Hi. I’m a woman who grew up with a toxic mother.
For decades, I lost the sense that my life belonged to me.
Every decision, every dream, every attempt to be myself — all stolen by the words of my mother.
■The Rules of Her Control
No going out.
No dating.
(But somehow, she also yelled, “Why aren’t you married yet?” — and then destroyed my engagement the moment I introduced a potential husband.)
No traveling.
(“You’ll get kidnapped or sold to a brothel.” — Yes, she really said that.)
No hobbies, because “those don’t make money.”
No school clubs, because “sports girls have thick legs.”
Basically, anything that made me me was forbidden.
Only “study” was allowed — as if grades were the only proof of existence.
■Her Madness and Contradictions
My mother was highly educated, a so-called “career woman.”
But inside, she was pure insecurity — desperate for validation.
One hour, she’d say:
“You must go to the University of Tokyo! I told the neighbors already!”
A few hours later, she’d burst into my room laughing:
“You? You’ll never even get into a third-rate college! You’re useless!”
It was like living with multiple personalities in one body.
Later, I realized — my mother was an energy vampire.
She couldn’t generate her own happiness, so she drained it from others.
Hurting someone was how she stayed alive.
■She Wanted Me to Be Helpless
Every time I tried something new, she mocked me until I gave up.
Eventually, I stopped trying altogether.
I became a lifeless version of myself — no hobbies, no confidence, no spark.
And yet… she looked pleased.
Toxic parents feel safest when their child stays small.
When you’re weak, they can say,
“See? You can’t survive without me.”
It’s twisted, but it’s true.
For them, your failure is their peace of mind.
■Leaving Home Wasn’t the End
I finally escaped by getting married.
But even after leaving that house, her voice stayed in my head.
“You have no hobbies.”
“You’re not special.”
“No one needs you.”
Those voices became my own thoughts.
Even freedom felt empty.
■How I Started to Heal from “Emotional Paralysis”
Then I realized something simple:
To heal, I needed to find what I genuinely like — not what earns approval.
A “hobby” doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive.
It just needs to make you feel alive.
Start small:
- Take photos on your walks and post them online. (Who knows — maybe you’ll grow an audience.)
- Cook a simple soup with what’s in your fridge.
- Write down your thoughts about a book you read. (It’s how blogging begins.)
- Try free video-editing apps — or share your story in short clips.
- Turn your pain into words. Someone out there needs to read it.
Being “hobbyless” doesn’t mean you’re hopeless.
It just means you haven’t met the thing that lights you up yet.
■Taking Back the Remote Control of My Life
No matter what kind of past you had, you can choose your future.
Even now, I still have days when I feel empty.
But each time I do one small thing I want to do, I get a bit of myself back.
The years stolen by my mother won’t return —
but the rest of my life belongs entirely to me.
This time, I’m holding the remote control of my life — and I’m not giving it back.
