This 26 Year Old Fights Against Over Protective Parents

[Precious]

“Breaking Free: Lolu’s Story”

The day I told my mother she could no longer dictate my life or decisions, her face registered pure confusion. She accused me of being disrespectful, as though my desire for independence was a personal attack. That moment was a turning point — the start of a long, painful journey to free myself from a mother’s love that, at times, has felt more like a cage than a shelter. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m glad it’s finally happening.

Growing up, my parents were suffocatingly protective. For as long as I can remember, they shielded my younger sister and me from almost everything. At first, I thought it was normal. But in secondary school, I began noticing how differently my peers lived. They could go out alone, visit friends, and make small choices without needing permission.

My parents, however, were obsessed with projecting a flawless “good image” to extended family and strangers. This obsession translated into an unending list of rules, constant supervision, and heavy restrictions. My free time wasn’t really mine — I couldn’t read novels or comics, only school textbooks. Television, games, and hanging out with friends were forbidden. I did these things in secret, and the consequences, when I got caught, were harsh.

My dad was physically present but emotionally distant. He worked long hours, paid the bills, and occasionally drove us to school, but he rarely got involved in our personal lives. My mum, on the other hand, enforced the rules with an iron hand. She had complete access to my personal space, from reading my messages to controlling what I wore. If she suspected I had done something “wrong,” she’d seize my phone without hesitation.

Growing up with such lax boundaries taught me the wrong lesson — that people in authority have the right to invade your privacy and make your choices for you. It’s taken years to unlearn that mindset and understand where my boundaries should be.

The isolation was real. Since I couldn’t visit friends or use social media freely, I had very few relationships outside my home. I eventually found an outlet in art, using drawing to process emotions and express myself. But even that was discouraged. My parents saw it as a distraction and often told me to stop. I kept creating in secret because it was the only thing that truly felt like mine.

As a teenager, I comforted myself with the belief that this level of control was because I was a child — and that once I became an adult, I would finally make my own decisions. But I was wrong.

After graduating from secondary school in 2018, I hoped to choose my own path. Instead, my mum decided for me. I wanted a different field, but she insisted on engineering, so engineering it was.

In the private university I attended, there was still little freedom, but I was already used to it. The shock came when I realized my coursemates enjoyed more freedom at home than at school. They could visit friends, have sleepovers, and make personal choices without being interrogated. That realization planted the first seeds of rebellion in me.

In 2020, I visited a friend for the first time. There was a strict curfew, but it felt like a small victory.

Then came 2024. My family moved to America — a place I had always imagined as the land of freedom and self-discovery. I thought this move would finally give me the autonomy I craved. But nothing changed.

Even in the U.S., my mum’s first instinct when I expressed interest in something — whether going to the gym or taking a walk — was fear. “What if a drunk driver hits you? Better stay home,” she’d say. Every conversation felt like a battle.

At 26, I still don’t know what real independence feels like. Sometimes I tell my friends I need to ask my parents for permission, and they stare at me in disbelief. I also realize I don’t truly know my parents as individuals. They are simply “mummy” and “daddy” — figures of authority, not people with whom I share mutual understanding. Every attempt to have deep conversations is brushed aside, as if I’m still a nosy child.

The tension has worsened since our move to America, mainly because I’ve become more determined to assert my free will. I do love my parents and appreciate their sacrifices, but the refusal to treat me as an adult has eroded much of our closeness.

When I try to explain calmly, they dismiss me. When I push back harder, we end up arguing. My sister once told me that getting a job might help me gain more freedom — but it hasn’t. We’re stuck in the same exhausting cycle.

Now, my focus is on the future. I dream of the day I will move into my own apartment — a place where no one yells at me for spending my Saturday making art, and where I don’t have to explain every step I take outside. I imagine rare visits, bi-weekly calls, and a relationship built on mutual respect rather than constant control.

I want to be my own person — with my own rules, my own choices, and my own moral compass. And one day soon, I will be.

[Author]

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