A Mirror Without a Face

One of the most difficult decisions I’ve made in my life—one that affected the rest of my days—was related to my family. More specifically, my mother.

My mother was born in a small town with a very conservative and religious environment. She was born during a time when the government was pushing for the modernization of society. Girls were a particular focus of this reform, as they were seen as the future mothers of the nation. Schools and media encouraged young women to be ambitious and pursue careers. But while the government looked forward, society was still rooted in traditions that had been followed for generations. Like countless women of her time, my mother ended up living a traditional life with unrealized ambitions burning in her heart.

She became pregnant with me in the first year of her marriage. When I was a toddler, she had mixed feelings toward me. On one hand, she blamed me for her unhappy marriage and her lost dreams. On the other hand, she saw potential in me—and she projected her ambitions onto me. I became her second chance. Even as a little kid, I accepted this role. My mother was my whole world, and I longed for her approval. She constantly reminded me that I had to make her proud. I worked hard to be the best I could be. When she compared me to other children, I pushed myself to meet or surpass them.

But every time I got close to meeting her standards, she moved the goalposts. Her disappointment was never subtle—she would trash me emotionally, reminding me that she had sacrificed her own dreams for me, that she was stuck in a loveless marriage because of me, and that I was failing to repay her. Slowly, I began to internalize her narrative. I believed I was a failure. My self-esteem collapsed to the point where I couldn’t look myself in the mirror.

As a teenager, I decided to fight back—internally, at least. I started exercising, I built a study plan, and I slowly began improving. Through that process, I discovered my interests and talents. I realized I had a voice and things to express. My confidence began to grow. I liked myself again. I began to see a path forward.

When it was time to choose a high school major, I wanted to study social sciences and eventually pursue anthropology. But my mother had a different vision—she wanted me to become a doctor, the career she herself never had. At first, she used guilt, reminding me of her sacrifices, saying it was my duty to make her proud. When that didn’t work, she switched tactics—claiming I’d never find a job if I studied social sciences, that I’d end up homeless.

Her pressure became constant and overwhelming. I tried to explain how it affected my health and my studies, but she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t see me as an individual—just as her product, her investment. I finally gave in and followed her plan.

That was the biggest mistake of my life.

Despite working hard, I gained very little. When university entrance exams came, I was under immense pressure to get into medical school. My mother didn’t help—she kept trashing me, telling me I’d be worthless if I failed. My study methods didn’t meet her standards, and she accused me of laziness. I tried to explain that everyone learns differently, but she kept pushing. I was like a horse collapsing under its rider’s whip.

I failed the exam and ended up in a major that required a lower score. I had no interest in it and saw no future in it. I told my mother I wanted to change paths, to fix my mistake and pursue social sciences instead. I needed her support.

She mocked me. Called me weak. A disgrace.

That was the last time I tried to open up to her.

After graduation, I had no motivation to work. Once again, she tried to "fix" me with the only tool she knew—criticism. One evening, as I sat at the dinner table trying to read while she watched TV and reminded me how miserable I was, something inside me snapped. I shouted louder than I ever had before. She was shocked. For once, she didn’t know what to say.

In that moment, I made a decision. I swore to leave and never come back.

I had no plan, but life handed me an opportunity: a job offer in another city. I took it.

Without her presence in my life, I finally began to transform. I became someone I could respect. When I look in the mirror now, I see a warrior—someone who never gave up on his dreams. A man who was born at the bottom of a pit and still found a way to climb out, despite all the hands pulling him down.

I lost many years, but I didn’t lose my will to live. And for that, I am proud of myself.