The Weight of Being ‘What They Wanted’ ⚖️

We always complain about how our parents control our dreams, our decisions, every single step, and even the path we walk in life. We do know very well that they say these things for our own good, but sometimes, when it gets extreme and out of hand, even that control starts to hurt.

Firstly, people who grow up being controlled by their parents every single day are not even allowed to mingle with the world. They become completely dependent on their parents, living their parents’ dreams as their own. And when they are suddenly expected to be independent, they struggle a lot, because they were never allowed to be independent when they should have been.

Secondly, even the tiniest activities or hobbies we love doing are often discouraged. They begin to degrade our emotions by saying things like, “This won’t help you in the future” or “This has no value for your career.” Slowly, the things we once loved start to feel unnecessary.

They understand that the world runs on money, but sometimes it feels like that’s all that matters. We are told to focus only on things that bring profit, and the small talents we once cherished slowly turn into something we feel ashamed of. Sadly, we begin to hide them. And sometimes, it even makes us feel inferior.

At times, it starts to feel like we are good at nothing. The things we are forced to do become a burden, and the things we loved become a source of shame. The typical dialogue, “We know what’s best for you,” is something we hear often when we try to choose our own path.

Thirdly, there is the comparison culture, which is almost universal in every home at least once in life. I used to hear it every day… “Why can’t you be like your sister?” “Why can’t you be like that boy in the neighborhood? He got into IIT, and here you are with a BA in Literature, which is useless.”

Sometimes, I could even see it in people’s faces when I said I was from the English department. I didn’t know how to explain the look they gave me. Some would ask, “Why English? Why not something else? With your marks, you could have easily gotten into B.Com.” And slowly, I almost started believing them, I began questioning my own decision to study English.

I’m trying to become a better version of myself every single day, but these constant comparisons, “Why can’t you be like him or her?”, break my confidence. It leaves me with one painful thought: it was never the real me they wanted to improve, they always wanted me to become a copy of someone else. And that hurts deeply.

Fourthly, not being understood emotionally.

I try to explain that I’m tired, but it turns into a lecture about discipline. What feels heavy in my chest is dismissed as laziness I need to “fix.” I don’t need solutions in that moment, I just need someone to sit with me. But comfort gets replaced with advice, and silence turns into distance. And slowly, I learn to keep things to myself, even when I’m breaking inside.

Fifthly, love that feels conditional. I learned to measure my worth in marks, medals, and moments of approval. Their smiles felt brighter when I achieved, quieter when I didn’t. Failure didn’t just feel like a mistake, it felt like losing a a part of their love. I started chasing success, not for myself, but to feel “enough” in their eyes. And somewhere along the way, I forgot how to feel worthy without proving it.

Finally, the silence we grow into. I try to explain what I feel, but it gets reduced to excuses or overthinking. My silence is called attitude, my exhaustion is called laziness. What I needed was comfort, but I was given advice I couldn’t hold onto. Every time I opened up, I felt more unheard than before. So I stopped explaining, and started carrying everything on my own.

I know everything they did came from love, even when it didn’t feel like it. I understand the fears they carry, the life they’ve seen, and the reasons behind their expectations. And I don’t hate them for it, I never could. I just wish that somewhere between their worries and my silence, they tried to understand me too. Because loving them was never hard… being understood by them was.