I feel I need to tell you more. I told you about my older brother, but not myself.

I was like you. I cared very much of what my mother thought of me. I was "sensitive" and I has "social anxieties". I would say that "I didn't like conflict."

My brother was the "bad one" while I was the "good one" because I yearned for my mother's approval.

Wrong. I was a fool.

I wish I could go back, slap myself in the face and say "Stop giving a shit what she thinks! Grow up!"

My mother kept me in her back pocket. She didn't have my interests in mind. She had HER interests in mind.

When I got a girlfriend at 15-years-old she cried and sobbed that her baby was being taken away. When I became more independent and started doing things like taking the bus around town she became sullen.

(Honestly I was having mind-blowing sex so I started to care less what she thought, but that's another story.)

The further I got away from her control the happier I got.

The more independent I became, the more self-esteem I got.

Let me tell you about my younger brother now. He was born when I was 12 years old. I guess my mother honed her skills with this guy. She controls and baby's him severely. He never broke free. Now he's 24 years old and his mommy still drives him to college, helps him find a job, does his homework for him. He's a walking man-child.

Break free or you'll be a man-child at 24 too.