Healing the Inner Child (Part 8): Why Is It So Hard to Know What We Really Want?

The ability to choose isn't something we're born with. It's something we build, one good decision and one bad decision at a time.

At a certain point in my childhood, and throughout my entire adolescence, I stopped thinking about what I wanted. My activities were decided by others, and my choices were no longer my own.

It wasn’t something I chose voluntarily, and I have to admit that, at the time, I actually enjoyed not having to worry about what I should do or study. Nevertheless, I didn’t yet understand the impact this would have on my adult life. The first time I found myself having to choose something for myself, it was as though I had run straight into a wall. I simply couldn’t clearly decide what I wanted.

My father, having grown up in a family that believed there was only one path in life, wanted to give his children the opportunities he himself had never had. He dreamed of studying, of becoming a philosopher, of building a life beyond his family’s ancestral legacy. Since he had been unable to fulfill those dreams, he did everything he could to make sure that we could.

Yet, despite his sincere desire to equip us with different skills and abilities, he unintentionally took away one fundamental right: the right to choose.

I had become like my older brother’s shadow. I imagine that wasn’t something he had chosen either. People already mistook us for twins because we were always together, but every time he decided to enroll in a new course, my father automatically enrolled me as well. Refusing was never an option.

He said he wanted to give both my brother and me the same tools to succeed in life. It was a noble intention, filled with love, of course. Yet he never took our different personalities and desires into account. Before we even realized it, my brother’s desires had become mine as well.

When my brother decided to learn English, I was forced to learn it too, even though I would have preferred to study Spanish. English has been incredibly useful to me today, and I am grateful to my father for that. But back then, I never invested myself as I should have, and my foundation in English was never as solid as my brother’s.

Then my brother decided to learn the piano. I loved the piano too, but I was required to choose a different instrument so I could accompany him and our friends. That decision did not come from my father, but from the Christian community in which I grew up. The church wanted to train musicians, and morality became the means used to persuade me.

At one point, everything was decided by my brother. He looked after me like a parent looks after a child. He bought my clothes. His decisions were law. Before I realized it, I had become completely dependent on him, and I stopped thinking about what I truly wanted.

That being said, I became a very flexible person. It is a quality I genuinely appreciate because it allows me to live without rigidity and to adapt easily to different situations.

Then, when I was about sixteen, I think something changed.

Perhaps my brother had grown tired of having to take care of me all the time and began forcing me to become more independent from him.

I still remember that moment as if it had happened yesterday because I deeply resented him for what happened, even though he was trying to help me spread my wings—something perhaps even he didn’t fully understand.

At the time, I was living with my paternal grandparents. During every school break, my brothers would go visit my parents, but I always refused to go. For me, it was a time of complete freedom, without my older brother around.

But that summer, I went to visit them too. I remember genuinely wanting to go. At the end of the summer break, before returning to my grandparents’ house, my mother gave us money to buy clothes and shoes. Normally, my brother handled all of that.

When we arrived at the market, I followed him until he told me to hurry up and buy what I needed. I felt stressed and confused because he made it very clear that he wasn’t going to help me. Instead, he put me under pressure.

We eventually stopped in front of a shoe vendor. There were all kinds of shoes. It was my last chance; otherwise we would go home empty-handed, and the next day I wouldn’t have any time left. I had to choose, but I didn’t know which shoes to buy. There was the question of quality, of price.

In Haiti, when you shop in those large markets, it’s easy to get taken advantage of, whether because of the quality or the price. There are no fixed prices—you have to negotiate, and I didn’t know how to do that. Stressed and under pressure, I chose a pair of handmade shoemaker’s shoes. The quality was certain. They would last for years. The problem was their weight and comfort. But I didn’t have time to think about that. The negotiation ended quickly. I don’t like bargaining. One or two prices, deal done.

For a brief moment, I felt grown-up and proud of having handled everything on my own. But that feeling lasted only a few seconds. My older brother’s laughter erased every bit of satisfaction and replaced it with shame and embarrassment. He criticized my choice and said I had paid far too much for the shoes. I think he was right, because that was his area of expertise. I was so angry with him. Throughout the entire purchase, I kept asking what he thought, whether he believed I had made a good choice. He kept repeating that he didn’t know—it was up to me to decide.

Decide? At the time, that responsibility was simply too heavy for me.

When we got home, he told the story to everyone. People laughed at me for a long time. I felt ridiculous and looked down upon.

After that incident, I never asked him to accompany me anywhere again. I began depending on no one. Whenever I bought something by myself, I would lower the price whenever I talked about it because I was afraid of being ridiculed again for having made a bad deal.

After my brother, I continued carrying that attitude for many years—with my friends and with the people around me. I had very little confidence in my own choices, so I generally avoided making them whenever I could.

That has its advantages. I don’t really have strong preferences. If something is good, then it’s good enough for me. At the same time, it can also create the impression that I lack originality.

Are my choices truly my own?

I quickly came to realize that what is truly mine is what I choose to make my own. Perhaps a choice wasn’t entirely mine at first, but the moment it aligns with who I am and I embrace it as my own, I believe I can consider it original to me.

In reality, we all began by depending on others before we ever depended on ourselves. Yet some of us never move beyond that stage. We remain dependent on our families, our friends, and the people around us. Perhaps we are afraid of making mistakes, of being ridiculed, or simply of being alone. Those are deeply human fears, and perhaps the only way to move beyond them is to accept our imperfections and the consequences that come with them.

When a baby learns to walk, they fall and get hurt, of course. Yet they keep getting back up, over and over again, until they can walk with confidence and balance. In a way, perhaps growing up requires us to go through the very same process.

---

Mirror Question:

When was the first time you had to make an important decision on your own? How did that experience shape the confidence—or hesitation—you carry into your choices today?

This Week’s Poem:

---

If this text brings you clarity, understanding and self-awareness, please consider becoming a paid subscriber to support this place.

With clarity,

Odel A
The Mirror Room