When I was twenty, I lost my mother to cancer. Through my teens I had watched her fight with quiet courage, and I still feel the imprint of her kindness and extraordinary work ethic. In many ways, I carry her grace. Yet I’ve also always known that I’m my father’s daughter—especially in one key trait: his unshakable stubbornness.
For years that stubbornness was a strength. If I believed in something, I held the line. But as life unfolded, shaped by trauma and expectations, I noticed I’d softened it almost to silence. I told myself I was just becoming flexible. In truth, I was learning to conform.
That realisation landed hard after a series of encounters that showed me how easily culture can train us to abandon ourselves.
When “Mentoring” Becomes Control
I grew up in Ghana, where genuine mentorship is rare. Too often “guidance” looks like someone living their life through you. I once watched a young friend called into church leadership fall under the spell of men who called him “son” while quietly using him to build their own platforms. When he broke away, the character assassinations began. No one was truly mentoring him; they were managing him.
The same pattern found its way into my own life in a more personal form.
An Unexpected “Mother”
At a women’s event, I met an elderly woman who seemed charming and harmless. When she asked for my number, I agreed. Slowly, she took it upon herself to “mother” me—deciding that because I’d lost my mum and was single in my thirties, I needed her to guide me into marriage.
What began as friendly check-ins soon turned into lectures, unsolicited matchmaking, and subtle digs at my independence. She never once asked what I actually wanted for my life. Instead she invoked tradition: in our culture elders are automatically right, even when they’re wrong.
I stayed polite, even when she pushed me toward men I had no interest in. I swallowed my anger when one of them reported private conversations back to her. But the day she announced she was travelling to “set me straight,” something in me snapped awake.
I told her no. I told her I had family, that my late mother’s love still shaped me, and that I did not need a replacement. When she accused me of being harsh, I stayed firm. After the call, I blocked her number and finally exhaled.
The Lesson Beneath the Story
For a long time I wondered why I had let it go so far. The answer was clear: I had been conforming—quietly betraying my own convictions to meet cultural expectations. I had traded my healthy stubbornness for the comfort of other people’s approval.
That day I reclaimed it.
I still believe in wise counsel and mutual care. But guidance without respect is not mentorship. It’s control. And control has no place in a life built on self-loyalty.
Living by Conviction
This is why I write: to question the patterns we inherit and to create space for new ones. We can welcome advice without surrendering our autonomy. We can honour our elders without allowing them to rewrite our lives. We can hold our ground and still be kind.
If you’ve ever felt pressured to live someone else’s story, know this:
- Their urgency is not your obligation.
- Your “no” can be both firm and loving.
- Your life is yours to shape—and to learn from.
Where have you felt the pull to conform? How are you reclaiming the part of you that refuses to be moulded?
Originally written in 2022 and refreshed for today, this piece still speaks to my journey of choosing self-loyalty and courage over quiet compliance.
Koya Nkrumah 