“You Said No” — The Making of a Helpless Child

They call it care.

They call it protection.

But behind the polite walls of motherhood lies a tragedy no one speaks of.

The quiet, repetitive NO that builds a cage.

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Part 1: The Daughter Who Was Always Told No

Age 2:

She said, “Amma, I’ll light the lamp.”

You said no.

You were afraid she’d burn herself.

So she watched you every evening, hands twitching, curiosity shining.

Now she’s 23,

A stranger in her own kitchen.

She uses a lighter with nervous hands.

She googles “how to light a lamp safely.”

She has a diploma, a degree, a job—

But doesn’t trust her own fingers.

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Age 3:

She said, “I’ll fold the clothes.”

You said no.

“They’ll get dirty again.”

“They won’t be neat.”

She never tried again.

Now she dumps clothes on chairs.

Folding tires her. She calls it “mental load.”

You say, “Today’s girls don’t do anything.”

She says, “You never let me.”

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Age 4:

She said, “Let me put the rice in the cooker.”

You said no.

Hot water. Electric shock. Spillage.

You said, “I’ll do it in a second.”

And you did. For years.

And she watched. For years.

Now she orders Zomato.

Rice is too much effort.

Her fingers tremble near boiling water.

She uses microwave rice.

She owns a rice cooker but never touches it.

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Age 5:

She said, “Let me sweep.”

You said no.

“It will raise dust.”

“It’ll go under the sofa.”

“It’s not clean enough.”

Now she lives in a studio apartment

Filled with Swiggy boxes and hair on the floor.

She pays for cleaning apps.

She says she’s overwhelmed.

You say she’s lazy.

She says you broke her.

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Age 6:

She said, “Let me answer the phone.”

You said no.

“It’s for adults.”

“She won’t understand.”

“She’ll say something wrong.”

Now she avoids calls.

Anxiety. Panic. Breathlessness.

She prefers WhatsApp texts.

She asks you to speak to the landlord.

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Age 8:

She said, “Can I go alone to the shop?”

You said no.

Bad people. Traffic.

You went yourself.

You went always.

Now she’s 27.

Frozen at zebra crossings.

She calls her boyfriend to go get bread.

She panics if Ola driver takes a wrong turn.

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Age 10:

She said, “Let me take care of the baby cousin.”

You said no.

“She’s too little.”

“You won’t know what to do.”

She never learned how.

Now, when she’s pregnant,

She Googles every step.

And feels unfit to be a mother.

---

Part 2: The Son You Wanted to Keep Safe

Age 3:

He said, “I’ll water the plants.”

You said no.

“You’ll waste water.”

“You’ll fall into the mud.”

He stopped touching soil.

Now he’s 25,

Scrolling Instagram plant reels.

He buys fake plastic pots.

His balcony is tiled, not green.

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Age 4:

He said, “I’ll cut the papaya.”

You said no.

Knives are dangerous.

Fruit is slippery.

Blood!

He got scared.

Now he peels bananas only.

Orders pre-cut fruits.

Hates papaya.

Fears blood.

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Age 6:

He said, “I’ll plug in the charger.”

You said no.

“You’ll get electrocuted!”

He stepped back.

Now he calls you when the inverter beeps.

He flinches at loose wires.

Even when he’s 30.

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Age 7:

He said, “Can I iron my shirt?”

You said no.

Burn marks.

Hot steam.

Danger.

He never tried again.

Now he wears crushed shirts.

Or sends them to ironing shops.

Still afraid to touch a hot appliance.

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Age 10:

He said, “I’ll light the gas.”

You said no.

Kaboom. Explosion.

Too young. Too risky.

Now he eats only toast.

Microwaves food.

Doesn’t know how to switch the cylinder.

Can’t cook even one dish.

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Age 12:

He said, “I’ll wash my own underwear.”

You said no.

“I’ll do it. It’s unhygienic.”

“Why do you want to? That’s my job.”

He stopped asking.

Now he’s 35.

And his wife is exhausted.

She says he’s like a second child.

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HERE IS A HUGE LIST OF PARENTAL 'NOs' THAT CREATE A HELPLESS CHILD

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🪔 KITCHEN & FOOD PREPARATION

1. She said, “I’ll peel the potato.”

You said no.

She’s 25 now. Can’t hold a peeler.

2. He said, “I’ll cut the onion.”

You said no.

He’s 30 now. Afraid of knives.

3. She said, “Can I wash the dal?”

You said no.

Now she doesn’t know how it’s done.

