Somewhere along the thoughts of an adolescent, it came into my conscienceā¦
At what point does care and protection breed naivety and isolation?
I looked forward to being an adult my whole life, and now Iām here, but I canāt help but feelā¦ lost. Iād spent the past few months mourning the version of myself I thought Iād be by 18, and I feel so behind given I havenāt completed the growth and experience I so desired much of my teenage years. But I never got to do it as Iām still asking for permission to simply live. āComparison is the thief of joyā but itās heart wrenching when youāre comparing yourself to your potential or even worse, the part of yourself youāve nearly lost and struggle to rekindle with.
Iām Nigerian. And the eldest Nigerian daughter at that. Thereās a certain weight that comes with that before you even open your mouth. Youāre not just a daughter, youāre a reflection, an extension, A reputation. A standard. A warning, but never an individual. In a culture that reinforces the purity, dignity and honor of its daughters, some parents donāt really adjust that framework when raising children in a place like America. SOME ethnic parents fail to realize that certain ideals donāt really foster growth in a society as diverse and self-permissive as western society, especially America. And while some grow more liberal, loosening the reins upon their children to allow them to thrive in the mixture of both cultures, others rather tighten it with the intent of preventing the infiltration of the new culture now immigrated to, such is my experience. Intellect isnāt measured by display of it, itās measured by the hierarchy of age. Older = wiser & and even their wrongs are right, and vise-versa when youāre younger.
But it creates this weird split where one world expects experience and autonomy, and the other expects restraint and obedience, and Iām just stuck somewhere in between trying to make both make sense.
I canāt complain, Iām provided for, by God and by their hard work and blessings. But outside of provisionsā¦ who am I supposed to be in the world if Iāve never really been allowed to enter it properly?
I notice it in small things more than big things.
Like sitting in conversations and already rehearsing what Iām about to say before I say it, then still not saying it sometimes. Or sending a text, rereading it, deleting it, rewriting it again like thereās a right way to sound normal. Or being out with people and suddenly feeling overstimulated for no real reason, like my body is already bracing for something I canāt name, and it just deepens the grips of my anxiety.
Socializing doesnāt feel natural, it feels like performance. And the worst part is Iām aware of it while itās happening, which makes it worse, not better.
Little freedom to self-express without consequences does something to you. The ability to explore and gain experience is always at the cost of honesty and authenticity. Socializing always leads to overstimulation or social anxiety, even panic attacks at times. Weird relationship with my sense of self. Rebellion is necessary to gain experiences. The price of my soul is disguised as a blessing and only now do I realize it.
And you donāt even notice it forming until you try to move on your own and your first instinct is still to wait, still to check, still to ask.
I was labeled a wild child, and sure, I canāt disagree. I was creative, excited and curious, carefree and steadfast and definitely disobedient. But it was never tamed; just shamed, punished & āforced outā. Iāve never been one to be boxed in, Iāve always indulged in different interests. If I was punished for something I did I never stopped it, I just hid it better. But What did I learn? Self-expression ā> punishment. So that kid never left, sheās still there, just typically hidden and waiting for when itās ok to come out without fear of regret.
So I didnāt stop being that kid. I just became good at not letting her be seen.
And I think thatās where a lot of the confusion comes from now. Because that version of me is still there. She just doesnāt really know when itās safe to exist anymore.
Rebellion wasnāt really taught as something to grow through, it was treated like something to eliminate. So instead of learning balance, I learned concealment.
And now I feel it in adulthood in a way I didnāt expect.
I have dreams and ambitions I still want to work towards, but it feels like my wings are tied in ways I canāt fully explain without sounding like Iām making excuses. Iām inspired but inactive. I want things but I hesitate before reaching for them. I feel like Iām constantly standing at the edge of my own life trying to decide if Iām allowed to step in.
And I keep thinkingā¦ I know I was protected. I know I was loved. I know I was provided for. But sometimes protection and containment start to feel the same when youāve never really been allowed to test the difference for yourself.
And now Iām here, eighteen, adult on paper, still learning how to exist without asking for permission first.
You donāt notice the cage when itās built to look like safety.
Perhaps college is where the journey really starts. Iāve got a lot to learn, obviously. Iām not hopeless, just restless to start living. But for now
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