Leaving home to discover one’s own identity

Leaving home to discover one’s own identity

My name is Tiacoh Hyacinthe-Arnaud Yao Kpri Junior II. I know, it’s long … very long, actually. But it’s necessary for the rest of my story.

I was born into a family with two children, and I was the eldest. Then, miraculously, my mother gave birth to twins at age 50. She’s not a saint, but that’s a miracle! However, not all miracles change lives. Some simply reveal the chaos in our lives. Parental love is like water used to nurture a plant. At a high dose, the remedy can become poison.

Welcome to my dysfunctional family.

So, how to begin? I’ll make it short because my story has been going on for 27 years, and even I don’t know how it will end.

I started to suspect my family was strange when I was 12 while spending vacations with my cousins in Belgium and France. Their relationships with their parents were normal. They refused certain meals, and their parents would sometimes offer something else. They discussed their day at the dinner table. My cousins actually communicated with their parents. There was a conversation, and above all, there was almost no yelling. Mornings were peaceful, and evenings were calm. This was a world I longed for, but one that was far from my reality.

At home, it was war, family-style

At home, it was war—family-style. My father would wake up in the morning and start shouting (for no particular reason). His shirt wasn’t properly ironed; he hadn’t gotten his coffee, and the driver wasn’t early enough. He just needed to assert his dominance first thing in the morning. Fortunately, this didn’t happen every day, but it could happen several times a week. Dad would yell and lash out at whomever he chose, looking for a target to take his frustrations out on.

Once he finished his “show,” he would leave for work (a moment of relief and grace for us). Some kids are sad when their parents leave for work (I learned about that later in life).

Then, he’d return for lunch with my mother, who also left for work before him (coincidentally). I, too, would come home for lunch but could barely eat. My father would start a litany of complaints and insults, killing our appetite. He would lament the death of his mother, wishing aloud in front of us that he could join her. He complained about me, saying I didn’t take after him (behaviorally). He criticised the food and blamed my mother for not knowing how to manage a household.

He complained, and we listened as he delivered his sarcastic jabs and cruel rhetorical flourishes, all meant to hurt us. Once, he beat me simply because I refused to eat a meal (specifically couscous). This wasn’t a parental correction. The term “beat” is deliberately used because I was terrified and wet myself in fear.

During my teenage years, things escalated into a wave of verbal violence, and my mother, initially a victim, eventually became like my father at times. My brother and I were the favourite punching bags of narcissistic parents who, under the guise of love, indulged in excruciating emotional abuse.

One day, I decided to put an end to it. This was in 2020, just before COVID-19. I couldn’t escape to university anymore, and we experienced a chain of deaths in the family. I attended every funeral, carrying the coffins. Although a little traumatic, this experience taught me one thing:

WE ONLY HAVE ONE LIFE, AND IF I DON’T DO ANYTHING, THIS SITUATION COULD BECOME MY ENTIRE LIFE.

The deaths of my uncles and aunts were sad, but the saddest part wasn’t death itself. The saddest part was the life left behind after they died. Many of my relatives had never fulfilled their dreams — to marry, pursue higher education, or take up a profession. When they died, their families remembered the dreams they hadn’t achieved.

Worst of all, family and societal pressures were the reason the dreams were not achieved. One uncle wanted to get married, but his parents opposed it. He accepted their decision and, as a result, lived a solitary life, accompanied only by alcohol, cigarettes, and a group of friends. (What seems  a remedy can become poison in high doses.)

The family this uncle lived for continues to live peacefully, while he never got what he wanted. After witnessing this, I told myself I wouldn’t let anyone but me ruin my life. This is my life, and I have the right to save or destroy it. I’m accountable only to God and myself.

Leaving home would mean losing my identity

You can imagine that such thoughts in an African society—especially in Côte d’Ivoire, with a traditionalist father and a mother who is both modern and traditional—were the spark that could ignite the whole powder keg.

At first, these were just thoughts, but over time, they became a truth for me. I had to say it, declare it, and get out of there (my parents’ house).

At the same time, I must mention that I lived in one of the wealthiest neighbourhoods in Côte d’Ivoire. Leaving my family meant:

• Losing my social status (which conferred a respect I didn’t realise I had, in my naïveté as a rich kid).
• Losing my financial means (I didn’t get money from my parents—a form of control—but at least I had everything I wanted).
• Losing my comfort (a room with a loft, servants, and a chauffeur).

