Hello everyone, I’m **Jaden**. I’m 30 years old, the founder and CEO of **Medsoft X**, a company that develops software applications for the healthcare industry. Our headquarters is in Austin, Texas, a hub for hundreds of tech companies reshaping how modern medicine operates in the US. I started Medsoft X with just a small amount of capital. The first lines of code were written when I was still living in a tiny rented room without a proper desk. During that time, no one in my family asked how I was doing. No one believed I would make it. My success today is not only the result of sleepless nights and relentless effort. It also came from the people who looked down on me, my family, the ones who gave me life, raised me, and decided I was the one who had lost his way.
I was born and raised in a family of four siblings, three older sisters and me. Ever since I was little, I was the one who got the most attention. Partly because I was the youngest and partly because at the time my parents had the financial means to spoil me. Back then, my dad worked as an accountant at a major hospital and my mom stayed home full-time to take care of us. With an annual income in the hundreds of thousands, they could provide for the four of us. My sisters and I never lacked anything. We had more than we needed. And during those early years, I truly believed I had a real family. Today, even though I’m no longer in contact with my three sisters, I still have to admit that each of them is incredibly accomplished. The oldest, **Grace**, is 10 years older than me. She was always top of her class growing up. She studied medicine and is now a doctor at a state hospital. The second, **Everly**, is 7 years older than me. She’s now a branch director at a major bank. Then there’s **Elena**. She’s 3 years older and studied law. She’s opened her own law office. In the eyes of our extended family and friends, my parents have always been seen as the ideal example. They have three successful daughters, all on the right path, all with solid careers. Then there’s me, the one no one talks about. A few years ago, I chose a different path that didn’t fit into any plan my parents had laid out. And from that moment on, in my father’s eyes, I was no longer something to be proud of.
—
The Choice
My parents began to change in attitude and how they showed love when I turned 18. I remember it clearly. It was a weekend evening and I had just received my acceptance letter to study information technology. At first, I thought that when I told them about my major, they would at least say something like, “Congratulations,” or, “We believe in you.” I imagined my mom smiling, my dad nodding, even just a small sign of support. But none of that happened. Instead, it was the exact opposite of what I had hoped for. They didn’t offer a single kind word. I hadn’t even had a chance to sit down when my dad started in. He first said, “The major you chose has no future.” He didn’t say it out of anger. He said it with apparent contempt. Then he leaned back in his chair and said coldly, “Guys who spend their days glued to a keyboard and a computer screen end up chasing nothing but online fantasies.” After hearing that, I couldn’t stay silent. I calmly replied, “This is the field I love, and in the future, computers and technology will gradually replace human labor.” He immediately brushed it off. Without giving me a chance to explain further, he looked straight at me and gave me two options. The first was to follow his chosen path, meaning I would have to pick one of the three majors my sisters had studied. He would pay for all my tuition and living expenses if I agreed. The second option was to go my own way, and if I chose that, he clarified that he wouldn’t give me a single cent. I remember his exact words. He didn’t raise his voice or sound angry. He looked at me and said, “I’m not stingy about you, but I won’t spend a dime on a major with no future.” After that, I couldn’t say anything. I just sat there frozen in the dining room. He stood up like he couldn’t stand to look at me for another second. And right before he left, he turned back and said, “You have 3 days to think about what I just said.” Then he turned around and walked straight into his room. And then the next afternoon around 6:00, all three of my sisters showed up at the house. I figured mom had called them over. Once they were all there, they didn’t wait for me to invite them. All three knocked on my door. I wasn’t trying to avoid anyone, so I opened the door and let them in. A few minutes later, they started talking. Grace spoke first. Her voice was gentle as she said, “Jaden, I know you have your reasons. But these days, passion alone isn’t enough to make it. I’m just afraid that one day you’ll look back and feel like you wasted years on something that led nowhere.” Next was Everly. She always carried herself with maturity and spoke like someone who had been through life. “Tech is trending, but it’s also more competitive and exhausting than you might think. No one in our family has ever gone down this path. Jaden, who will understand what you’re dealing with if you run into trouble? Have you ever thought about that?” Finally, Elena spoke. She didn’t sugarcoat anything. “You’re the youngest. You’ve had more than we ever did. But if you’re choosing this major to prove a point, I’m telling you right now that it’s not worth it. Going against the grain doesn’t always mean you’re right.” They said much more after that. Things I can’t fully remember. That whole evening, I didn’t say a word back. I just stayed quiet and listened. Not because I had nothing to say, but because my mind had been made up long ago since the day I sent in my application to those tech schools, and I didn’t need the whole three days. That same evening, after all three of my sisters had left one by one, I walked down to the living room. My parents were still there. One was watching the news, the other folding laundry. I stood in front of them and got straight to the point. I said, “I’ve made my decision. I’ll take out student loans and get a part-time job to support myself for the next four years.” Right after I said it, my dad gave a slight nod. He didn’t say a word. He just stood up and walked straight to his room. My mom sat there for a few seconds, then sighed and shook her head before saying, “Jaden, you’re so stubborn.”
