The Life I Lived Out of Obligation While Waiting for My Own to Begin

Suman

20 Feb 2026 — 3 min read

Me in Bhubaneshwar, Odisha

Content Note: This piece discusses emotional distress. Please read with caution.

Hospital waiting rooms are strange places to be. Some sit with hope in their hands and fear in their stomachs, pretending to scroll through their phones while waiting for life-changing news. Some wait impatiently, thinking about their next tasks, hoping to get through the process quickly. And some pray for miracles to occur.

One such waiting room found me desperate, one that could escape the clutches of a mother who guilt-tripped me into responsibilities beyond expectations, yet was never satisfied. This waiting room in my heart was full of hope and expectations of a good life. This waiting room in my heart was full of questions to the Supreme about where it all went wrong, why I suffered, and why it had to be me.

Years later, I found myself in an actual hospital waiting room again, waiting for my mom's medical tests to be completed. I would sit with my phone, desperately hoping a relationship might offer a way out, and maybe even a promise of marriage. My heart would long to feel nurtured, cherished, and loved. I ignored all the warning signs: men who were emotionally unavailable, dismissive, or unwilling to invest time. In those moments, all I wanted was an escape from the life I was living.

Growing up, home often felt like another kind of waiting room. My father never visited our schools or colleges. We always ensured that we behaved well and excelled in academics to avoid disturbing our baba. None of my achievements ever got celebrated. "Oh, this happened because I prayed for you. My blessing is the reason you are achieving so much," became a common saying by my mom during every single achievement.

There were separate rules in the house for my brother and me. I couldn't go on trips, and I couldn't go out on weekends. Correction. I was discouraged from going out on weekends. If I did, I had to hear about how hard my mother continually worked at home while I enjoyed my time off outside. So, I would enter the kitchen after a fun but tiring day of hanging out with friends to help her finish cooking.

Credit card debt kept piling up with all the medical checkups I arranged for her, costing thousands of rupees, and yet she refused to visit a doctor to get better. Test reports after test reports gathered dust in our cupboard, leaving a hole in my pocket.

Anxiety and sadness crept in steadily. Emotions became uncontrollable to the point of crying, even while projecting anger or questioning someone. Arguing with her gave me chills. Whenever I tried to be assertive, I was met with a slew of angry and hurtful insults.

"We should have never educated you. We should have given in to your marriage early. I wish I had slapped you enough when I had the chance. You think you will do well in life after talking back to me like that? Wait till you get married." These would be her words.

Looking back now, I can see how that pattern shaped me. Somewhere down the line, I started becoming people-pleasing to the point where I would rather have no savings if I could please or fulfil my mother's whims and demands. The people-pleasing behaviour seeped into my work life too. I started saying yes to every task, every opportunity when it should have been a no. I also ended up having the wrong relationships just so I could escape my mother. Ironically, I ended up in relationships with guys who were echoes of the same patterns I grew up with. I barely noticed how deeply this toxic cycle shaped my choices until much later.

Also read - Unlearning My Parents’ Patterns: How Toxic Upbringing Affected My Career

After 31 difficult years filled with failed relationships and bitter emotions, I am married to a person who took me away from that waiting room. He was that hope, that miracle I awaited for so long. His love gave me the courage to establish boundaries, seek a therapist, and build a confident, loved, and peaceful life that I had longed for. I learnt to be kind to myself. The waiting room journey finally came to an end.

With time, I realised that my mother was shaped by her own circumstances, though that doesn’t erase what I felt and the actions she influenced.

Sometimes survival itself is a form of strength. If you are in a similar situation, take courage in your perseverance. Change often arrives quietly, after long stretches of endurance. It may come to you in the form of a career, a life partner, or something that can slowly reshape the life the way you wanted it to be. And when it arrives, allow yourself to fully accept it.