I’m 36 years old, living with my aunt because I have nowhere else to go, and every day I’m reminded that I’m just a burden taking up space in her house. She’s financially supporting me while I try to heal from Complex PTSD, and I should be grateful. I am grateful. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing so desperately, so pathetically that she could be the person I need her to be.

Through therapy, I’ve discovered that my entire childhood was built on lies. My father was abusive. He had an affair with his coworker (who became my stepmother). He got restraining orders against my entire maternal family from 2003-2007, stealing decades of relationships from me. My mother is severely mentally ill and has been estranged from me for over 10 years because she refuses treatment.

My aunt knows all of this. She participated in family therapy sessions where these truths came out. She was there when I learned that everything I believed about my family was a lie designed to protect my father and isolate me from people who actually loved me.

And yet, she still doesn’t get it.

What An Emotionally Attuned Aunt Would Say

Sometimes I fantasize about what it would feel like to have an aunt who could actually see me, who could understand what I’ve been through, who could offer the maternal comfort that was stolen from me.

She would say:

About my situation: “Miguel, I’m so proud of you for surviving everything you’ve been through. You’re doing incredible work in therapy and I can see how hard you’re trying to heal. Living here while you get back on your feet isn’t a burden—it’s what family does. You don’t owe me anything for caring about you.”

About my childhood: “I see you hiding in your room and I understand why. This family failed you, and you learned you had to make yourself small to be safe. You don’t have to do that here. You can take up space. You can have needs. You can be sad or angry or scared and I’ll still love you.”

About my mother: “Your mom was so sick, Miguel. I’m so sorry you had to watch her deteriorate and that no one protected you from that. A little boy should never have to take care of his mother’s emotions or be afraid of her episodes. You deserved a mother who could see you, who could comfort you when you were scared. It wasn’t your fault that she couldn’t be that for you.”

About my father: “Your father is a cruel, selfish man who destroyed your family on purpose. What he did to you and your mother was evil. There is no excuse for keeping you away from us for all those years. I’m so angry at him for what he stole from you.”

About my healing: “I want to learn how to support you better. Tell me what you need. Tell me when I mess up. Your healing matters more than my comfort. I’m going to therapy too because I want to be someone you can count on.”

What I need to hear most: “It wasn’t fair, Miguel. None of it was fair. You deserved so much better. You’re not too much. You’re not wasteful. You’re not lazy. You’re a trauma survivor doing the hardest work possible. I love you not because you’re grateful or easy or convenient. I love you because you’re my nephew and you matter and you always have.”

What She Actually Says

But that’s not who my aunt is. Instead, I get:

  • Lectures about limiting my credit card purchases to “ESSENTIALS and not extras/lifestyle wants”
  • Complete silence when I share emotional content, but immediate detailed responses about HVAC logistics
  • “Stop crying” when I’m grieving my dog’s death on his anniversary

She sees me as a financial burden to be managed, not a human being to be loved. Every dollar she spends on me builds up her resentment, creating an invisible ledger of debt that I can never repay because emotional labor isn’t currency she recognizes.

The Debt of Gratitude

In Filipino culture, there’s a concept called Utang na Loob—debt of gratitude. It’s supposed to be about honoring what others do for you out of love. But in dysfunctional families, it becomes a weapon. Every act of “kindness” becomes something you owe, every dollar spent becomes evidence of your ingratitude if you don’t perform the exact grateful nephew/son role they want.

My aunt participates in this. She houses me and then resents me for not fitting into her mental box of what a grateful nephew should look like. She wants me to be quietly appreciative, to not take up emotional space, to manage my trauma recovery around her comfort level.

She doesn’t want to deal with the messy reality of what healing from complex trauma actually looks like.

Why I Hate Her for Not Understanding

I hate her for not understanding because understanding is a choice.

I gave her a book specifically written for family members supporting someone with PTSD. It’s called “Loving Someone with PTSD” by Aphrodite T. Matsakis. She ignored it.

I invited her to church to meet my support community. She said no.

I invited her to a dinner gala for scholarship recipients when I won $2000. She said no.

I wrote her vulnerable emails about my trauma and healing journey. She responded with renovation schedules.

She chooses ignorance. She chooses emotional unavailability. She chooses to see me as a management problem rather than a human being in pain who happens to be her nephew.

And the cruelest part? She thinks she’s being helpful. She thinks providing housing makes her a good aunt. She has no idea or willfully doesn’t give a shit that her emotional dismissal is retraumatizing me daily, that living with her constant judgment and resentment is almost worse than being homeless.

The Grief of Never Getting What You Need

My therapist says I’m grieving something I’ll never have. I’ll never ever a family member who can provide the maternal comfort and emotional safety I desperately need. She says I need to stop the “endless search” for rescue from family members who simply cannot provide it.

She’s right. My aunt will never understand. She will never be the emotionally attuned person I need her to be. She will never validate my pain or acknowledge what I’ve survived or offer the unconditional love that could help heal the wounds my parents inflicted.

I will never hear her say she’s proud of me for surviving. I will never hear her say it wasn’t my fault. I will never hear her say I deserve better.

And I hate her for that. I hate her for being so far from understanding. I hate her for having the capacity to change but choosing not to. I hate her for being so filled with hate for herself, hate for others, filled with ignorance about how resentful she is. I hate her for making me feel like an ungrateful burden when I’m doing the hardest work of my life just to stay alive.

Moving Forward

I’m learning to grieve this reality instead of fighting it. I’m learning to find that maternal comfort within myself, to build internal safety rather than seeking external rescue. I’m exploring other living situations because I finally understand that I can’t heal in an environment where I’m constantly judged and dismissed. Hope I find a place. I feel so behind in life. I’ll kick dating down the road again another five years I guess. No one wants to date someone who chooses to sleep in their car. I need external help. I need somewhere emotionally and psychologically safe to heal.