4. He said, “Let me stir the curry.”

You said no.

He burns food now and says he’s not made for cooking.

5. She said, “I want to light the stove.”

You said no.

She now calls you to do it.

6. He said, “I’ll fry the papad.”

You said no.

Now he fears hot oil.

7. She said, “I want to crack the egg.”

You said no.

She only eats boiled ones now.

8. He said, “I’ll serve food to Ajja.”

You said no.

Now he waits to be served.

9. She said, “I’ll pour the tea.”

You said no.

Now her hands shake with hot cups.

10. He said, “Can I open the fridge?”

You said no.

Now he’s scared of “spoiling something.”

11. She said, “I’ll use the sandwich maker.”

You said no.

She uses Zomato instead.

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🧹 HOUSEHOLD CHORES

12. He said, “I’ll sweep the floor.”

You said no.

He now lives in mess.

13. She said, “Let me mop.”

You said no.

Now she pays someone every week.

14. He said, “I’ll wash these plates.”

You said no.

Now he stacks dishes till mold forms.

15. She said, “I want to dry the clothes.”

You said no.

Now she dumps them wet on chairs.

16. He said, “I’ll iron this shirt.”

You said no.

Now he wears crumpled ones to work.

17. She said, “I want to wash my dress.”

You said no.

She’s 26, and still hands over dirty laundry to you.

18. He said, “I’ll dust the shelf.”

You said no.

He never noticed dust again.

19. She said, “I’ll fold these clothes.”

You said no.

Now she hides clothes under the bed.

20. He said, “I’ll arrange the shoe rack.”

You said no.

Now his shoes rot in the bag.

21. She said, “Let me clean the mirror.”

You said no.

She has makeup lights, but dirty glass.

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🪞 SELF-CARE & GROOMING

22. She said, “I want to comb my hair.”

You said no.

Now she lets others manage her looks.

23. He said, “I’ll choose my own shirt.”

You said no.

He’s now dependent on his wife to dress.

24. She said, “I’ll bathe alone.”

You said no.

Now she fears missing spots.

25. He said, “I’ll cut my nails.”

You said no.

He now books salon appointments for basics.

26. She said, “Can I use your cream?”

You said no.

Now she’s 22 and clueless about her own skin.

27. He said, “I want to wear your big shirt.”

You said no.

Now he doesn’t experiment with his looks.

28. She said, “Can I cut my hair myself?”

You said no.

Now she’s afraid of scissors.

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🔌 ELECTRICITY & GADGETS

29. He said, “Let me plug the charger.”

You said no.

Now he calls you to switch on the inverter.

30. She said, “I’ll change the bulb.”

You said no.

Now she waits in darkness.

31. He said, “Let me try the washing machine.”

You said no.

Now his clothes stink of sweat.

32. She said, “Can I set the alarm clock?”

You said no.

Now she sleeps through meetings.

33. He said, “Let me use the blender.”

You said no.

He buys milkshakes outside.

34. She said, “Can I change the remote battery?”

You said no.

She still watches TV with no sound.

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🚶 ERRANDS & OUTDOOR TASKS

35. He said, “Can I go buy vegetables?”

You said no.

He’s now 33 and orders everything online.

36. She said, “Let me go get the milk.”

You said no.

Now she forgets to restock anything.

37. He said, “Can I post this letter?”

You said no.

He’s never used a postbox.

38. She said, “Let me pay the electricity bill.”

You said no.

Now she’s clueless about money flow.

39. He said, “Can I walk to tuition alone?”

You said no.

Now he panics crossing streets.

40. She said, “Can I go in the auto alone?”

You said no.

Now she avoids public travel completely.

41. He said, “Let me cross the road.”

You said no.

He’s 28, still freezes at crossings.

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📞 COMMUNICATION & COURAGE

42. She said, “Can I answer the phone?”

You said no.

Now she gets phone anxiety.

43. He said, “I’ll place the pizza order.”

You said no.

Now he only uses apps.

44. She said, “I’ll ask the teacher.”

You said no.

Now she stays silent in meetings.

45. He said, “I’ll speak to the guests.”

You said no.

Now he disappears during functions.

46. She said, “I’ll explain the problem to the electrician.”

You said no.

Now she calls you even from her house.

47. He said, “I’ll order in the restaurant.”

You said no.

Now he lets everyone else decide.

48. She said, “Can I write the thank you note?”

You said no.

Now she uses copy-paste emojis.