In the days that followed, no one told me to leave. But everything in the house felt different. They started avoiding me. If I was downstairs, they stayed upstairs. If I was in the kitchen, they skipped meals. Even dinner was split into two portions, one for them and one left aside for me. And it was in those moments that I realized the love they once gave me had shifted. All because I refused to follow the path my dad had laid out. I didn’t sit around at home during the two months before college started. I decided to work part-time at a small shop near our neighborhood. The work wasn’t too hard, but I had to stay on my feet all day from morning until almost evening. My legs ached and I felt drained, but I was happy. At least I could take care of myself. More importantly, I didn’t have to see the disappointment in my parents’ eyes every single day. As for my three sisters, once they saw I was serious about following my passion, they didn’t say anything else. Maybe they realized that at this point, their words wouldn’t change a thing. 2 months later, I left my home when the school year officially began. On the day I moved out, I took an old suitcase and a few sets of clothes, just enough to get by. I also had a student loan that barely covered the tuition for my first year. For living expenses, I supported myself by working part-time. Strangely, I didn’t feel sad that my parents gave me no support. Instead, I felt a sense of relief. When I walked into the dorm, I saw plenty of other students doing exactly what I was doing, studying, working, and managing their loans. At that time, I kept my thoughts simple. If others could do it, then so could I. During my four years in college, I tried to stay in touch with my family. My mom never called to ask how I was doing or whether I was eating well. But during major holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas, she still called to ask me to come home. And because I still had this quiet urge to prove they were wrong, I always showed up on time after every one of her calls. I continued that habit even after I graduated and started working. But five Christmases ago, I stopped going back because on that day, they rejected me again. And that time, I knew I no longer belonged in that house.
—
The Second Rejection
5 years ago, after graduating and working for 3 years, I had saved up a small amount of money, around $100,000, after fully paying off my student loans. I didn’t just stick to my full-time job to earn that amount. I also took on freelance projects in the evenings and on weekends. I barely had a single day off that felt complete. But I accepted that reality because I knew I was preparing for something bigger. At that time, small tech companies were beginning to appear everywhere. Some were made up of just a few people in tiny offices. Others worked entirely remotely. After seven years of studying and working, I considered building a company. It wasn’t because I hated my job or felt underpaid. It was because I could see how fast the world was changing. I could feel the pace of technological growth and the massive potential in industries people have always cared about, especially education and healthcare. In the weeks that followed, I spent an entire month developing ideas. I wrote down every note, sketched out every outline, and rewrote and revised constantly. Eventually, I found a clear direction. My company would focus on creating technology platforms to improve service quality in the healthcare industry. But when I looked at my money, I knew it wasn’t enough to build a stable foundation. So, I spent another week deep in thought. I searched everywhere for funding options, reaching out to friends and colleagues. Then one day, after receiving my mom’s usual holiday phone call inviting me home for Christmas, an idea suddenly came to mind. What if I raised the remaining $100,000 from my family? I believe that with a detailed business plan, an explicit profit sharing agreement, and a commitment to repay every cent if I failed, they would be willing to help. But once again, I was wrong. That Christmas, I came home earlier than on any other holiday. When I opened the door, the house was still quiet. No guests had arrived yet. I immediately asked my parents and three sisters to come into the living room. I told them I only needed 20 minutes to present something. No one looked particularly interested, but faced with how firm I was, they reluctantly sat down. Once everyone was seated, I got straight to the point. “I want to start a company, but right now I’m short $100,000. I will walk you through my plan and I hope you’ll consider helping me with that amount.” Then I handed them printed copies of my proposal. I outlined the direction of the business, the target market, potential partners, and projected costs for the first 6 months. Throughout the entire presentation, not a single word was said. But the moment I finished, my dad was the first to speak. His tone was disdainful as he said, “Who do you think you’re talking to, Jaden? You’re speaking to people who’ve spent their whole lives in medicine, banking, and law. And you think some app or a couple of pieces of software you wrote will change everything.” After him, Grace flipped through a few pages and replied, “You want to use $100,000 from the family for a business model that doesn’t even have a single customer yet? Sounds risky, Jaden.” Then Everly spoke up with a voice full of judgment. “I read through it. I have one question. Why hasn’t anyone else invested in you if it’s that good?” And finally, Elena, usually the quietest of the three, was the one to close it out. “Jaden, honestly, I think you’re better suited to freelancing. Running a business? That doesn’t sound like you at all.” After all that, I knew they weren’t going to say yes. I didn’t argue or try to defend myself because everything they needed to understand was already in the documents I had given them. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I offered one final proposal. If they agreed to lend me the $100,000, I would give them 20% of the company in return and a share of the future profits. I truly believed that this would convince them. But the moment I finished that sentence, all three sisters laughed. It was the kind of laughter that couldn’t hide its mockery. Like I had just said something so naive. It was almost pitiful. As for my parents, they didn’t say a word. They just shook their heads. And that was enough to tell me I didn’t need to try convincing them further. After that laughter, I didn’t say anything else. I quietly gathered the papers, slid them back into my bag, stood up, and walked out of the living room. I walked away from the party because I knew there would be nothing worth celebrating if I stayed.
