What if my parents had been accepting of me, and not just my brother?

What would have happened if my first memory at the age of 4 hadn’t been about how expensive I was, what a financial burden I had become? Would I have been happy to come home if I hadn’t seen my mother’s lips pinch, in disapproval, every time I displaced an eraser or came from school with soiled clothes?

Would I have pursued art as my career if I had heard words of love and encouragement when I showed them my drawings and paintings rather than comparison with other kids of my age, how they did stuff better?

Would I have learned how to take care of myself better if they had held me tight and given me tips and guided me through my acne prone, painful high school years instead of hearing how ugly I was, and how disgusting I looked compared to clear skinned girls of the same age?

Would I have been proud of my chocolate-coloured skin if they had helped me accept my it instead of berating me for playing too long in the sun?

Would I learned to choose better styles if they had helped me accept my body instead of shaming me for my curves so that I would develop the habit of hiding my body in oversized, frumpy clothes and developed a slouch so that I could be invisible.

Would I have learned to be more compassionate towards them if they had protected me from themselves and against those who voiced their meanness to me and adding things to laugh about me, in my face?

Would I have been successful in something if they hadn’t repeatedly told me I would be nothing?

What if?

What if?

Disclaimer: Not a spoilt brat writing! My parents are very well off, these instances always applied to me, not to my brother.