All Martin Rodriguez wanted for his birthday was to spend it together with his family. Nothing extravagant, no gifts, just the presence of the people that meant the world to him.
He texted his family a few days before, telling them the dinner starts at 6:00.
He spent days preparing the dishes his family loved most, his mom’s lemon chicken, his sister’s favorite rosemary potatoes, and his grandmother’s garlic bread. His 34th birthday celebration was meant to be a warm evening of laughter and togetherness.
But when the clock struck six, no one came. By seven, the candles had nearly burned out and his phone lit up with excuses. Apparently, the way to his house was too far for his sister. “Too far to drive,” she wrote casually, as though her brother wasn’t worth the effort of a 40 minute drive.
“Maybe next weekend, we are exhausted” his mother texted him.
All the food just stayed there, untouched, and Martin was left with the painful truth, he meant less to them than he had believed.
For years, Martin had quietly supported his family through a savings account he called “The Martin Family Relief Foundation.”
He started it as an act of love, but that night, he realized that over time, it became a source of exploitation.
After thinking about it for some time while he sat there in the quiet room with no one he ever loved around, Martin decided to shut the account down.
“As of today, I am pausing all support. At midnight, the ATM is offline,” he sent a message to his family that he financed for years.
Not surprisingly, the fallout was immediate. His sister called him 12 times in a row, and he received messages of missed transfers made by his own mother.
They were angry at him, saying he wasn’t fair, with his mother even trying to guilt-trip him, writing that his father’s health was at stake with the stress he caused them by shutting the account down. “If something happens to him, it will be on you,” she wrote.
But Martin had it enough, he finally realized that all he ever was to his family was just their personal ATM, nothing more.
After not replying to any of their calls and text that night, Martin sent his family a message first thing in the morning. “You’ve taken more than money. You’ve taken my time, my energy, and my peace. I gave without asking. You took without limits. As of today, I withdraw, too. The foundation is closed. I am no longer your financial plan. Happy belated birthday to me.”
That birthday marked a shift in Martin’s life. He stopped being the provider at his own expense and started reclaiming his peace. Now, months later, he speaks openly about the experience, reminding others that love without respect isn’t love at all.
Please SHARE this article with your family and friends on Facebook.
Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
