by Erika Matić, beloved daughter, certified disappointment, and owner of one unbaptised child
Last weekend, my sisters and I did something radical. We enjoyed each other. No drama. No tension. No unresolved Balkan family subplot quietly waiting behind the soup.
Just three adult women talking non-stop for two days like we were trying to finish a conversation that started in 1998.
- We laughed.
- We remembered.
- We analysed our childhood like unpaid therapists.
- We compared parenting wounds.
- We ate like emotional refugees.
- We walked like women escaping responsibilities (temporarily).
It was perfect.
And then (because life respects narrative structure) Sunday came.
The Family Lunch: Where Peace Goes to Die
After our glorious sisters weekend, we did what loving daughters do. We took our parents to lunch. The atmosphere was warm. The food was good. Everyone was smiling in that fragile way families smile when nothing controversial has been said yet.
And then, somewhere between coffee and emotional collapse, my mother remembered: My daughter is not baptised.
Silence did not fall immediately.
It arrived slowly, like fog.
And then she said it – the sentence that has now achieved immortality in our family archive: “I will never forgive you.”
For context, I have:
- Not committed a crime
- Not joined a cult
- Not sold family land to build a nightclub
- Not eloped with a circus magician
No.
My husband and I made a joint decision about our child. A peaceful, adult, non-dramatic decision. And somehow – this has become the family’s greatest unresolved tragedy since electricity arrived in the village.
Religion: The Eternal Argument
My parents are Christians. I am an atheist. Which, in theory, should be manageable. People coexist with bigger differences – political, emotional, even culinary (I married someone who thinks pineapple with chicken is acceptable, and we survived).
I respect their faith. Truly.
- I do not mock it.
- I do not argue theology at Christmas.
- I do not whisper, “But have you considered science?” during prayer.
- I let them believe – peacefully.
I even admire faith. There is comfort in believing life has meaning, structure, divine oversight, and an afterlife where nobody argues about baptism paperwork.
Meanwhile, I believe in:
- Love
- Responsibility
- Kindness
- Logic
- And coffee strong enough to restart my personality
Apparently, this belief system is insufficient for eternal salvation and family approval.
The Crime of Independent Adulthood
My mother says I disrespected them.
Because I got married quietly.
Because I didn’t announce it like a royal wedding.
Because my child is not baptised.
Here is the uncomfortable truth about adulthood: At some point, your life stops being a continuation of your parents’ choices and becomes the result of your own. This moment is beautiful. And catastrophic.
Because parents do not experience it as your freedom. They experience it as loss of jurisdiction. Somewhere, deep in their emotional operating system, a notification appears: “Warning: Child is now self-governing.”
And suddenly, your personal decisions become moral statements. Your autonomy becomes rebellion. Your boundaries become betrayal.
The Eternal Balkan Parent Fear
Let us translate my mother’s real fear:
- It is not about baptism water.
- It is not about church tradition.
- It is not even about religion.
It is about fear.
- Fear that my child will not belong.
- Fear that our family chain is breaking.
- Fear that the values they lived by will disappear with me.
- Fear that the world is changing faster than they can emotionally process.
And fear, when spoken loudly enough, often sounds like anger. “I will never forgive you” is rarely about punishment. It is about helplessness wearing armour.
The Impossible Negotiation
Here is the paradox: They want respect for their beliefs. I want respect for mine.
Both are reasonable.
Both feel justified.
Both feel hurt.
But respect cannot be one-directional. It cannot mean: “You must honour my worldview, but I am free to reject yours.”
Because that is not respect. That is hierarchy.
And adulthood quietly dissolves hierarchy.
The Part That Hurts
Here is the part I don’t say at the table: I love my parents deeply.
Not politely.
Not formally.
But in that raw, biological way where their sadness affects your nervous system even when you know you did nothing wrong.
I don’t want distance.
I don’t want conflict.
I don’t want them to feel disappointed in me.
But I also cannot betray myself to keep emotional peace. Because peace built on self-erasure is not peace.
It is surrender.
The Quiet Truth About Forgiveness
My mother says she will never forgive me. But here is what time teaches quietly: Parents forgive.
Not dramatically.
Not ceremonially.
But gradually.
Through birthdays.
Through grandchildren.
Through shared meals where nobody mentions The Forbidden Topic.
Love softens even rigid beliefs. And sometimes, what they call “not forgiving” slowly transforms into: “I still don’t agree… but you are mine.”
Which, in parent language, is unconditional love wearing stubbornness.
What I Cannot Change
I cannot change:
- Their beliefs
- Their fears
- Their expectations
- Their emotional reaction
But I can choose:
- Calm instead of defence
- Boundaries instead of arguments
- Love without surrender
Because adulthood is not about winning against your parents. It is about becoming someone who can love them without disappearing.
The Soft Ending Nobody Sees
After lunch, we said goodbye.
There was no resolution. No apology. No breakthrough moment where everyone suddenly understands each other and background music plays.
Just life – imperfect, emotional, unresolved.
But here is what remains beneath everything:
- They love me.
- I love them.
- We are different.
- And love does not require sameness to survive.
One day, my daughter will grow up and make choices I don’t understand.
And in that moment, I hope I remember this: Love is not agreement.
Love is staying – even when you don’t understand.
Erika Matić writes about family, identity, generational conflict, and the emotional complexity of loving people who see the world differently. She believes adulthood is learning to hold love and boundaries in the same hand – and that sometimes the deepest family conflicts are not about religion, but about fear, change, and the quiet struggle to let each other grow.
Leave a Reply