Respect and Accountability Should be a Balancing Act

and we need to get real about some behaviours in our families.

Hey readers, welcome to my first post for 2025! It’s been a crazy start and I hope you are taking care of yourselves.

I'll be sharing my thoughts on elder accountability; something we often shy away from, perhaps out of fear or “tradition”. But it's an important conversation to have, especially if we want to foster healthier relationships and personal growth. By 'elder,' I'm referring to those in positions of authority or influence, particularly through age or family ties. This is something I'm navigating in my life right now, so here we go.

Tarkwa Bay at sunset September 2024 (photo by me).

Respect for elders is golden in African culture, and we’ve been taught that showing respect reflects a good upbringing. But what happens when it is demanded at the expense of truth, fairness and emotional health?

Growing up, it was rare for parents to be held accountable because they never admitted wrongdoing. Instead, they would gaslight, guilt-trip, or even go silent, leaving the burden of fixing things entirely on you. I’ve heard it all: “after everything I’ve done for you.” “se bi Omọlúàbí se ma n se ni yen?” is this how a good child behaves? The Yoruba concept of Omọlúàbí centers on respect- including self respect. These phrases stick with you—not because they’re true, but because they’re tools to avoid accountability while maintaining control.

And, I played along because it’s easier to keep the peace than push back. "Don’t upset your mom.” I learned to suppress my feelings and pretended things were fine when they weren’t. But carrying the weight of unresolved frustrations didn’t just make me resentful; it left me exhausted. The emotional gymnastics of pretending everything was okay took a heavy toll, and as the first child, the pressure to be a good example, to take care of everyone and put myself last only compounded the burden.

While society may normalise childhood and generational trauma, the pain and impact are deeply personal and real for those who experience them. We must recognise and validate these individual experiences if we hope to become better.

And so, in the midst of this complex interplay of culture, family dynamics, and personal pain, I hoped for apologies that never came, craving validation and acknowledgment of the harm caused. But I realised that holding onto anger only weighed me down and I was responsible for my own healing. At some point, I had to ask myself: why am I so invested in people-pleasing at the expense of my peace? What would happen if I stopped carrying this anger—not because I condoned the behavior, but because I couldn’t keep dragging it around? This shift in thinking led me to therapy in 2021, where I learned to better understand myself, my childhood traumas, and how to manage my emotions. I’m no longer in professional therapy, but the progress I made has been eye-opening. Healing is a continuous journey—and it’s a relief.

Of all my relationships, the one with my father has been the most challenging. I felt responsible for keeping the peace, even when it meant swallowing my feelings or apologising for things I wasn’t at fault for. Challenging him—even respectfully—felt like inviting conflict, with long lectures about our favourite word "respect," which often seemed to mean unquestioning obedience.

Recently, something happened that shook my family to its core. It was a situation where my sister felt her well being (her life even) was seriously threatened – a situation involving emotional manipulation and control. She came to me for help because she knew I would be there for her, no questions asked. In moments like these, when your child cries out for help, especially when they express such vulnerability, I believe a parent's first instinct should be to offer unconditional support. The question shouldn't be about forcing a particular outcome or upholding traditions that are harmful to your child. Instead, it should be, how can I support you?

The pressure has been immense; calls, cajoling, and threats were all designed to make me conform. But a true sense of self comes from honoring my truth, not theirs.

While respect is important, true respect also means having the courage to engage in difficult conversations when necessary. This is where real change happens.

At 38, I do know my own mind. I have the wisdom and agency to determine what's right for my life, and it's frankly absurd to suggest otherwise. My experiences and feelings deserve to be acknowledged, same as my sister’s. I am standing up for myself by refusing to participate in the blame game. This has strained my relationship with my father, but supporting my sister in leaving an abusive marriage is worth any cost.

This is particularly crucial for women. Our family is our first line of defense, our primary source of protection. But when that protection isn't offered, it raises a fundamental question: if the family unit doesn't provide that essential support, what are we holding onto?

The weight of cultural expectations surrounding respect, is heavy. But it’s not immovable. As a true Omọlúàbí, I no longer feel obligated to endure or pretend for the sake of harmony. This shift has allowed me to build a deeper, more loving connection with my sister—one based on mutual respect and open communication. We’re still growing, but we’re both committed to this positive change and we hope to forge a path that values true peace over pretense.

More than anything, I believe that by breaking these negative family cycles, we can create a better future for the generations that come after us. It’s so worth it.

With love ❤️.