That night, when I returned to my small rented apartment on the third floor, I decided I would start my company with what I already had. I immediately pulled out the old business plan and began revising it. I scaled everything down and carefully recalculated each expense to match my $100,000. I rewrote every detail from scratch, from descriptions to implementation steps. It wasn’t until nearly sunrise that I finished. 2 months later, my company was officially founded. The office was in an old building. Initially, the team was just me, a young engineer fresh out of school, and a part-time college student handling admin tasks. We started small, building software to help private clinics manage appointment schedules and store patient records. In those early months, challenges came at us constantly. Some months after paying rent, we were left with just a few hundred in the bank. I often stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning fixing bugs before deadlines. Sometimes clients suddenly postponed contracts and we had to hold emergency meetings to change direction. But no matter what, I never gave up. By the end of our first year, after all expenses were deducted, the company had made a profit of about $20,000. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it was enough to show me that I had not taken the wrong path. Entering the second year, I decided to expand as our cash flow began to stabilize. I applied for a $100,000 loan from the bank, using the company itself as collateral. With the new funding, I hired more developers, expanded the office, and upgraded our servers. From there, our revenue began to grow. There was still pressure, but at least we were no longer struggling to stay afloat. Then came the third year, and luck started to show up. A small hospital using our software recommended us to a larger healthcare system. Not long after that, we received a partnership offer from an investment fund specializing in healthcare. From the moment we signed that first contract with a primary health system, I knew things had entered a new phase. About 2 weeks later, our financial adviser sent me the latest report. Medsoft X was valued at over $2 million. I still remember how it felt reading that number, a company worth $2 million. But to me, it wasn’t just money. It was proof that the son, who was once called the shame of the family, had built something tangible with his own hands without a single ounce of help from the people who should have supported him the most. That same year, a few news outlets began mentioning Medsoft X as one of the rising tech companies in the healthcare space. By the fourth year, we had become strategic partners with three major hospitals in Texas. The software my team developed was being deployed across multiple facilities for medical records, doctor scheduling, and even remote monitoring for chronic patients. And despite the company’s success, I never bragged about anything to anyone. Even when journalists reached out for interviews, I politely declined because I knew that while we had achieved something, no one could say how long that success would last. During those four years, as I struggled to build everything step by step, not a single call came from my family. Maybe after the day I stood up and walked out of the living room with that business plan in my hands, I had stopped being part of the family in their eyes. Maybe to them, I had chosen the wrong path and deserved whatever consequences came with it. So, no one bothered to check how I was doing. I used to think the relationship between me and them would always be like two parallel lines, never crossing. But then 6 months ago, my mom called after more than 4 years of complete silence. The call lasted less than a minute. She didn’t ask how I was living or how work was going. She said, “Your father’s 65th birthday. We’re hosting it at home. Come if you can.” The invitation sounded simple enough, but after I hung up, I sat there silently for several minutes. There was a quiet warmth spreading through me. It was just a single invitation, but at the very least, it meant they hadn’t completely forgotten me. And honestly, after all those years, that alone was enough to lift a bit of the weight off my chest. And once again, I made a mistake. After that invitation, I wanted to prove I had made it to them. Right then, I decided I would give my father 10% ownership in a hospital with which I had just signed a contract a few months earlier.
