My Mom Is Controlling My Life — When Love Becomes a Form of Ownership
There’s a specific kind of suffocation that comes with realizing my mom is controlling my life. It’s not always dramatic; it’s not always shouting or ultimatums. Sometimes it’s the way she comments on every decision you make, the way your phone buzzes with her demands before you even finish breakfast, the way you hesitate before telling her anything because you know she’ll turn information into leverage. It’s the guilt that rises every time you set a boundary, the fear that disappointing her will make you a bad child, the exhaustion of carrying a relationship that feels more like a responsibility than a connection. This essay is about the emotional weight of having a controlling mother—and the painful, liberating work of reclaiming your autonomy without betraying yourself.
