Growing Up Under the Same Roof
- Kendra Lartey
- Dec 3, 2025
- 9 min read
It's Not Control, It's Just Mom Being Mom...Right?
It was a Monday evening after an exhausting work shift. I had set down my belongings in the living room and made my way into the kitchen. My three-year-old blonde Shih Tzu, Koko, followed loudly behind me as I looked for something to eat. This would be my first meal of the day... at 9 pm. Moments later, a third presence was felt not too far behind. A similar, more evolved, and mature face came up from behind, its features directed towards me. It was my mom.
She, too, had just come home from work, but she was more settled in than I was. When she spoke, her voice was clear, soft, yet assertive. After some small talk, she told me, "Kendra, since your brother is away this week, it would be best if you stayed home for the weekend to keep the dog company."
Instantly, I’m pissed off... or I'd like to call it, "pmo'd." I had already made plans to call out of work and leave on Friday to attend my friend Porleah's 22nd birthday dinner in Delaware, then head to a club in Philly directly after, and THEN wake up the next day for a Destin Conrad concert. These plans required me to be gone the ENTIRE weekend. Rides were arranged, outfits were sorted, and tickets had been purchased. Now, there's a problem. I have plans to go out, and my mom doesn't know about it. I know that you're thinking that the simple solution to this problem would be to let my mom know right then and there about my plans. But who wants to come home from working with kids to a bitchy mom that complains EVERY SINGLE TIME you go out with your friends? I waved my imaginary white flag, nodded, and responded "okay" to her request.
How I Got Here (and What It Cost Me)
Before I continue, let me give you guys a little insight into my life. Raised in Howard County, Maryland, to Ghanaian-born parents, I am a 23-year-old dark-skinned black young woman. I am the oldest sister to my 22-year-old brother, Ethan. When I was in the sixth grade, my dad was forced to leave the country, making my mom a "single mother." After anticipating his return for years, as it was promised to me, my dad passed away from health complications when I was in my junior year of high school. These two events completely changed the trajectory of my life and my family's.
We tried to move on silently, but the weight of my grief kept me down, a heavy cloak that wrapped around my shoulders that made each step an overwhelming task. The world around me continued to spin, not caring about what I'm going through inside, as I slowly began to spiral. Life just kept throwing its hardest curveballs at me. Every new challenge intensified the pain I was already experiencing. Losing my beloved childhood pet, who was also my best friend, really broke my heart. It was another huge loss, but I knew I had to keep going. Then came the car accident that left me with a broken femur, a physical reminder of my reckless decision to skip school that day. The pain was not just physical; it was a reflection of my internal chaos, a punishment for my inability to make better choices. To add to the already overwhelming pile of bullshit, the global pandemic struck, forcing me into isolation with my thoughts, leaving me to confront my grief and regrets in solitude. By this point, weed had become my best friend. It sparked a feeling of escape and kept my anxiety out of the way. Weed did a lot more for me than anybody else could, and I hung out with people who thought the same. When the world slowly (and I say slowly because did we really ever get rid of COVID?)returned to normal, I carried my emotional baggage with me into college, like a shadow that refused to leave my side. In an attempt to find stability, I chose a career path I had no passion for, driven by the desire to please my mom and fulfill her expectations. Deep down, I always knew what I truly wanted to pursue, but I was too cowardly to face it, too afraid of disappointing her. My mom's words echoed in my mind like a super catchy song: "Pick a path that can make you money." "Choose a major that can get you a real, lasting job." Her voice followed me around daily, creating a mental prison that suppressed my aspirations and left me feeling trapped. It didn't help that everything I did was wrong until I consulted with her first. Every decision became a source of anxiety, because I always looked for her approval instead of following my instincts. It absolutely didn't help that my younger brother, Ethan, was easily able to follow his passions with full support from my mom. It'd become a silent competition between the two of us, and in my mom's mind, I was losing badly. The pressure to conform to her vision of success weighed heavily on my shoulders.
It got to a point where I decided to drown out the noise and began listening only to myself. I was tired of being the person my mom and brother came to when they wanted something done, but never being trusted to independently make decisions for myself. I partied hard most weekends, stayed out late on weekdays, smoked in my shower every day, and barely called home. This era of my life was honestly so much fun. I secretly took a spring break trip to Miami and traveled to Atlanta to celebrate a friend's birthday. I got so many tattoos and piercings, all with the money I was supposed to be using to pay my tuition...whoops. Honestly, I took advantage of my free will and ended up with no structure in my life. I was a chaotic whirlwind of bad habits and impulses. I was seen as selfish in my family's eyes; I accepted friendships in any form it took, desperate for connection, even if it meant compromising my values and, in the process, losing meaningful friendships along the way. I searched for commitment from immature and uncommitted men, hoping that love would fill the void left by my family and my own unfulfilled dreams. Neglecting my academics became a coping mechanism to avoid the anxiety of not being able to pursue my true passions. I did everything else but confront my fears, burying them deeper within me. In doing all of this, the distance between my family and I grew farther and farther apart. I became the black sheep of the family; to them, I had become a lost cause and had nothing good worth mentioning to our extended family members. My mom begged me to "turn my life around," while my brother gave me unwarranted advice over the phone. He had no idea how I felt; he never had to settle for anything, and his ideas were trusted. The truth was, my family had no interest in compromising with me; they wanted me to meet them where they were.
