When Your Choices Are Never Enough

 

Sunday Reflections: When My Choices Are Never Enough

The Dreamer’s Pause has always been my safe space, my diary, my journal. It's where I let my thoughts flow, my emotions breathe, and my experiences take shape in words. Sometimes, I wonder how many people read these entries, but most of the time, it's just for me. It’s my own place to process, to heal, to be.

Today is Sunday. Church day. A day that, in many ways, is supposed to bring peace, yet often brings an internal storm instead.

My mom recently bought me some new outfits, and I was grateful, but I have always preferred a simple look for church. Not too plain, just simple in a way that makes me feel comfortable. I woke up, did my chores, not all of them, but enough. I got dressed in a skirt and a sleeveless top, put on my favorite small earrings, and wore my hair in neat, straight-back cornrows. No makeup, no purse—just my phone and my Bible. I wanted to feel at ease.

But little did I know that my parents wouldn’t approve.

The moment my mom saw me, I could feel the disapproval before she even spoke. "You look too old." "Why didn't you wear the wig I got you?" "Why not some makeup?" "Why not a nicer top?" It was as if everything I chose for myself was wrong. As if I needed to fit into a mold I never designed for myself.

I love dressing up for church, but I also love wearing what feels right for me. Sometimes, I just want to wear jeans and a nice top with sneakers, something effortless yet put together. But if I say that out loud, I already know the response: "You look like those Camps Bay kids who don’t know how to dress." But the thing is, I do know how to dress—just not in a way that pleases them.

I’m 19. Almost 20. And yet, I feel like my choices are never enough.

The hardest part is keeping it all inside. I know how African parents are. Mental health isn’t something they acknowledge, and depression is just a word to them. But for me, it’s real. The smallest words, the tiniest comparisons, can bring back emotions I thought I had healed from.

I thought I was improving, that my style was evolving. I even wrote about it in my previous blogs. But it seems like no matter how much effort I put in, it’s never enough. And what hurts the most? The contradiction. They say, "Tell us how you feel, be open with us," but the moment I express myself, I’m ungrateful, I’m talking back, I’m being disrespectful.

So, I keep quiet. I swallow the words that burn my throat. I nod and move on, even when I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself along the way.

Right now, my only prayer is to find a good job, to succeed in my NSC rewrite, to be accepted into university again, and to create a future where I can finally make my own choices without the weight of disappointment hanging over me.

I’m trying. I really am. And maybe one day, my choices will be enough.🤞🏿