I was brought up in a strict British home where I even had to ask permission to come out of my bedroom in the morning lest I disturb my Father. I went to school at St. Swithun’s, a private girl’s school where they took pride not only in their academic standards but also in their strict teaching of social graces and manners.
I wasn’t an unhappy child, I just accepted the way things were because I didn’t know any different.
Where, what, and how I did everything was continuously organized and monitored.
Whenever I thought of adults or about being an adult the word and concept of freedom immediately came to mind. To my childish thought process, it seemed that adults could do whatever they wanted. Adults got to choose what, where, and how they spent all of their time. No rules or constraints.
Then one day I woke up and found myself married and with two daughters living in a big house in Toronto, Canada. Freedom wasn’t even a distant memory let alone a part of my “adult” life.
Somehow I had become solely responsible for all child care including any and all school-related issues, health care, food, and cooking. Also, I had to take care of anything related to the house. These duties included cleaning, legal matters, even structural problems. Then, of course, all finances and related items were also my responsibility. Finally, I was also in charge of making sure the family was happy and received everything that ensured their happiness, etc.
Sometimes I got a chance to take a breath in my spare time!
So where was that freedom again? As an adult, I had just as many if not more restraints on my time and activities. But the mere dream of freedom that I had cherished as a child was still a beautiful dream, it had given me something for which to aim.