Before you come at me with your accusations of being ungrateful, let me clarify this. I’m grateful for my family, and I’m in no way complaining. And yes, the grass is green on my side. But you know we all love to shift the blame of failure on someone, right? That’s exactly what I am doing. In a country where parents force their kids to be either engineers or doctors, or chartered accountants if they let you choose commerce in 11th grade, finding supportive parents is no less than a luxury. But trust me when I say this, we, supposedly lucky kids with supportive families, have our fair share of problems. 

The paradox of choice comes alive

I’ve come across many young people doing something they don’t like. And almost always, the answer to my why is because that’s what their parents wanted. It’s unfortunate that a lot of us don’t get the choice. But here’s the thing nobody tells you about having the choice: it’s absolutely terrifying. When your parents support everything you do, when they nod enthusiastically at every half-baked idea you present at the dinner table, when they tell you “Beta, follow your passion” with genuine warmth in their eyes, you’d think that’s the dream, yeah? Except there’s no one to blame when you inevitably mess things up. There’s no convenient villain in your story, no “my parents never understood me” narrative to fall back on when you’re 25 and still haven’t figured out what you’re doing with your life.

My lot, the ones with supportive families, we’re paralysed by possibility. While my cousin was forced into engineering and at least has the comfort of knowing exactly what path he’s meant to trudge down (miserable or not), I’m standing at a crossroads with seventeen different paths and my parents cheerfully saying, “Whichever one you like, darling!” Sounds brilliant until you realise the weight of choosing wrong rests entirely on your shoulders. And we can’t even complain about it. When your mate is crying because her parents won’t let her pursue literature, and you’re sitting there stressed because your parents are too supportive, you sound like a brat, don’t you? “Oh, poor me, my family believes in me too much.” It’s the privilege you can’t acknowledge without sounding tone-deaf, yet it’s quietly eating away at you all the same.

Is the freedom of choice an illusion?

The biggest problem in having a supportive family is the fear of disappointing them. Not because they’ll disown you or guilt-trip you. They’ll just look at you with those kind, understanding eyes and say something absolutely devastating like, “It’s alright, we’re proud of you anyway.” And that, somehow, feels worse than any amount of shouting ever could. Because you haven’t just failed yourself; you’ve wasted their faith in you. You’ve taken their unconditional support and produced… what? Mediocrity? A career path you chose because it seemed interesting at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday? With the liberty of having choice comes the burden of choosing greatness. You can’t risk disappointing your parents when they let you decide the area of life in which you can make them proud. 

When there are no obstacles imposed by your family, every obstacle you face feels like a personal failing. Didn’t get into your first-choice university? That’s on you; your parents would’ve supported you going anywhere. Can’t decide between three different career paths? Your fault for not having enough clarity; your parents gave you the freedom to explore. It’s a brilliant trick, really, how unlimited support can create its own cage made entirely of your own expectations and guilt.

What nobody tells you is that sometimes, just sometimes, having someone tell you “no, not that way, this way” is easier than having to build your entire identity from scratch. At least then you’ve got something to rebel against, some external force to blame when things go pear-shaped. We’ve got nothing but our own choices staring back at us, and the terrifying knowledge that we could’ve chosen differently.

So yeah, I’m one of the lucky ones. I know that. But luck, as it turns out, comes with its own price tag, one that’s written in anxiety, self-doubt, and the perpetual fear that you’re somehow squandering the very thing everyone else is desperately wishing for.

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