In short, losing everything that made up my identity. I’d also be seen as the family’s disgrace, a renegade, an ungrateful child selfishly pursuing his ambitions and causing suffering to his poor parents.

To society, I’d be another failed project

And to society—especially the society of rich kids—I’d just be another failed project. For, in our world, every child is a project for their parents. The child must succeed their parents in business. If they don’t, there are consequences….

I knew all this and the suffering that awaited me. But the regret was more terrifying. I saw regret on the faces of the dead and bitterness on the faces of the living. The unbearable “what ifs” and conditionals suggested an alternative reality in another universe, but not this one.

The suffering I had endured throughout my childhood (not unhappy, but difficult) allowed me to say a big NO to my three adversaries:

— Society

— My parents

— Myself

Yes, to myself, too. I had the desire to please, to be recognised, to be loved. I fueled society’s fire by thinking it had the right to tell me who I should be. I fed my parents’ narcissism by complying with their wishes, never opposing them for 23 years. So yes, I was part of the problem, thinking I didn’t matter and my opinions didn’t count.

At the end of my studies, I was supposed to become a notary and take over my mother’s notarial office. That’s why I studied law (I was forced into it, though I excelled at it; in truth, I loved literature). Becoming a notary meant I’d inherit a thriving business with loyal employees.

In short, I could have a pre-determined destiny with financial security for life. But in return, I’d endure my parents’ insults, abuse, and lack of respect as long as they lived. I wouldn’t just be their son anymore; I’d also be their employee, particularly my mother’s. And since my father influenced most of her decisions, he’d have a say in my life as well.

Moreover, if I had a wife and children, my parents, having treated me the way they did, would extend their toxic and belligerent behaviour to them as well.

That’s when I said NO.

I wouldn’t sacrifice the happiness of my future family for money.

I understood the incredible opportunity of having this business within reach, but how long could I keep silent for the sake of money? Hadn’t I already done so for a large part of my existence?

There is another path… the most uncertain… the least secure… far from my parents and the world I knew. Another path that God seemed to have prepared for me. I prayed a lot during this time and, of course, got no clear response from God about what to do. However, I understood that the absence of a divine response was proof that I must take a leap of faith.

So, I said NO to what was offered and declared that I needed to leave Côte d’Ivoire for France to “complete my studies and gain professional experience.”

After saying YES for 23 years, I suddenly said NO

What happens when you’ve said YES for 23 years and suddenly say NO? Well, the world makes it clear that if you’ve given the wrong answer, you’ll be punished.

For a period, life felt like a chess game: manipulation, lies, false promises, and fake agreements between my parents and me.

Anyway, all of this will be detailed in a book. But against all odds, I took off for France.

My family was surprised and shocked by my decision. Society didn’t care. My parents, in despair, cried out in grief, betrayal, and cruelty, calling me all sorts of names and begging me to return. But my heart was unyielding; I had to keep my eyes fixed on the present and the future.

The most heartbreaking image was leaving my brothers behind, abandoning them in the torment of that house. But someone had to do it—I had to do it not just for me but for them.

Parents don’t know everything… The world is bigger and offers more opportunities than we think.

Anyway, I got on the plane with the support of my mother, who had realised her mistakes. Although complicit, she was also a victim, and at times, she felt sorry for us, seeing us suffer.

I arrived in France, and miraculously, I could join a youth worker’s residence with the help of my aunt. My family and mother lent me 2000 euros to get through the first few months.

This was during the COVID-19 pandemic in the winter of January 2021. This was probably not the best time to embark on an adventure, but there is no good or bad time to escape an uncomfortable situation.

After arriving in France, I didn’t speak to my father for two years. It was as if he was dead to me… This was difficult… I hated him as much as I loved him, but I knew I didn’t need his negativity because, before I left, he predicted I wouldn’t find a job and my girlfriend would leave me. (I did find a job, but she did leave me.)

Rebuilding a relationship with my parents

The situation improved little by little. My mother carried a lot on her shoulders, even though I was angry with her.

This struggle and separation brought us closer than ever before. When I was in Côte d’Ivoire, I was just a servant to her.

With the distance between us, I’ve become more of her son and her confidant.

As for my father, we did not really start speaking to each other again until I returned to Côte d’Ivoire after three years of exile.

