Im 26 now and I havent spoken to my parents for five months. And its not because Ive done something illegal or immoralits simply because I chose to move out. I work as a business manager, I earn my own money, but up until recently I was still living like a teenager, constantly under watch. My parents are deeply religious and always thought that strict supervision is a form of care. For me, that kind of care felt like suffocation.
I wasnt allowed to have any friends outside our village. Going out without them was unthinkable. Workmates birthday, a film, even just a coffee after workthese were all considered bad influences. Simply chatting to people outside their social circle caused suspicion. My life felt boxed in with boundaries I wasnt allowed to cross.
Even though I had a job and was drawing my own salary, my finances were still tightly controlled. My wages were paid into an account monitored by my mum. If I wanted a new top, I had to show her before I bought it. If I fancied popping out after work, first I needed permission. If I was ten minutes late home, my phone would ringWhere are you? Ive never had the freedom to live alone or make decisions that, honestly, seem entirely normal for someone my age.
The real row exploded one Sunday evening. I wanted to go to a colleagues birthday party. My dad flat out refused, saying that wasnt the sort of thing an unmarried woman should do. I snapped back, telling him I was 26, working, and no longer a child. My mum insisted I was changing, that I was heading down the wrong path. It all spiralled into a big blow-up. My father shouted that as long as I lived under his roof, Id follow his rules. Thats when it hit meif I stayed, Id never find myself. In tears, I went to my room, shoved a few clothes into a suitcase, and left the house that same night.
A colleague let me crash on her air mattress in the lounge for five days. Then another friend and I decided to rent a flat together. We signed the lease, bought only the basicsan old fridge, a little cooker, a mattress, a plastic table. I started sorting my own routinebudget, bills, food shopping. For the first time, I could walk in the door without fearing a grilling about my phone, my clothes, or my whereabouts.
Since I left, I havent heard from my parents. Mum wrote just onceto tell me Im a disappointment and that Ive lost my sense of faith. Dad blocked me on WhatsApp. My brothers have said they dont even mention my name at home. I havent gone back.
Now I work, pay rent, manage bills and groceries. I come home exhausted, cook, do my laundry, tidy up. Its not easy, but for the first time, I feel peaceful. I can sit on the sofa without panicking about being told off. I can put some music on. I can have a friend round if I like. I choose my own bedtime. No ones counting my money or rifling through my things.
Its been five months living this waymore responsibility, but so much more freedom. I havent tried to get in touch, because for them, making up would mean coming back and following their rules again. And I just cant return to a life where Im not allowed to grow up.
Still, every single day, I ask myself the same question: was I right to choose my independence? Or am I really the terrible daughter they think I am?
