CHILDREN COME FROM YOU - NOT FOR YOU
- Madhukar Dama
- 3 hours ago
- 8 min read
A slow meditation on parenthood, ego, and love
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Introduction: Not Possession, Not Purpose
We like to think we raise children.
But more often, we shape them, direct them, or fill them — with ourselves.
We name them, dream for them, decide for them. And slowly, unknowingly, we claim them. Not always out of control or arrogance, but out of a deeper human longing:
To be remembered.
To matter.
To continue.
But the truth returns, whether softly through growing distance or sharply through rebellion:
Children come from you — not for you.
They are not born to carry you forward. They are born to walk their own path.
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The Human Tendency to Possess
In every culture, every age, the illusion repeats itself:
The child is seen as "mine.”
Their achievements become a parent’s pride.
Their obedience becomes a parent’s proof.
Their choices, even their silence, get measured as love.
This is not a uniquely Indian problem. But in India, the vocabulary is sharper:
“Maine tujhe paala hai.”
“Tere upar mera haq hai.”
“Humne tere liye sab kuch kiya.”
These statements are not always false. But they are often heavy with unspoken contracts. And those contracts make freedom difficult.
Remember that every soul must break an egg to be born.
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Love vs. Ownership: A Fragile Boundary
To love someone deeply is to feel connected to them. But love becomes dangerous when it transforms into control justified as care.
Don’t choose that career — it has no future.
You can’t marry them — what will people say?
You’re my son — I have the right to stop you.
At its worst, this is domination.
At its subtlest, this is protection.
But in either form, the child begins to feel like a project — not a person.
What begins as nurture turns into molding.
What begins as sacrifice turns into debt.
And what began as love turns into quiet resentment.
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The Wound of Unseen Individuality
Many children are never truly seen. They are seen as:
Symbols of hope
Extensions of family status
Safety nets for old age
Echoes of what the parent missed or lost
They are praised when they comply. They are punished — subtly or overtly — when they deviate.
But even the most obedient child eventually asks:
“Did they love me? Or the version of me they created?”
Sometimes this question arrives at 16. Sometimes at 60.
And sometimes, never — but it lingers in the soul like a cold room in a familiar house.
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The Parent’s Fear: If I Let Go, Will They Still Stay?
Under all control lies fear.
The fear of irrelevance.
The fear of abandonment.
The fear of regret — "What if I gave too much freedom and lost them?"
So instead of dialogue, we impose.
Instead of presence, we hover.
Instead of trust, we demand loyalty.
This fear is not evil. It is human.
But when fear guides love, love becomes a cage.
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What of the Child’s Role?
The essay so far has spoken much about the parent’s patterns. But what about the child?
Children, too, resist growth.
They often blame.
They avoid hard choices.
They carry entitlement and fail to differentiate between control and concern.
Every child must also learn:
Freedom is not escape.
Authenticity is not rebellion.
And individuation demands solitude, not just distance.
It is not enough to leave the house. One must leave the parental voice inside the head — the one that says: “Prove yourself.” or “Obey to be loved.”
This leaving is painful. And sacred.
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There Is No Perfect Parent or Child
Here is the paradox:
Every parent will wound their child.
Every child will misjudge their parent.
Because love exists inside flawed human beings.
Even the most mindful parent will fail to see something important.
Even the most conscious child will carry old resentments too long.
So perhaps the goal is not purity.
Not perfect parenting.
Not perfect individuation.
But something else:
Mutual humility.
Occasional truth.
And the quiet courage to grow beside — not through — each other.
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Letting Go Is Not Abandoning
Letting go does not mean absence.
It means standing nearby — open, spacious, real.
It means replacing “What will they become for me?”
with
“What might they become if they are truly themselves?”
It means preparing the child to walk alone — not hoping they’ll come back, but trusting they’ll carry the scent of your love with them.
And if they do return, it won’t be out of duty or fear.
It will be out of choice. And joy.
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A Glimpse of the Real Bond
In some rare families — often quietly, without drama — this sacred bond exists:
Where apology flows both ways.
Where silence is not punishment.
Where affection is not earned by achievements.
Where care is not confused with control.
These are not perfect families.
But they are alive, not performative.
And in them, both parent and child feel seen — not for roles, but for being.