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🔨 REPAIR & BUILDING

49. He said, “Let me hammer the nail.”

You said no.

Now he can’t hang a photo frame.

50. She said, “Can I use the screwdriver?”

You said no.

Now she hires someone to fix a loose hinge.

51. He said, “Let me fix my puncture.”

You said no.

Now he sells the cycle when it’s flat.

52. She said, “I want to assemble this stool.”

You said no.

Now she cries reading DIY manuals.

53. He said, “I’ll use Fevikwik.”

You said no.

Now he throws broken things out.

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💰 MONEY & DECISIONS

54. She said, “Can I keep a piggy bank?”

You said no.

Now she swipes credit blindly.

55. He said, “I want to buy it with my pocket money.”

You said no.

Now he’s 35 and can’t budget.

56. She said, “Can I pay at the counter?”

You said no.

Now she stands behind and fumbles.

57. He said, “I’ll calculate the bill.”

You said no.

Now he avoids math altogether.

58. She said, “I’ll track my school money.”

You said no.

Now she never knows her balance.

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📚 EDUCATION & EXPERIMENTING

59. He said, “I’ll pack my own bag.”

You said no.

Now he forgets what he needs.

60. She said, “I’ll do my homework alone.”

You said no.

Now she googles everything.

61. He said, “I’ll study my way.”

You said no.

Now he’s confused and frustrated.

62. She said, “Can I choose my project?”

You said no.

Now she does everything for marks.

63. He said, “I want to draw this freely.”

You said no.

Now he hasn’t picked up a pencil in years.

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🧗 EXPLORATION & RISK

64. She said, “I’ll climb this tree.”

You said no.

Now she fears everything outdoors.

65. He said, “Can I play in the rain?”

You said no.

Now he avoids all discomfort.

66. She said, “I want to ride downhill.”

You said no.

Now she sold the cycle.

67. He said, “I want to go to Raju’s house.”

You said no.

Now he doesn’t build friendships.

68. She said, “Can I swim in the lake?”

You said no.

Now she fears water bodies.

69. He said, “Let me light the candle.”

You said no.

Now he waits for someone else in every power cut.

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🎨 EXPRESSION & IDENTITY

70. She said, “I’ll dance for you.”

You said no.

Now she hides her joy.

71. He said, “I want to sing.”

You said no.

Now he mumbles at karaoke.

72. She said, “I want to wear this.”

You said no.

Now she asks “Is this okay?” at every turn.

73. He said, “I want to act in drama.”

You said no.

Now he fears public speaking.

74. She said, “Can I try lipstick?”

You said no.

Now she asks others to teach her.

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🧭 CHOICES & AUTONOMY

75. He said, “I want this for lunch.”

You said no.

Now he doesn’t know what he likes.

76. She said, “Can I sleep later today?”

You said no.

Now she needs apps to manage her day.

77. He said, “I want this haircut.”

You said no.

Now he doesn’t look at the mirror.

78. She said, “I’ll pick a gift for my friend.”

You said no.

Now she relies on gift guides.

79. He said, “I want to wear this to the party.”

You said no.

Now he blends in with the wall.

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🧳 TRAVEL & INDEPENDENCE

80. She said, “Can I book my own ticket?”

You said no.

Now she’s 29 and still scared of IRCTC.

81. He said, “I’ll carry my bag.”

You said no.

Now he looks lost at airports.

82. She said, “Let me follow the map.”

You said no.

Now she uses Uber even to go next street.

83. He said, “Can I learn to drive?”

You said no.

Now he’s 33 and depends on autos.

84. She said, “Can I go on the school trip?”

You said no.

Now she travels only when someone else handles it.

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Enforced Helplessness Is Not Love.

It’s fear wearing the mask of care.

It’s control camouflaged as nurturing.

It’s an unspoken domination.

It is a thousand NOs

—no to fire

—no to blade

—no to mud

—no to cloth

—no to risk

—no to trust

Until they don’t say YES to themselves anymore.

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The Real Irony

You wanted to protect them.

But you made them dependent.

You wanted to keep them close.

But you made them clingy.

You wanted to raise them right.

But you raised them unable.

You did everything for them

So now they do nothing for themselves.

You say “today’s generation is useless.”

They say,

“You never let me try.”

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The Hidden Guilt in Mothers

Mothers remember these things in silence.

At 60, they wonder why their kids don’t know how to live.

Why they’re anxious, lost, weak, confused.

They feel proud of what they did.

But deep down,

They wish they’d said “YES” more often.

