“Don’t close your bedroom door!” What Happens When Parents Don’t Respect Their Children’s Privacy

They say that between the members of a united family there should be no secrets: the children tell everything that happens at school and the spouses share the experiences of the day. The motto of these families is: “We will always keep the doors between us open”. Unfortunately, this pact also includes negatives.

My name is Olga. My parents always asked me to tell them absolutely everything that happened to me, there were no personal limits. Growing up, I started to face some difficulties, which I relate to that. Today I am unable to make complaints, so they accumulate and culminate in an explosion of mixed feelings. I have low self-esteem and depend on the approval of everyone around me. I am currently working on these feelings, trying to find out the reasons and reasons that lead me to be dissatisfied with myself, and I would like to share with the readers of awesome.club my experience.

Psychologists advise against forcing a child to share their toys if they don’t want to. As a child I loved to pretend I was a warrior, so my father made me a life-size wooden sword. Once, some friends of my parents came to visit us and brought their 5-year-old son. He loved the sword and played with it all the time, when it was time to leave, he didn’t want to give it back. Upon seeing this, my mother asked me if I would be able to present him with the sword. Four sets of adult eyes and still the child’s little ones awaited my reaction, and I had no choice but to hand it over, but my regret lingered for weeks.

Nowadays, everyone talks about the child’s right to individuality: your consent is required to hug or kiss, you must not enter the room unannounced, and so on. I grew up in a two-room apartment, and despite having my own room, I had no right to privacy.

No, my parents didn’t suspect me, they just wanted to be around. “Don’t close the bedroom door”, they said all the time. Therefore, I often found it difficult to do simple things. I wanted to read a book but couldn’t because they were watching a noisy action movie in the living room that took my concentration away.

At school, I got good grades, and, unlike my peers, my parents didn’t check my report card and rarely attended parent meetings at school. But one day, I found out that my mother, without telling me, had gone to school to check my grades.

I felt hurt and thought that despite being a good student, my parents didn’t trust me. When I asked my mother why she didn’t ask me about my school performance, she replied that it’s always best to get this information directly from a teacher.

As a teenager, I began to be interested in boys. My mother noticed the change in my behavior. I started to dress more carefully and arrived home a little later after school (I tried to leave at the same time as “him”).

After detailed questioning, I told my mother that I was having a crush on a boy and told her the name. She approved of my choice and ventured some advice. But the next day a classmate came to me and asked if it was true that I liked Andrei. My mother told about our conversation to the mother of this colleague of mine.

I was offended, I talked to my mother about it, but she just laughed and said I shouldn’t worry because it was all nonsense, just childish love. That was the first and last time I told my parents about my relationships.

When I was 15, I once walked into my room and surprised my mother reading my diary. I made a big fuss and left home. After I calmed down, I talked to her about what had happened. She explained that she was worried because I spent less time at home. At the time I accepted the explanation, but as time went on I realized that reading a child’s correspondence or her diary is a poor way to gain trust.

Currently, I don’t feel comfortable when someone approaches my cell phone. Even though I have nothing to hide, if my husband approaches him, I can’t help but notice.

Until I turned 17, my mother still accompanied me to the doctor, and in the office she was the one who explained what I felt. If I tried to say something, she would interrupt me. It only stopped when a doctor asked if I was mute. I finally rebelled. My mother was surprised, as she thought I was afraid of going to hospitals alone. Now I understand that this behavior is a form of overprotection and not a natural care.

Studies reveal that maternal overprotection in childhood leads to structural changes in the brain, in particular in the cerebral amygdala, which is responsible for responses to threats. It became clear why I think everyone around me is constantly trying to attack me.

With regard to clothes, I also developed a curious behavior. We use clothes as a form of expression, and pediatricians recommend that parents allow children from 4 years of age to choose what they want to wear. I started to choose my clothes by myself only after I was 20 years old.

Before that, when I was walking in a mall, I would go into stores, take pictures of the pieces I liked and send them to my mother, friends or boyfriend. To buy or not to buy, it depended on their opinion.

The breakdown of the close bond I had with my parents was slow and gradual. Now that I know more about it, if I had the opportunity, I would have done it differently. Even after moving out of my parents’ house, I let them control my life.

This situation is a good example: I wanted to buy a dress to go to a friend’s wedding, and I let my mother accompany me. I was in the dressing room almost naked and she opened the curtain. I said, “Mom, what are you doing?” And she replied: “It looks like someone here wants to look at you”

There were many similar situations. There was no water in my house, so I decided to go take a shower at my mother’s house. When I was in the shower, the bathroom door opened, and I heard my mom yell, “Daughter, did you get a tattoo?” Yes, it’s been over a year, and I’m not a child.

Now our relationship is improving, but the “open-door policy” has left me permanently scarred. In addition to a constant feeling of mistrust, there is another problem: when my husband asks for some privacy, I feel offended and abandoned. I don’t want to be a suffocating companion and I’m learning not to be afraid of being alone. I try to raise my self-esteem and demarcate my limits. I hope to make it, because “better late than never”.

And how does your family deal with the issue of personal boundaries? Tell us in the comments section.