When I turned fifteen, my parents decided they absolutely needed another child. My little brother, Jack, arrived shortly after, and the whole weight of caring for him and the house fell on my shoulders. I barely had time for my homework, and when my marks slipped, I was punished. Then my father warned me sternly, As long as Jack hasnt finished school, dont even think about dating! I knew I had to make a drastic choice.
Everyone congratulated me on the new baby and wished me well, but I felt nothing but dread. I dont like revisiting this part of my life, yet Im sharing it now. My mother was thrilled to have a daughternot because she loved me, but because I became a free babysitter. When Jack turned one, she stopped nursing him overnight and took a fulltime job. My grandmother would drop by in the mornings, and by the time I got home from school she was either asleep or already gone. Jack was left in my care, crying constantly, and I could never seem to calm him.
There was no time for myself. I changed his nappies, bathed him, fed him, and prepared fresh meals every day. When my parents came home in the evening and saw dirty dishes or unironed shirts, they scolded me for being lazy and a parasite. Only then could I sit down to my assignments, having had no chance earlier. School performance suffered; out of pity the teachers gave me threemarks, which only earned me more reprimands.
The washing machine does the washing, the dishwasher does the disheswhat do you do all day? You must be dreaming of parties! my father shouted, and my mother nodded in agreement, as if shed forgotten what it felt like to spend a few hours with a restless child and still have chores to finish.
The washing machine may wash, but someone still has to load it, hang up the clothes, and iron yesterdays shirts. I wasnt allowed to run the dishwasher during the dayit used too much electricityso I handwashed the childrens plates. No one envied my daily floormopping, especially since Jack was always crawling, toddling, and making messes.
Things eased a little when Jack started nursery. My parents insisted I pick him up and feed him when I got home, giving me a few spare hours in the afternoons. I tried harder at school and finally stopped receiving those threemarks.
I dreamed of studying biology. It was the only subject that truly interested me, but my parents dismissed it.
The university is in the city centre, youll be commuting an hour and a half each way. When will you get back? Jack needs to be picked up, then you have to look after him. Dont even think about it! they said.
With no compromise in sight, they chose the next best thing: a nearby college of culinary arts where I could train as a pastry chef. I barely remember the first semester; I was, as they say, down in the dumps. Yet I threw myself into baking, learning to make cakes, biscuits, and a range of desserts.
From the second year I worked parttime on weekends at a café close to our flat. At first my parents complained that I wasnt home, but I defended my need for personal time. After finishing the course I took a fulltime position there.
Soon a new head chef arrived at the café, and we began meeting after his shifts. My parents started shouting again, trying to stop me from seeing my boyfriend, Tom. One day they organised a family gathering, inviting my grandmother, aunt, and her husband. They put me in the centre of the room and told me to forget about engagements, walks, or any kind of social life.
Youre quitting the café! my aunt exclaimed. Ive arranged a kitchenassistant job for you at Jacks school.
The best news of the day! my mother cried. Jack will always be looked after, and you can go straight home in the afternoon. Youll have time to help us.
Giving up a job where I was respected, paid well, and where Tom also worked felt like stepping into a bleak school canteen, serving limp schnitzels and sticky pasta casseroles, followed by endless housework and a life devoted solely to Jack.
My brother hasnt finished school yet, so do not even dream of boys, my father warned again.
The next morning I told Tom everything, and we hatched a plan. He had long wanted to open his own café, saving what he could, but he needed a loan or investors. I told my parents I needed two more weeks of work before I could quit, and they reluctantly agreed to let me serve my notice period.
We never secured a bank loan, but a friend of Toms, a restaurant manager, offered a different route. He had a new project opening in Birmingham and invited Tom to a interview. Tom convinced the manager to arrange a video call with me, during which I described my experience while Tom sent a box of my pastries for the team to try.
On my final day at the café I slipped out early, packed a bag with my documents and savings, and caught a train to Birmingham.
Now I run my own bakery, shaping my life around the people I choose, not the ones forced upon me. I still love my brother and hope we can build a strong relationship someday. I bear no hatred for my parents, but I know that if I stayed under the same roof, their expectations would have kept me chained. I wasnt strong enough to stand up for myself then, so I left. I trust that in our new city everything will fall into place, and that we will find happiness.
The lesson I carry forward is simple: you cannot let others demands dictate the rhythm of your own heart; only by claiming your own path can you truly live.
