HiveComb

Growing up, one of the questions that always sat quietly at the back of my mind was this: do we really owe our parents everything, or just gratitude?
So I'm kinda glad for this topic and if you have the time to spare,hear my experience through your eyes

I think about my childhood, and it was a mixture of love, strictness, and rebellion. My parents, especially my mum were very strict. We were practically forced to be godly, molded into what she thought were the “perfect children.” I understood even then that it came from love, but as a child it didn’t always feel like love. It felt like pressure. It felt like walking on eggshells, because if you weren’t in the right place at the sound of her voice—omo, it was “temple run” immediately. We had to scatter and escape whatever storm was coming.

And yet, I can’t deny her heart. She loved us in the way she knew best, even if it didn’t create the closeness I always wished we had. I wanted a friend in my mother, not just a disciplinarian. That gap made me drift towards my dad instead. Talking to him was easier, he would indulge me sometimes, and I felt like I could breathe around him in a way I couldn’t around my mum.

Of course, being teenagers, we rebelled. That “perfect godly child” mold didn’t fit us neatly, so we cracked at the edges, broke out in ways we thought would give us freedom. For me, deep inside, I never doubted her intentions—I knew all she wanted was the best. But the approach built walls instead of bridges.

Years passed. We finished school. Everyone scattered in different directions, chasing greener pastures, creating new lives. And I started noticing something—my mum began looking for closure with us. She wanted friendship, she wanted closeness now. For me, it was easier to lean into that because I am a woman, and I could understand her in ways my brothers perhaps couldn’t. Sometimes, even while in school, I would call her just to apologise for the rebellious acts that must have hurt her deeply back then. Because now, with time, guilt and empathy mixed together—I could see her sacrifice more clearly.

And then I became an adult myself, stepping into the shoes of responsibility. It hit me: raising kids is no joke. Providing for them, shaping them, protecting them—this isn’t a light burden. Suddenly, the things my parents did, even the strictness, began to make sense in a new light. It wasn’t easy for them. It will never be easy for any parent.

So, back to the question: do we owe our parents everything? No. What we truly owe them is gratitude. Gratitude enough to respect them, to care for them in their later years, to appreciate all they went through to raise us. Gratitude enough to acknowledge their sacrifices, even if we don’t agree with all their choices.

But not everything. Because as much as they are the vessels that brought us into this world, they cannot own our lives. They are not meant to determine every decision we make, nor live through us to complete the dreams they couldn’t achieve. I’ve noticed how some parents, because of their own shortcomings, try to impose their unfulfilled paths on their children. And I can’t accept that.

I believe we must honor them, but also honor the fact that our lives are ours to live. We can consider their opinions, but we are not bound to carry out their will at the expense of our destiny.

That’s why I made a quiet decision long ago: I will not raise my children the way I was raised. I want friendship, openness, and a relationship where they don’t run when they hear my voice. I want them to know my love not only in discipline, but in closeness too.

So no, we don’t owe our parents everything. But we do owe them our gratitude—gratitude that shows itself in respect, in care, and in love. Gratitude that acknowledges their sacrifices, while still giving us the freedom to live fully and authentically.

That, to me, is the balance.
Thank you for reading through.. I appreciate your support too.

All images are mine