I rebelled against my parents a year ago—today, I’m happy!
We wait too often, delaying the moment when we dare to demand from fate what is rightfully ours. Sometimes I feel like a mighty river rushing through boundless landscapes… It twists and turns, sometimes flowing gently, sometimes crashing against obstacles that force it to find new paths. Along its banks lie cities—some gleaming with beauty and joy, others grim, filled with anger, as if soaked in bitterness.
The emotions of these contrasting places seem to pour into its waters. Yet the river must flow on, carrying its current, bringing life to the land and joy to people, before emptying into a vast sea—an endless reservoir of emotions and stories.
But you know what? I refuse to let it stay this way! Why can’t the river revolt? Why can’t it burst its banks, become a storm, a hurricane, sending waves crashing toward the sky? I want that right—to break free from my channel!
Enough of these nature metaphors, enough despair and empty dreams. That’s all in the past now.
Here’s my story.
### A Life in Six Figures
I was nine when my father and mother announced I had to learn the violin. I didn’t want to. But every day, I sat down with the instrument and suffered. It wasn’t for me—I dreamed of painting.
At twelve, they forbade me from seeing a girl from the next street—too young for friendships like that, they said.
At fourteen, they chose my path—a maths-focused grammar school—while I wanted to study design.
When I turned eighteen, I obeyed their rigid demands again and enrolled in an economics degree.
At twenty, I fell in love with Emily. One night, I stayed at hers too late and missed the last bus. No money for a cab, no phone to call home. The next morning, my father slapped me so hard I still remember the crack of my cheekbone.
At twenty-three, they introduced me to the woman they’d picked as my wife—tradition in our village, the “proper” way. We married. Had children. Raised them, until the time came to choose their futures.
Enough planning!
Then, one day, my parents and wife announced they’d already decided everything—where my children would study, what they’d learn, years in advance. Seriously? That’s when I snapped. How many lives were they going to script by their rules?
With their rigid thinking, they’d crushed every spark in me, turned me into a puppet on strings. And my wife? What was she thinking? I screamed—a true cry of the soul. For the first time, I saw my whole life laid bare—like an endless stretch of countryside beneath a vast sky.
And in that sky, I spotted tiny stars I’d never noticed before. Every ignored detail of my life blazed so brightly it nearly blinded me.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t stay spineless. Couldn’t be a sponge soaking up orders. Couldn’t be the sole of someone else’s boot. I wouldn’t—and shouldn’t—let it happen. I had to protect my children.
No one would dictate my life again. No one would map out my days or decide for me—or my kids. No one had that right.
Speaking of “rights”—I never liked economics. Never wanted it. But now, I’d use every bit of that knowledge to erase the past and move forward.
The divorce was straightforward. My children feared their mother—she treated them like subordinates, harshly, with punishments and even blows. The judge didn’t hesitate, ruling in my favor and condemning her cruelty.
My parents? I cut all ties. They needed to see life differently. Change. Compromise, if they wanted to know their grandchildren—or keep their son.
### One Lift, Two Knocks
A year passed before they stood at my door—two changed people, as if finally making an honest reckoning of their lives. Two people who’d spent decades clinging to hollow rules, crushing the beauty of every day, every dream, every feeling.
The meeting was brief but staggering: for the first time, I saw loving, genuine parents. Why brief? Because half an hour later, the doorbell rang again.
They stood immediately, said they had to go, and asked me to call when I was ready. Two minutes after they left, the lift stopped on my floor. Out stepped Emily. Yes, that Emily—the one I’d secretly loved all along, the one who still visited my dreams. They’d found her—told her everything, apologized for what they’d done. They’d wept. Begged forgiveness.
### No Chains, No Limits
Emily won my children over with her kindness and zest for life. For the first time, they knew what it meant to have a parent who loved and understood them—firm but fair, forgiving, always ready to listen. That’s my Emily. Her arrival was like a rebirth—as if we’d never known spring or summer before, and now we lived in endless warmth.
A year later, we had our third child—yes, all three ours, mine and Emily’s. And we are an unbelievably happy family.
My parents are like renewed versions of themselves—finally allowing themselves to live without chains or rules. Our life is beautiful. I don’t resent the past, but I know this: a river shouldn’t wait too long to rebel. It’s worth waking up in time. The outcome? Worth every moment.