They Called Us Exceptional: And Other Lies That Raised Us

by Prachi Gupta

The difference in treatment between son and daughter would ripple through generations, one learning entitlement, the other learning injustice. One sibling would lean into nostalgia for lost culture to justify his behavior, while the other would struggle to reclaim her lost culture, observing how tradition was so often invoked to evade accountability and prevent change.

Art kept my spirit alive. Expressing myself, whether by drawing, writing, or dancing, was an assertion of my existence that enabled me to connect to something deeper than simply what I was expected to produce in the world.

Later, when I felt too blocked to create, consuming art broke my sense of isolation and helped me see parts of myself in work created by others.

To love myself was to accept myself as I am and to live in a way that honored my feelings, aligned with my values, and trusted my senses, even when the outside world wanted me to doubt or shrink myself.

When I hung up the phone, I sobbed—deep, snotty belly sobs—for all that I wanted to tell you but did not know how to say, for all that we wanted from each other but did not know how to give or receive.

intimacy can form only when I accept someone as they are, not as who they can be for me.

I learned that I am not defined by how others perceive me. I learned that the limits of their acceptance are not a symptom of my failings. I am grateful, because not only did I survive, but I expanded. I grew in infinite directions. I learned that I am not done growing. I am just beginning.