When You’re Treated Like a Child, Even as an Adult

Growing up in a family of five, I’ve always been the fourth daughter among four daughters, followed by my little brother – the youngest of us all. Technically, we’re all adults now, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way for me. Despite my age, my family often still treats me like I’m the youngest, even though I’m not. It’s hard to put into words, but I think it has a lot to do with me – who I am, my challenges, the way my mind works, the way I interact with the world.

I live with conditions that make life… a bit harder to navigate. I don’t like being touched. Certain textures of food and clothes make me uncomfortable in a way that’s hard to explain. I can get intensely focused on things I love – sometimes to the point that it feels like I’m obsessed. But communication is where I struggle most. Words often don’t come out the way I want them to, or I forget them altogether. It’s like my brain and mouth are out of sync. I might switch sentences around completely or just stop mid-thought because I can’t keep up with the whirlwind in my mind.

Making it even harder is my blindness. I’m legally blind, so things like driving at night or even finding my way around unfamiliar places can feel impossible. My attention span is fleeting at best, and on top of that, I’m forgetful. I constantly misplace things – my medications most of all – and I have to rely on others to help me with basic tasks like cooking or managing my space.

When I try to speak to people, my voice betrays my anxiety. It cracks or fades into a whisper, and I get so nervous I can’t look anyone in the eye. So much of my world feels out of my control, and I can’t even blame anyone for noticing. My family’s care often comes from a place of love, but their actions – the way they shelter me, overly protect me – make me feel like I’m still a child in their eyes.

They want me to be safe – that’s their priority. They tell me not to worry about things like dating or putting myself out there. I hear “just focus on yourself” a lot. I know their intentions are good, but it feels like their faith in me is limited. It’s as if they believe the world is too much for me to handle, and maybe sometimes I believe that too.

But there’s this deep fear inside me, this persistent thought that won’t leave me: what if their care today turns into my loneliness tomorrow? They always tell me what’s “best” for me, like they’re trying to protect me from something bigger than I can understand, but it reminds me of my grandmother. She lost her husband – my grandfather – and her family convinced her not to remarry. She spent the rest of her life alone because everyone else moved forward with their own lives.

What if I end up like her? What if their protection now becomes my isolation later? I don’t want to be left behind while they have their families and their adventures. I’m afraid of still being treated like a child as the years pass, even when I’ve worked so hard to grow.

It’s not that I don’t want help or love. I do need help – and I know that. But sometimes I feel like I’m watching myself on a screen, doing things without being able to stop, as if I’m a spectator in my own life. I know I make mistakes. I know I miss things or act impulsively, but all I want is the space and faith to try – and to fail – on my own terms.

I want to feel trusted. I want to feel capable, even when I’m stumbling. I want to live my life fully, with the love and support of my family, yes… but also on my own terms.

Until then, the fear of loneliness lingers like a shadow, and I can’t shake the question: will they ever really see me for the adult I am – challenges and all? Or will I always just be their youngest, the one they need to hold on to instead of letting grow?