The tension that had developed between my family and I grew larger when my grades got so bad that I had no choice but to leave my university and return home. It was really hard to have this conversation with my mom. I had to catch her up to all the feelings I had towards her and let her know the real reason why college isn't working out for me the way she thought it was. When I returned, I got myself a job and made sure the house was always in good condition. As time went on, I found myself growing closer to my coworkers, and naturally, we started hanging out outside of work. Of course, this received disapproval from my mom. Simple things like going out and being social were normal to me, but to them, it was unsafe. As I transitioned into adulthood, the differences in our perspectives became extremely clear. I'm not going to lie, I love going out, and I know the outside world has a lot more to offer me than my three-bedroom townhome. Going out gave me a chance to figure out who I am and build connections beyond my family. However, to my family, being a social butterfly hindered my growth and kept me distracted from having a real career.
Back Under The Same Roof
To get back to the story, I continued with my week like normal. I had my mind set on seeing my friends that weekend without any problems getting in the way. And that's exactly what I did that Friday. The day I had planned to leave, I chose not to text my mom to let her know that I had left. I decided to let her assume that I went to work. That night, the seven of us went out to a Mediterranean restaurant. The aesthetic and the drinks were the best part of the night because Porleah (the birthday girl) and I's food wasn't the tastiest. The club in Philly made up for the not-so-good meal we ate before. My friends and I made it right in time to get three free drinks from the bar, and there was a good amount of dancing space before the club was filled with more people. After 4, 5, 6 shots, and a birthday shoutout from the DJ, the girls and I were ready to call it a night. I woke up the next day in my friend, Fanta's, bed, absolutely hungover. After a few more naps, I finally decide to send my mom a text. The text read, "Hey Mom, I just wanted to let you know that I left the house to go to a small concert." She responded, "You left yesterday [Friday], didn't even tell me, so why now... I even called you. You didn't pick it up yesterday." To cover up my tracks, I told her that I hung out with my two closest family friends, Avion and Devon, after work, and that I came home late with not enough time to tell her about my weekend plans. She never responded. Even through text, her annoyance was still heard in her voice. I knew that when I returned, I would be met with a "talk," which was always just her telling me off. The concert that night turned out to be really, really good. Destin Conrad put on an awesome show; he performed some of my favorite songs and introduced me to new ones to add to my playlist. I hadn't seen my friends in almost two months, so I enjoyed every moment with them until it came to an end. When I came back home, no one was there except for my dog. I had a few hours of alone time before my mom came home from work, so I used that period to do a few chores and "clean up my image." When she came home and settled in, she came up to my room and asked me where I had been and what I had done over the weekend. I answered her with half of the truth, and she firmly stated that she only wants to know in advance when I am going out.
I really do understand why she wanted to know where I'd be for safety reasons—lots of parents feel the same. But I couldn't quite understand why I had to give her the details days ahead of time. It was all suuuper extra. I am 23 years old, and I am responsible enough to decide if I want to go somewhere or not on my own terms. I did it for four years in college. After all, it’s not like she had any say in the planning process or could change my plans at the last minute. So why did she feel that having this information ahead of time, instead of the day of, would make any significant difference? Every time I made plans to go out, I could sense the underlying disapproval and passive aggressiveness in her voice, the way she would question my choices and express her concerns about my priorities. My mom and brother thought my social life was just getting in the way of what they felt I should really be focusing on: building my career, handling family stuff, which was really just making sure the house is clean, and doing favors for my mom. I often found myself dealing with a dilemma.
I wanted to explore the world, meet new people, and experience life on my own terms, while my mother and brother wanted to move as a unit and only on terms that she agreed with. They were rooted in a mindset that emphasized work, respect for family, and more traditional social interactions. The more I embraced my independence and use of free will, the more I felt the hostility in our relationship, leading to arguments and misunderstandings that seemed to multiply with each scenario.
As I pondered how I could freely live my life while maintaining a healthy, understanding relationship with my family, I began to realize that it was not only about going out or staying in;
It was about how much I was willing to surrender myself to my mom to receive her validation. Growing up, I realized that my mom's approval wasn't just nice-to-have; it became a big part of how I saw myself and the decisions I made. I often found myself fixing my actions and thoughts just to fit what she expected of me. It was like I was constantly trying to balance being myself with wanting her praise when, more than anything, I just wanted my family to understand me. I get that I've fucked up really badly in the past, but I cannot dwell on that anymore. I'm not letting those past mistakes beat me up, so I need them to stop holding them over my head. I want them to understand that my success won't just appear on their timing. I want them to support my journey all the way through, stop holding petty things against me, and trust that I ALONE can get myself there.
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