Something between us broke forever… But it’s better this way. Now, he talks to me with respect; he no longer attacks me directly and doesn’t try to humiliate me, either publicly or privately.

There is a distance between us… And respect requires a little distance.

My parents have made efforts with my twin brothers–although my younger brother is another topic, one that requires us to take real time to address.

Fostering a respectful relationship with myself

Also, my relationship with myself has changed. I’ve learned to love myself, respect myself, and put myself first.

I’ve learned to express what I want and not to negotiate everything (some things are non-negotiable).

I’ve learned to heal from those 23 years of trauma and to prepare myself for healthy relationships.

This unhealthy relationship I had with my parents affected every part of my life. My professional life because I let colleagues dominate me, my love life because my ex had a certain control over me, and my relationship with myself because being constantly infantilised, I behaved like a child.

Deciding to live for myself and say NO to society’s dictates has allowed me to do good for others and, above all, for myself.

Be proud of your story and your dreams

Sometimes, the right answer can be a sincere “No”. So be proud of yourself, your story, and what you want to become. No one but God knows what you truly need. And you know a little of it, too.

Beginnings in life are always dark… Like the night, you don’t know what awaits you. But you have to be patient and wait for the day to break to see the path you’ve travelled.

Pray that He places the right people by your side at the right times.

Today, I don’t have the perfect relationship with my parents. But from 2020 to 2024, a lot has happened.

I got a job in a law firm on the Champs-Élysées, I have a beautiful and kind girlfriend, I’m financially independent, and I live on my own.

I’ve become a man and my life is a haven of peace

Finally, I’ve become a man, and I can have a family. They may not have the wealthy life I knew, but I’d rather they have a modest life like the one I currently live, with peace and no trauma.

Rather than a rich kid’s life filled with trauma caused by a father (me) frustrated by being dominated by his parents, demoralised by doing a job he hates, married to a woman who might love him, and living a life he despises.

That father would take out his anger on his wife, and since Ivorian society is deeply patriarchal and misogynistic, she would have to endure my outbursts and infidelity, which I’d use to forget my miserable life.

And my children would witness, as I did, the sad spectacle of seeing their mothers cry and hide it because of their fathers. They would grow up in a tense atmosphere and could become prey to predators and narcissists who sense such weaknesses.

They would end up in therapists’ offices because their cowardly father (me) wasn’t able to say NO to his parents and society at a crucial time in his life.

Thank God they won’t have to live through that — maybe other challenges. But I’ve made sure, with God’s strength and grace, that my life is a haven of peace.

And I believe that’s what God calls us to, and we can all say NO if what others propose doesn’t suit us.

Editor’s note–the enriching messages in this story

When Hyacinthe-Arnaud’s story landed in my inbox, I was curious to learn more about his motivation for reaching out to share his story. He has replied:

I have shared my story with you because, first and foremost, I give back what I have received. Many people have shared their stories with me, and I believe that sharing mine will also nourish others. Secondly, because the name of your website is quite eloquent: The Life Stories Diary (Journal). It is quite evocative and inspires trust. The desire to share and the confidence this site inspires were key factors in my decision. At first, I was looking for an English-speaking publisher to release my second poetry collection, written in English, and for magazines where I could share my poems and stories. Then, I came across a website asking people to share their stories and make a donation, but it seemed poorly done. This is when I decided to do my own research in English, and I found you listed at the top of the sites where I could share my story to help others heal.
My native language is French. I speak English, but I use a translator to write as it is quicker. Currently, I am only selling one book;  it is in French. However, I’ll share the link: https://amzn.eu/d/8ShqkGP. The second one, in English, will be published soon.

My life is richer for reading Hyacinthe-Arnaud’s story, and I hope you find his many messages inspiring, too. Initially, we might think Hyacinthe-Arnaud’s story has no direct connection to eating disorders, but think again. The scenario he describes is like an analogy of an eating disorder. An eating disorder can be constantly loud, disruptive, controlling and abusive.

Deciding to let go of an eating disorder can be frightening because it has become our dominant identity. Hyacinthe-Arnaud showed great courage in letting go of his family to discover who he was; likewise, we need to let go of an eating disorder to discover who we are. As Hyacinthe-Arnaud’s story illustrates, the reward for stepping away from forces preventing self-growth is to provide an opportunity to create a haven of peace. There is nothing more worthwhile and precious than this.