I recently realized something important about my multi-millionaire brother, the one who stepped into the role of replacement patriarch after our father died. At first, he showed some empathy. He said he understood that women and girls are disadvantaged in this culture, and because of that, he was going to leave his estate to me, our sister, and our daughters, not any sons. There is little chance I will outlive him, so it wasn’t about the money. It was just good to know that he could see the problem. That, for once, someone in our family of origin seemed to get it.
But then, his empathy vanished. Suddenly, he started sounding a lot like our father: judgmental, shaming, condescending. He had a fortune to back it up. Instead of supporting me while I’m alive, while I’m fighting every day to survive and heal from what was done to me, he rewrote his will. He made sure to tell me that I would get $1,200 a month if he dies before me, because he no longer admired how I manage my money, now that I’m spending it on survival.
He could’ve changed his will and kept it to himself. It wouldn’t have made a lick of difference in my life. But no, he needed to tell me in a cold, business-like email. He needed me to know that he saw my suffering and chose not to care. That he saw my financial struggle not as something systemic, or tied to everything I’ve endured, but as a personal failing he could now punish with a smug smile and a legal document.
From an Interpersonal Neurobiology (IPNB) perspective, that act hit right at the foundation of well-being. Safety. Worth. Connection. We all need to feel we matter to the people we came from. That when we’re suffering, someone who can help will. That’s what makes us feel safe in the world. Not just physically, but emotionally and relationally.
Instead, my multi-millionaire brother used his power to communicate the opposite: “You are not safe. You are not respected. You are not worth helping unless I say so. And even then, only on my terms, and only if I never have to witness your need.”
That’s not generosity. It’s control and domination, patriarchy playing dress-up as fairness. He needed me to know that he could offer help, but would withhold it because I failed to live up to his standards. To satisfy his sense of superiority, he needed me to feel small. Powerless. Shamed. That’s not support, but abuse.
Of course, I reject it. He can take that hypothetical financial assistance and shove it. Because if being “helped” is being demeaned, controlled, and gaslit, the ticket price is too high. I’ve had more than enough of that for a lifetime.
Fuck the whole patriarchal setup he thinks he’s running. I’m done playing along.
And if you’ve got money, power, or stability, check how you’re using it. When someone you love is suffering, do you lean in with authentic caring, or do you punish them for making you uncomfortable? Do you offer support, or do you use your resources to feel superior? Do you dress up your cruelty as “concern”?
How you show up when someone’s hurting tells the truth about who you are. Some truths can’t be rewritten in a will, but they sure can be exposed by one.
