Some Stories Proving It’s Really Easy to Lose Our Children’s Trust


We must be very serious and accountable about what we say to children when raising. That even an apparently innocuous word or action will leave a huge scar, even as they grow up, which will never be forgotten. The stories of online users who recently addressed what their parents were doing cost them their trust.



I was 8 or 9 years old when my grandma’s gold watch went missing. She was worried — the watch was quite expensive. My uncle, aunt, and mother started interrogating me. They put me on the kitchen chair and made me look them in the eye. I explained to them that I had no idea where the watch was but they kept pressing me, making me cry, and I couldn’t prove anything to 3 adults.

They spent like 4 hours pressing me, trying different approaches, like, “Maybe, you forgot? It happens to everyone,” or “the good — bad cop routine,” and the threats and pity got totally mixed up in my mind.

Something inside me cracked… They didn’t trust me. I was telling the truth and they didn’t believe it. The crack inside got bigger and my childish carelessness and trust got shattered. In the end, I was so sick of it, scared, and stressed that I decided to lie to them just to stop the torture. I told them I gave the watch to my classmate.

My uncle drove to my friend. Of course, they didn’t know anything. The next day, I went to school angry and ashamed. I apologized to my friend but I couldn’t study that day because I was burning on the inside. I didn’t want to go back home where my own mother betrayed me because she didn’t believe me, her own son.

A week later, my grandma found the watch. Nobody apologized to me. Why should they apologize to a child? Did they do something wrong? I just stopped trusting my mother and my relatives. No big deal.



I was 8 or 9 and I went to a singing class. In the group, there was a boy, he was chubby and spoiled and his name was Mike. I didn’t like him very much because he insulted girls really often and we couldn’t do anything back to him — he would just cry and run to him mommy who loved him very much and defended him fiercely. So, my mom became friends with his mom.

Once, in the evening after a concert, our mothers went for a walk with us. We came to an amusement park, and among all the cool stuff, there was a train for children — it was on rails and it went through a tunnel. And our moms got us tickets! We could ride it 2 times! It was a big deal for me then, but there was a problem: both Mike and I wanted to sit at the steering wheel. So, his mother says, “Okay, let’s do this: Mike goes now, and then it’s your turn.” We agree, we do the first ride, I leave to change places and… Mike doesn’t. He wants to go in his same seat again.

I kept telling him that he had his turn and that we agreed to switch places, but he just kept telling and his mother, she started saying something like, “He is a boy, and why do you even want to do that anyway?” I turn to my mom, expecting support, and then I hear her scream, “Either you go now and ride next to him or you don’t get to ride at all. Am I clear?!”

I couldn’t believe it. The worst part was that my mother, the closest person I had, didn’t take my side. I know it’s silly, I’m almost 22 now, but I still feel so bad that it makes me want to cry.

I wish I had never even taken that ride.



I was around 12 years old. At the time, I played a lot of video games, I was really into them. Sometimes, on holidays, I would play at night and then sleep until 2 p.m. My mom tried to get me interested in something else, but she just couldn’t.

And then, she had a motivational plan to make a bet with me. I had to give up the computer for 3 months (in the summer) and she would give me $300 (for anything I wanted). I agreed. I was strong, and I spent 3 months playing outside, making my plans for the $300 in my pocket.

I think you’ve already figured out that my mother didn’t give me any money. No, it wasn’t that she didn’t have it. It was, “We’ve spent a lot on you this summer already: we got you a jacket, shoes, and a new table. Why do you even need this money? It is too much!”

When I said, “Mom, we made a deal!” She said that I was ungrateful.

This was the moment I stopped trusting her.


At the beginning of the 2000s, when I was about 8-10 years old, I really wanted a LEGO toy. As a good child, I started saving up for the toy, putting aside a part of my pocket money. I hid the money in a very secure place (or so I thought). But before the first day of school, my safe place was empty.

It turned out that my mother took the money and used it to buy some things for me that I needed to go to school. And she wasn’t going to apologize or return the money.

This was the moment when my trust for my parents was totally lost.


When I was a child, I went to art school. I really loved drawing, but I wasn’t very good at it. This is why I often practiced at home, drawing something for my mom. I remember that it was very important for me, I spent several hours working on one drawing, I started over many times, but about 3-4 times a week, I made my mom a present. Every time, she smiled and put them away someplace, telling me that she kept all of them. And I believed her.

But once, I saw that she was tearing them up and throwing them away… I remember that my world shook at that moment. For the next couple of weeks, I kept crying in secret and then I dropped out of art school and stopped drawing for good.

I still don’t understand why she had to do that. I was only about 12 years old and I wasn’t terrible (I still have some drawings). Sometimes, I want to start doing something new, but I can’t… I instantly remember that moment. I’m afraid I’ll never get over it.


I had a diary and I wrote short stories. The topics were totally normal for a teenager: relationships with boys, first loves, and stuff like that. Maybe, they were primitive, but it was my first try. I only let my close friend read them. So, it turned out that my mom also read them and didn’t tell me. And once, she even humiliated my writing skills.

This was the moment that I realized what shame and hatred meant.


My mom has written several books. Now, she is pretty successful and her book sales are growing. I remember how she used to stay in her room all the time because she was writing. I was missing her and I had to play by myself.

Then, I decided to read one of her books and on the very first page, it said, “Dedicated to my daughter, I’m sorry that you didn’t have a mother in your life.” It’s moving, but at this point, I don’t feel anything anymore.




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