Growing up in a traditional Korean family, I always knew my parents preferred sons. They didn’t have to say it out loud. I felt it in the way they treated my brothers, the expectations they placed on us, and the silence that followed my own achievements. Being a daughter meant coming second, no matter how hard I tried. Even now, as an adult, those feelings haven’t fully gone away.
Expectations from Parents Who Preferred Sons
In our house, being a daughter meant always being on call. If my brothers needed water, I got up. If food ran low, I was the one refilling the plates. No one had to tell me—I just knew it was expected. My seat was always closest to the kitchen, not by chance, but because I had a job to do.
While my brothers watched TV or chatted with guests, I swept, cleared dishes, and ran errands without being asked. That was the unspoken role of a daughter to parents that prefers sons—you serve while they shine.
And when it came to praise? It rarely came my way. My efforts were assumed, while even small things my brothers did were celebrated. That imbalance became so normal, I stopped expecting anything different. That’s what it’s like to grow up as a daughter when the sons matter more.
Growing Up with Parents Who Preferred Sons
It wasn’t just the chores or the silent expectations. The favoritism became painfully clear when it came to opportunities that really mattered.
The summer my second older brother was flying around the country for medical school interviews, my parents covered everything—his airfare, hotel stays, and even the sightseeing he did in between. There was no hesitation. He was their pride, and supporting him felt natural.
That same summer, I was juggling school and work, trying to save up for a Spanish exchange program I had been dreaming about. I wasn’t asking for much—just a little help. When it came time for me to leave, they handed me $100. That was it.
I broke down. I cried—not just because of the money, but because it was yet another reminder of how little I seemed to matter. The hurt wasn’t just about that moment. It had been building for years. Every time my needs came second, every time I was told to be grateful for less, it chipped away at something inside me.
That day, it all caught up. And I’ve never forgotten how small and unworthy I felt to parents who so clearly preferred their sons.
Still Not Enough: What It’s Like to Be a Daughter
You’d think things would get better with time—that maybe adulthood would bring balance. But in my case, the gap only became clearer.
Now, I live with my aging parents and care for them every day. I’m the one who shows up. I cook, clean, drive them to appointments, and make sure they have what they need. They tell me they appreciate it—and I believe they mean it. But when it comes to praise, respect, or even admiration, it’s always my brothers who stand out.
They live far away. They rarely call. But in my parents’ eyes, they remain untouchable—still held up as examples of success and pride. No matter what I do, I’m always playing catch-up in a game I never had a fair chance in.
That’s what it’s like to be a daughter to parents who prefer sons. You may be needed, even thanked, but you’re never truly celebrated.
What’s even harder now is watching the same pattern unfold with my daughters. My parents light up when talking about their grandsons. Their accomplishments are praised, their names spoken with pride. My daughters, on the other hand, often go unnoticed—just like I once did.
The Invisible Weight Daughters Carry
There’s a heaviness that daughters in traditional families often carry. It’s the feeling of always being “less than”—raised to serve, expected to give, but rarely praised or seen.
Even now, that weight follows me. It shows up when I question my worth, push down my needs, or keep doing more in hopes of being enough. That’s what it’s like when your parents prefer sons over daughters—you carry the emotional labor no one ever talks about.
What still surprises me is how much of this came from my mother. She would never admit to favoring my brothers, but the rules were clear. She had lived it too—trained by her own grandmother to serve her brother and accept her place as a girl. I don’t think she meant to pass it down. But when something becomes your “normal,” it’s easy to repeat it without seeing the harm.
Knowing that helps me understand—but it doesn’t make it hurt less. If anything, it reminds me how deep these patterns run. And that’s why I’ve made a choice: the cycle stops with me.
What I’ll Never Get From Parents Who Prefer Sons
For most of my life, I believed that if I just gave enough, stayed loyal, and kept trying, things would change. I thought one day my parents would see me the way they saw my brothers—worthy of pride, worthy of praise.
But I’ve come to realize that some things may never come. I may never hear the words I needed as a child. I may never feel like I’m enough in their eyes. And as painful as that truth is, I’ve started learning how to live with it.
Letting go doesn’t mean I don’t care. It means I’m choosing peace over old wounds. It means I no longer define my value based on how others see me—or don’t.
I grew up a daughter to parents who prefer sons, and for years, I let that shape how I saw myself. But it no longer defines me. I built my strength by showing up again and again, even when no one acknowledged it. That quiet resilience is mine, and I’m proud of it.
Raising My Daughters Differently
After everything I’ve been through, the most important promise I’ve made is this: my daughters will never feel the way I did.
They will never question if they matter less because they’re girls. They won’t grow up feeling like they have to earn love through sacrifice or silence. I want them to know—deep in their bones—that they are enough just as they are.
When I hear my parents praising the grandsons while barely acknowledging my daughters, it still stings. But it also reminds me why it’s so important to do things differently.
In my home, I speak up when something feels off. I remind my daughters of their value, not just with words but with how I treat them. I celebrate their wins—big or small—and let them know they’re seen, heard, and loved.
The cycle of parents who prefer sons may have shaped my past, but it won’t shape theirs. I’m raising daughters who stand tall, speak their minds, and know their worth—without needing anyone’s permission.