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Final Reflection: You Are the Portal, Not the Path
Parenthood is not a legacy. It is a threshold.
Your child passes through you — shaped by you, yes — but not owned by you.
You are the gardener. Not the fruit.
You are the soil. Not the seed.
And even if you do everything “right,” they may still go their own way.
That is not failure. That is life.
> If you can remember this,
you will not lose your child —
not because you held them close,
but because you let them grow far.
I Came Through You, Not For You
A child's reflection on identity, freedom, and the long journey home
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Introduction: Before I Was Yours
Before I was your son.
Before I was your daughter.
Before I was your “child” — I was someone.
Not a name. Not a label. Not an ambition.
Just someone. Quiet. Whole. Becoming.
Then I arrived through you — into your world of hopes and fears, culture and wounds, love and expectation.
I was too young to question it. So I absorbed it all — your words, your gaze, your disappointment, your pride.
I didn’t know where I ended, and you began.
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When Love Felt Like a Mirror
I wanted your love. Of course I did. Every child does.
But slowly, I realised your love had a shape. And I had to fit inside it.
When I behaved the way you liked, you called me good.
When I performed, you were proud.
When I obeyed, you said I was sanskari.
And when I didn’t — I wasn’t punished always. But you withdrew. You got quiet.
You looked at me like I had gone off-script.
I wasn’t sure if you loved me — or the version of me you had imagined.
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The Silent Trade: Obedience for Belonging
So I complied.
Not because I agreed.
Not because I believed.
But because I was scared — of losing you, of being alone.
I studied things I didn’t care for.
I smiled at relatives I didn’t trust.
I hid parts of myself — thoughts, desires, dreams — because I knew they would make you uncomfortable.
This wasn’t your fault entirely.
You didn’t say “Hide yourself.”
But I saw it in your face. I felt it in your silence. I learned it in the thousand small moments you looked away.
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When I Tried to Speak
Later, when I finally found the words — to question, to express, to explain — it was too late.
You heard rebellion. I was just trying to be real.
You heard disrespect. I was just tired of being invisible.
You heard shame. I was just searching for honesty.
I didn’t want to leave.
But I couldn’t stay like that.
So I left — maybe physically, maybe emotionally.
I know it hurt you. It hurt me too. But I needed air.
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You Gave Me So Much — and Yet
Yes, you fed me.
Yes, you clothed me.
Yes, you made sacrifices.
I saw it. I see it.
But that doesn’t mean I owe you my voice.
It doesn’t mean I must live your unlived life.
It doesn’t mean I must turn into your second chance.
Love given with expectation becomes a ledger — not a gift.
And I was never born to balance your books.
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I Am Not Your Reflection
You said things like:
“I only want what’s best for you.”
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“You’ll thank me one day.”
Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.
But I am not here to complete your journey.
Your path is sacred.
So is mine.
But they are not the same path.
I may walk beside you. I may not.
That, too, must be allowed.
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I Still Carry You
Don’t think I’ve rejected you.
I carry your voice in my language.
I carry your values — the real ones, not just rules.
I carry your struggles — the things you never said, but I sensed.
I carry your story. And I carry the silence between us, too.
I am not trying to erase you.
I am just trying to become me, not a version of you.
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What I Need Now
I need space — not silence.
I need questions — not instruction.
I need presence — not performance.
I need you to see me as I am now — not the child you once knew.
I may not return often.
I may make choices you don’t understand.
I may seem far.
But don’t mistake that for absence.
Sometimes, love grows best when left alone.
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What I Hope for You
I hope you stop blaming yourself, and stop blaming me.
I hope you make peace with your parents, even if they are no more.
I hope you find joy in your own life — not just mine.
I hope you forgive me, for leaving or staying distant.
I hope you one day see:
I didn’t leave to punish you.
I left to breathe.
I left to grow.
And in some quiet corner of my soul, I still look back.
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Final Words: I Came Through You, But I Am Not Yours
You are not my owner.
You are not my sculptor.
You are not my mistake either.
You are my beginning.
And for that, I honour you.
But I was not born for you.
I was born for life — to explore it, wrestle with it, sing with it, fall apart inside it.
If we meet again — as adults, as equals — I will sit beside you.
Not because I must.
But because I want to.
Until then, I walk on.
And I carry you — not as a weight,
but as the earth I was planted in.
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