—
The Final Act
About 9 months ago, during a Wednesday afternoon meeting, I received an email from a private hospital on the outskirts of Austin. They expressed interest in using the full suite of the new management software Medsoft X had been developing. I recognized the name of the hospital immediately. It was where my father had worked as an accountant for nearly 20 years before retiring. That night, I sat alone in the office thinking for a long time. And when the day came to finalize the contract, I made a last minute change to the proposal. Instead of charging the usual service fee, I submitted a different offer. That day, I told the hospital director, “I want to convert the entire service fee into equity in the hospital.” After I said that, the director looked at me momentarily. Then he nodded and replied, “I know who you are, and I know if we let you have a stake in this hospital, we’ll never have to worry about technology again.” 3 weeks later, I officially became a strategic shareholder, holding 10% ownership in the hospital. On my father’s birthday, I arrived early. It was just after 10:00 in the morning. When I arrived, the front yard had already been decorated, neat, but straightforward. I brought a few bottles of wine and a black envelope with the notarized documents for the equity transfer. Everything was prepared carefully, but I did not intend to give it to him immediately. I wanted to wait and see how they treated me. I needed to know if this was truly an invitation from the heart or just the last ounce of social obligation they still remembered to fulfill. Around 11:00, the party officially began. After the cake was cut, guests started to eat and the atmosphere became lively. I caught a few familiar glances and heard a few polite greetings. People said things like, “So, how have you been?” or “Heard you’re doing something in tech.” Then they shifted to the following table before I had time to respond. I didn’t blame them. They had no reason to care about me, especially when my family hadn’t done so in years. About 30 minutes in, my father stood up, raised his glass, and began to speak. His voice rang above the noise loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “I want to thank all my relatives, friends, and former colleagues for being here today,” he said, his eyes moving around the room filled with familiar faces. Then his tone changed. I could tell he was moving into the part one had already predicted. “I’m proud that all three of my daughters have become successful, respectable women. Grace is now the chief doctor of a state hospital. Everly is a bank branch director. Elena runs her own law office. I couldn’t ask for more.” After the round of praise, people started clapping. Glasses clinked, chairs shifted, and someone laughed out loud. I stayed quiet, still seated in a corner by the window, my wine untouched. I thought maybe that was it. With a few words of pride and a few laughs, then it would all pass. But it didn’t. After a short pause, my father continued. This time, he looked in my direction and said, “Three made me proud. One made me check our DNA.” The room fell silent for a second. Then came the laughter. Some people clapped again. Others glanced at me like they were watching a joke that had gone too far. But no one said anything. I didn’t laugh. I just looked straight at him. And in that moment, I knew they hadn’t called me home to reconnect. They didn’t care how I was doing. They had called me back to remind me that in their eyes, I was still the outsider, still the shadow that didn’t fit their picture-perfect family. After those words, I decided I wouldn’t stay silent any longer. There was no reason to keep lowering my head in a place called family that had treated me like a stranger. Right then, I stood up. Every eye turned toward me. A few relatives exchanged glances, waiting to see what I would do. My father sat back down, arms crossed, as if bracing for another pathetic act from the son he had always seen as a failure. I spoke, my voice low and steady. “I know not everyone here wanted to see me today. Maybe mom only invited me so no one in the family would talk behind her back. But since I’m here, I’ll speak.” I paused for a beat, then looked directly at my father. “You asked if I was switched at birth. So, let me confirm. I’m not what you expected. I didn’t go into medicine like Grace, didn’t work in banking like Everly, and didn’t study law like Elena. But in the 8 years since I walked out of this house, not a single person in this family has asked how I’ve been, whether I’m doing okay.” Then, I opened my leather briefcase and took out a folder. Inside were the notarized documents for the hospital shares I had once planned to give him as a birthday gift. I held it up and looked around the room. My voice rang out again. “A few months ago, I became the third largest shareholder in the hospital where dad used to work as an accountant. I had planned to give my parents 10% of those shares today with a clause guaranteeing lifetime dividends. But thanks to what dad just said, I think it’s clear they won’t be needing this anymore.” The room went quiet the moment the folder appeared. Some relatives looked at each other. Some leaned in to get a better view of the document on the table. My father picked it up, his eyes scanning the page, his brow twitching slightly. A moment later, he looked up. His gaze wasn’t as confident as before. His voice was lower, but he tried to stay composed. “So, what are you trying to prove?” I didn’t answer right away. I just looked at him long enough that he had no choice but to meet my eyes. Then, I spoke calm and clear, every word deliberate. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I just wanted you to know that I still remember you. But after today, after everything you’ve said, I will cancel this transfer. First thing tomorrow.” I slowly and carefully put the documents back in my bag as if I had never intended to give them away. No threats, no dramatic gestures, just the quiet finality of someone who had stopped hoping. And before I walked out of that house, I turned back and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “You don’t need to check the DNA, Dad. After today, consider that you no longer have a son.” Then I walked away. A few relatives lowered their heads. Some watched me go, unsure what to say. As for my parents and my three sisters, they just sat there, frozen, as if they still hadn’t fully grasped what had just happened.
