When Love Turns Into Dependency

Sometimes, I suddenly feel the urge to call my mom to tell her something—without even thinking it through.

I just want to say something and hear her response.

But I never stop to consider what kind of response I expect.

Most of the time, my mom doesn’t answer the phone.

And when that happens, I feel an overwhelming sense of loss.

Then I quickly call my best friend, as if trying to fill that emptiness.

Yet I don’t actually want to tell her anything, nor do I care for her response.

Even with my mom, what I want to say is often just one short sentence—a simple message that could’ve been a text.

But what I really crave is a reaction—and not just any reaction, but the exact kind I want.

When I don’t get it immediately, I feel disappointed.

And even when she does pick up the phone, if her response isn’t what I hoped for, I feel let down again.

The truth is, my mom can’t give me the kind of validation I long for.

Neither can my friends.

hat I actually want is acknowledgment from someone I deeply respect—someone whose opinion matters to me.

There are many people I respect, but only my mom is always within reach.

So, it has to be her.

But she never reacts the way I imagine.

And that’s why I’ve never truly received the approval I’ve been chasing for so long.

💡💡💡

Once, I had a fascinating conversation with someone.

He asked, “Do you dislike it when your parents try to control you?”

I said, “Not really. Sometimes I actually want them to.”

He laughed and replied, “So what you really want is for them to control you on your terms—when you want them to, and to back off when you don’t.”

I denied it at the time, but deep down, that’s exactly how I felt.

To be honest, I wanted my parents to guide me—but only in the way I wanted.

💡💡💡

Recently, I suddenly didn’t want to live in my mother’s house anymore.

She wanted me to go with her to a seminar.

But I felt I should focus on making money, not networking or socializing.

She believed those events were good for building connections and opening doors.

She was right, I admit—but still I didn’t want to hear it.

Her comments made me uncomfortable.

And I just didn’t want to live in her house anymore.

It felt like living there made her comment on everything I did.

💡💡💡

She once said she hoped I’d earn enough to buy my own apartment someday—because if I grew old still living under her roof, my life would have no form, no dignity.

She’s right.

But as long as I keep relying on her space, I might never build a life of my own.

💡💡💡

So I decided to move out.

Not a big step—I just rented a place for a month.

When she found out, she simply asked, “You’re not coming back to stay?”

I said I wasn’t sure.

She didn’t say much more.

💡💡💡

A few days later, she mentioned she was planning to go abroad for further study.

She's mentioned it before. I knew she had been planning it for a long time. She just hadn't made the final decision yet. Now, it seems she has.

From my perspective, her leaving means she'll be gone for years. Maybe she'll settle abroad if things go well.

And I felt... strangely upset.

💡💡💡

It doesn’t make sense.

I was the one who wanted space.

I didn’t want her to control me.

So why am I angry that she’s moving on with her own life?

Do I really expect her to stay behind, waiting for me to come home?

💡💡💡

I have my work to focus on.

She has her own academic dreams.

What right do I have to resent her for choosing herself?

💡💡💡

For a long time, both of us have known that our relationship has turned into something draining.

She wants to direct my life and work, even though she admits she doesn’t really understand what I do.

She loves to remind me how other people’s children are both successful and filial.

But being filial doesn’t mean being controlled.

She doesn’t know how to guide me in my career—just as I don’t know how to earn more money myself.

We are both lost in our own ways.

💡💡💡

Living together only consumes both of us.

That’s why I left.

So, as the one who walked away first, what right do I have to be upset that she’s leaving too?

When a relationship becomes mutual exhaustion, why is it still so hard to let go?

I guess it’s because of selfishness.

I wanted to leave—but still wanted her to stay.

To stay where I could always find her, whenever I needed her.