickets for my parents to come visit me. He saw the purchase and lost it. “You already bought a ticket to see them,” he said. “Why do you have to buy their tickets too?
That should be their expense. ”
My parents are retired and live in Mexico. They can afford to see me maybe once a year on their retirement money. I wanted to see them more than that.
I didn’t think that was unreasonable. But he kept pushing. He told me my parents had created a spoiled rotten child, that they’d enabled me by giving me so much growing up. That confused me, because every time I did something for them, he called our relationship codependent.
But when they helped me, he said that was just their job as parents. I called him a hypocrite. He was living in the house my parents paid for, paying only a fraction of what rent would cost in our city. “If you don’t like it,” I told him, “go pay two thousand dollars a month for an apartment like everyone else.
”
He left and checked into a hotel, but said he’d come back in the morning. And then, in the middle of all the yelling, he destroyed the sentimental vase my grandmother had made for me. It shattered on the floor, and I just stood there looking at the pieces. I was in tears when I wrote it all out, asking strangers for advice.
He was the first serious boyfriend I’d had in a very long time. I didn’t know if I was overreacting. The response was immediate. People told me not to let him back in the house.
They pointed out that the vase was made by my abuela, that he’d shown me who he was, and that I should believe him. One commenter made an account just to tell me not to spit in my family’s face by making this man a part of it. A couple of months later, I posted an update. I’d told my best friend what happened.
She wasn’t surprised at all. We went out to a small bar, and she finally told me the things she’d been holding back. He was ambitious, sure. But he was also intense.
At the hospital, interns were afraid of him. If they made a small mistake, he’d ask what school they graduated from. If it was prestigious, he’d sneer, “What do they take anybody now? ” If it wasn’t, he’d say, “Well, no wonder.
” He made an undergrad volunteer cry once. At home, he was just as hard to live with. If my roommates ate and didn’t wash their dishes immediately, he’d say things like, “Wow, there are some lazy people here,” or “Do I have to wash everything? ” Even leaving a fork in the sink became an issue.
I got angry at her, honestly. I was drunk and needed someone to blame. “Why did you let me waste my time with him without telling me all this? ”
She said the earlier things felt like minor problems, and she didn’t want to get in the way of something that seemed to make me happy.
But this fight was different. This wasn’t trivial. She suggested we grab another bottle of wine and pack up his things. So we did.
We spent more time laughing than packing, trying to stuff everything he owned into one suitcase. The next day, he came home. I was already about 85 percent sure I was going to break up with him, but I still wanted to hear what he had to say. Sometimes people make mistakes, and you can tell who they are by how they handle them.
Before he walked in, he’d been texting me, saying he was sorry about the way I’d taken his criticisms. He said it was good that someone criticized me instead of, in his words, “kissing my ass like everyone else. ”
That wasn’t an apology. When he saw the suitcase, his tone changed.
He started apologizing, saying he was wrong. It sounded like a child who’s learned the words their parents want to hear, not a man who actually meant it. The silence stretched between us. Finally, I said, “Well, what about the vase?
”
“What about the vase? ” he replied. I didn’t answer. He should have known.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “That was mean. Maybe we can take the pieces, smooth them out, and make them into a charm bracelet. ”
“If I wanted a bracelet,” I told him, “I would have asked for one.
”
I wouldn’t say it out loud, but I kind of liked the bracelet idea. Still, that wasn’t the point. I told him how it felt to do something nice for my parents, only to have this “negative Nancy” on my shoulder, shaking his head and making rude comments the whole time. He was ruining the moments I shared with my family.
“Yeah, I can see how that’s annoying,” he said. “I’m just worried that if we get married, you’ll always have your family. Your parents sent money to their parents. I didn’t want that to be something I have to look forward to.
It can become a burden. ”
That wasn’t the real reason, and I told him so. But even if it were, thinking of helping family as a burden was a horrible way to look at the world. “You know full well my parents don’t need our help,” I said.
“If anyone is going to be a burden, it’s you and your loans. ”
I know it was harsh. But I was furious by then. He finally admitted the truth.
That was exactly the problem, he said. He had loans. I didn’t. I was just so lucky in my life.
“I know I’m lucky,” I told him. “I’m glad you recognize that. What’s the problem? ”
He pushed further.
“Do you think you would have been a doctor without your parents’ help? Maybe you got into school through their connections. ”
If I were going to use connections, I pointed out, I would have tried to get into his school or my parents’ school. He and my parents went to prestigious medical schools.
I attended an average one. “That’s the difference between us,” he said. “I’m ambitious and won’t settle for less. You’re happy with an average school.
”
Talking to him was like talking to a brick wall. Either I was using my parents’ connections to get ahead, or I wasn’t ambitious enough to deserve what I had. There was no way to win. I was exhausted.
Hungover from the night before. His voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “Please just leave,” I said. “I’ll have our mutual friend bring the rest of your things.
”
“Are we breaking up over this? ” he asked. “I can’t help how I feel. I’ll try not to voice my issues about your parents next time.
”
I couldn’t do that. Even if he stayed silent, I’d see the negativity on his face every time I was around my family. I honestly didn’t understand where his insecurity came from. On paper, he was the more impressive one.
He went through hardships as a teenager, graduated at the top of his class, worked on countless projects and charities. I was a typical med school applicant with good grades and a paid-for ride. But he couldn’t stop proving himself. And he resented me for having it easier than he did.
So, yeah. We broke up. He texted me a few times. I didn’t respond.
Then he tried, “You know it’s illegal to kick someone out without notice. ”
That part, I had to figure out. But he was already living with a friend by then, so I didn’t worry too much. Looking back, the broken vase was the cheapest lesson I ever learned.
Cheaper than a divorce, anyway. My parents raised me with values, and I finally stopped letting someone make me feel bad for having them.