—
Epilogue: The Path Forward
My mother called me 3 days after the party I quietly walked out of. At the time, I had just finished an internal meeting and was sitting alone in my office, staring at the new strategic planning board for the next quarter. The phone rang three times before I picked up. Her voice on the other end sounded hoarse, slower than usual. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke, her tone like someone trying to hold on to something that had already slipped away. “Jaden, I’m sorry for everything, what your father said that day. It wasn’t right. He was just upset. But he still cares about you.” I didn’t respond. I stayed silent. Not because I was angry, but because some words, if they only come out after someone’s run out of options, no longer have the power to reach you. After that, she asked a few more questions, told me to take care of myself, and then hung up. While packing up documents in the office and getting ready to move to our new headquarters that night, my phone buzzed again. It was a message from my oldest sister. I read the line, “We were wrong. You’re the only one who stood alone without anyone holding you up.” I didn’t reply because there was nothing left to say. About a month after leaving my father’s birthday party, I was invited to speak at a conference on startups and healthcare technology. It was the first time I stood before an audience as the founder of Medsoft X. At first, I hesitated. I had always been more comfortable staying behind everything, letting the product speak for itself. But for some reason, the night before the conference, I felt a sense of calm. As if after all those years, it was finally time for me to speak. Not to take credit, but to show that my silence had never come from weakness. That day, I didn’t wear a suit. I didn’t prepare any slides. I brought only a name badge. When it was my turn to speak, I walked up to the stage, looked directly toward the front row where the students listened intently, and began to tell my story. I spoke about building a company with just $100,000, about the sleepless nights in a small rented apartment, about the first time I hired someone without knowing I could pay them if things collapsed, and about the moment I stood up and walked out of a family party carrying nothing but my pride. 2 days later, the story appeared on the front page of a major newspaper. The photo showed me in our company’s conference room with the programming team working behind me. The camera angle was from the side, enough to capture the look on my face as I stared at the screen, calm, focused, and with something distant in my expression. I didn’t send the article to anyone in my family because I didn’t feel the need to. But that evening, while I was eating dinner alone, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my mother, just one line. “We’re proud of you.” I stared at that message for a long time. I didn’t smile. I just felt something quietly slipping out of my chest. Not because I was moved, but because I knew they only wrote those words once the world recognized me. I didn’t reply. I placed the phone back on the table, finished my meal, and let that message drift down the screen with the rest of the conversations I would never return to. And now, after everything, I choose to walk this path alone. Not because I no longer have a family, but because I’ve learned that some roads must be walked alone, especially when no one believed you could take the first step. Sometimes during late nights in the office, I remember that moment years ago when my father said, “Guys who spend all day glued to a keyboard never amount to anything.” I’m no longer angry with him. Honestly, I’m even grateful. Grateful to him and all three of my sisters because it was their rejection, their doubt, and even their contempt that pushed me farther than I ever thought I could go. If they had agreed to loan me the money back then, maybe I wouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. If they had praised me, perhaps I would have settled too soon. And if they had never turned their backs on me, maybe I would never have learned how to stand alone. I’m not telling the story to blame anyone. I’m telling it to anyone who’s ever been told they’ll never amount to anything. If someone says that to you, smile, then keep going. No need to argue. There is no need to prove anything right away. Because sometimes silence is the beginning of a voice more powerful than any defense. And the lesson I’ve learned from my own story is this: No one can take your worth from you unless you hand it to them. And before I end today’s story, I want to ask you, the one still listening until the very last moments, if you were in my place, standing in a room full of relatives, and heard your father say he wasn’t sure you were his child, what would you have done? Would you have walked away in silence like I once did? Would you still choose to love even when that love is not returned? Or would you keep moving forward and never look back? Share your thoughts in the comments below. I genuinely want to hear from you because maybe somewhere in my story, there is a part of your story, too. And if what I shared today meant something to you, don’t forget to subscribe. We still have many stories to share. Thank you for being here. I’ll see you in the next one.