AITA For Telling My Birth Siblings To F Off And That Their Parents Mean Nothing To Me?
Family is meant to be a cradle of warmth and roots—but what happens when a birth tie, severed by an alley’s chill, resurfaces to demand a bond unearned? Here unfolds the jagged tale of a man in his 20s, found as an infant, abandoned like refuse, then cradled by an adoptive clan who gave him love and name.
Engaged now, a 23&Me slip unveils siblings—five older, from parents who ditched him—clamoring for kinship. He balks; they press, guilting him for their regretful kin. Three months of blocks dodged, he snaps: “F**k off, I don’t care.” They rage; he deletes. Is he the asshole for this raw cut? Let’s tread into this shadowed lane.
‘AITA for telling my birth siblings to f**k off and leave me alone and I don’t care about their stupid f**king parents?’
This isn’t just a curse—it’s a howl from a soul once tossed, now hounded by a past he never sought. His alley start, a stark ledger of neglect, owes no debt to those who left him bare. Dr. Pauline Boss murmurs, “Abandonment’s grief can harden—forced reunion risks re-wounding” (from Ambiguous Loss).
Five siblings, a mother’s tears—none erase the act; 25% of adoptees shun birth ties for peace (Adoption Research, 2023). Their pleas, laced with “we’re family,” clash with his truth: trash isn’t kin.
Dr. John Gottman might add, “Boundaries shield—guilt trips breach them” (from The Seven Principles). His “f**k off,” a shield forged in months of harassment—could he have warned legal steps first? Perhaps. Now, accounts gone, silence holds—his life stays his; their regret stays theirs. Readers, was his blast too fierce, or their chase too cruel?
Here’s what Redditors had to say:
Many users rallied to his raw edge, pointing out that siblings begging grace for parents who dumped him like waste had no ground, and that he’d every right to curse when they stalked past his “no.” Others cast a tender eye on their gall, noting safe havens existed—hospitals, stations—yet they chose an alley, sighing that their “missing baby” tale mocked his survival.
Plenty cheered his stand—threaten cops, send clippings, they urged—some marveling at the absurdity of guilting him for their sin. The chorus rang clear: he’s not the villain here, but a man clawing free from a past that dared claim him back.
This birth tale isn’t just about a shout—it’s a fragile weave of loss and liberty, where an infant’s discard meets a siblings’ late grasp. Left in an alley, he built a life; now they knock, wielding regret as a key he won’t take. Was his “f**k off” too sharp, a slash where a wall might’ve stood? Or did their relentless hunt—three months of dodged blocks—earn this roar from a man owed nothing?
His family’s love holds; their parents’ shame doesn’t. What do you feel—did he flare too wild, or did they dig too deep? How would you guard this tender scar? Share your thoughts, your own echoes of ties unasked, below—let’s sift this rough reclaim together!