They wish they’d let the child fall,

Struggle,

Try again,

Feel proud of mastery.

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The Healing Starts With Just One YES

“Yes, you can pour the milk.”

“Yes, try to pack your schoolbag.”

“Yes, go buy that from the shop.”

“Yes, you may fail, but you’ll learn.”

“Yes, your hands will tremble, but they will strengthen.”

Let your child burn one roti, break one glass, fall once.

Let them cry, feel, try again.

That’s how confidence is born.

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Final Note

Enforced helplessness is the real disability we give our children.

Not poverty.

Not lack of English.

Not absence of gadgets.

But this one word that echoes across homes: NO.

Let your YES be messy.

Let your YES be slow.

Let your YES be scary.

But let it be YES.

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I DID IT FOR YOU

A slow-burn poem on the quiet crime of parenting helplessness

you said it like a badge.

“I did it for you.”

like a whisper from God,

like a shield,

like your guilt was holy,

like your fear was a virtue.

but what I remember

is standing there,

three feet tall,

knife in my hand,

you snatching it away like I was made of glass

and you were made of wisdom.

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I said,

“I’ll peel the potato.”

you said no.

“I’ll sweep.”

you said no.

“I’ll climb the chair.”

you said no.

“I’ll light the lamp.”

you said

no, no, no, no.

and you wrapped that NO in honey.

called it care.

called it love.

called it motherhood.

I call it something else now.

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I call it crippling.

I call it shrinking.

I call it your fear inside my bones.

I call it all the times I didn’t try

because I heard your voice inside me

saying:

“you can’t handle it.”

---

you said:

“you’ll spill.”

“you’ll burn.”

“you’ll fall.”

“you’ll fail.”

but that’s how I would’ve learned.

instead,

you handed me still plates,

perfect folds,

hot rice in bowls I didn’t fill,

shirts I never ironed,

bills I never paid,

bulbs I never changed.

---

you thought you were protecting me.

but you were killing something slowly.

killing my instinct to act.

my desire to try.

you were trimming my wings and saying

“sit still.”

and now I’m 28.

staring at an ironing board like it’s a bomb.

calling the plumber like he’s a magician.

eating cold food from a microwave

because I still flinch at hot oil.

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I say “I don’t know how.”

but the truth is,

you never let me know.

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you loved the neatness.

you loved doing it faster.

you called it efficiency.

I call it a theft.

a robbery.

an inheritance denied.

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I remember

watching you mop the floor

while I stood still with small hands.

I remember

wanting to dry the clothes

and you saying “No, they’ll fall.”

you know what fell, Ma?

my confidence.

over and over.

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you think this is small?

it wasn’t.

every time you said,

“don’t touch that.”

“don’t try that.”

“you won’t understand.”

you built a person

who doesn’t touch,

doesn’t try,

doesn’t understand.

---

you blame my laziness.

my forgetfulness.

my dependence.

you say,

“Today’s kids don’t know anything.”

and I want to scream,

you made me like this.

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I didn’t ask for ease.

I asked for experience.

I asked for a chance to mess up.

to bleed a little.

to burn a little.

to figure it out.

you gave me perfection

wrapped in helplessness.

---

“I did it for you.”

you say again.

and again.

and again.

No, you didn’t.

you did it

for control.

for neatness.

for peace.

for speed.

for fear.

you did it because

watching me struggle made you uncomfortable.

---

but here I am.

struggling anyway.

in bigger ways.

with a full-grown life I was never trained to live.

---

now I sit with therapists

talking about why

I can’t cook,

can’t clean,

can’t speak up,

can’t take a decision

without anxiety clawing my ribs.

---

you look at me and say,

“I gave you everything.”

No.

you gave me nothing that mattered.

you gave me a life

already done for me, not taught to me.

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I was a child who wanted to learn.

but you wanted a house that ran smoothly.

a schedule that wasn’t disrupted.

a kitchen that stayed clean.

and a child that obeyed.

---

so now,

as I hold a knife with trembling hands at 30,

staring at raw vegetables like they’re landmines,

I hear your voice saying,

“I’ll do it. Go play.”

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I played, Amma.

I played all the way into powerlessness.

I played until I forgot how to act.

---

this is not hate.

this is not revenge.

this is a mirror.

look into it.

see what you did.

and stop saying you did it for me.

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If you really loved me,

teach me now.

stand back now.

say yes now.

watch me mess up now.

let me sweat.

let me break.

let me fail.

let me live.

because this time,

I’m doing it for me.

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End.