Abandoned Childhood

Abandoned Childhood

Nov 22 , 2025. By Kidist Yidnekachew ( Kidist Yidnekachew is interested in art, human nature and behaviour. She has studied psychology, journalism and communications and can be reached at (kaymina21@gmail.com) )

As time passes, the child grows into a teenager. Suddenly, the biological parents decide to pick up the "parenting stick" exactly where they left off, ignoring the fact that the relay race has been going on for over a decade without them. It is their right, legally and perhaps biologically, to reclaim that role. No one disputes that. But what is deeply disturbing is the audacity that often accompanies this return.

There is an old saying that cuts through the noise of life: There are two kinds of people in this world: those who do, and those who talk. The "doers" are often silent, quietly working in the trenches of reality. The "talkers," conversely, are loud, performative, and usually nowhere to be found when the heavy lifting is required.

This dynamic is more painful or more infuriating when it occurs in family dynamics. Specifically, between relatives who step up to raise a child and the biological parents who, despite every opportunity to be present, choose otherwise.

Before I dive into the bottom of this grievance, I must underline that I am not speaking of parents who are forced to be absent by the brutal reality of life. I have profound respect for a mother or father who works three jobs to put food on the table, or those who rely on the "village" because they are fighting to keep a roof over their child's head. That is a sacrifice. That is love in its most desperate, functional form.

This is about the other parents. The parents who are fully capable, financially, physically, and mentally, to raise their children, yet actively choose to prioritise other things. We are talking about parents who trade their children's formative years for career climbing, leisure, social status, or a misguided sense of "freedom." These are the parents who treat their children like accessories that can be set aside, entrusting their daily upbringing to a family member, often an aunt, while they pursue their own lives, unbothered by school activities and tantrums.

In this parental vacuum, the aunt steps in. She becomes the de facto mother, not out of biological obligation, but out of a fierce, protective love.

She is the one who helps with homework, navigates the deep waters of puberty and signs the report cards. She puts her own life, her own career, and sometimes her own romantic prospects on hold.

She builds a structure of discipline and love. She creates a home where there was only a house. She loves these nieces and nephews as if they were her own flesh and blood, often more than their parents.

As time passes, the child becomes a teenager. Suddenly, the biological parents decide to pick up the "parenting stick", disregarding the fact that the relay race has been going on for over a decade in their absence.

It is their legal and biological right to reclaim that role. No one disputes that. But what is deeply disturbing is the audacity that often accompanies this return.

Instead of approaching the aunt with humility, gratitude, or reverence for the years of labour she has put in, these parents often return with judgment. They behave like a consultant walking into a company they didn't build, criticising the management style of the person who kept the business afloat during the depression.

They look at the aunt, the woman who raised their child, with scolding eyes. They try to push her out, treating her like a hired nanny who has overstayed her welcome rather than the co-parent who saved their child from neglect.

The most infuriating manifestation of this is when the absentee parent tries to undermine the aunt's discipline. If the aunt tells the teenager, "Go wash your feet after your football game, or no TV," It is a standard, reasonable reprimand. It is Parenting 101.

The child, being a teenager, resists. And then, the biological mother steps in to defend the child against this "tyranny." She paints the aunt as evil, controlling, or harsh. She undermines the aunt's authority in front of the child, desperate to be the "cool parent," the friend, the saviour.

When they haven't put in the work of the sleepless nights, the homework struggles, and the daily grind of character building, they don't get to parachute in and critique the methodology of the person who managed without them for 17 years. It is an insult to the labour of love that raised that child.

These women, and yes, in this specific story, we are speaking about mothers, need a harsh reality check.

The psychology here is transparent. It isn't that the aunt is actually being too harsh; often, the biological mother is far rougher or more volatile in her own ways. They see the bond the aunt has with the child, a bond earned through long-term engagement, which triggers their insecurity.

To manage that internal shame, they project it outward by villainising the aunt. If they really cared about how the child was raised, why didn't they raise them themselves?

Why didn't they forgo their leisure to spend time with them?

Why is the sister who sacrificed her prime years to fix their mistakes being scrutinised instead of cherished?

Children are observant; they know who was there when the lights went out. They know who held their hands when they needed guidance.

To the "Talkers", the parents who return with criticism after years of silence, their jealousy shows. They cannot relive the lost time with leniency and erase the harm done.

To the "Doers", the aunts, the grandmothers, the sisters who stepped up, their legacy is engraved in the child's heart. It is written in their manners, their security, and their survival. When the dust settles, biology is just biology, and parenting is a verb, an action, a daily choice to be present. Cudos to those who acted when others talked; nothing can change the truth.

PUBLISHED ON Nov 22,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1334]