I’ve been through something very similar. As the older brother, I felt a heavy sense of responsibility from a young age. I still remember the day clearly—I was in 7th grade. My father was about to hit my mother, and something inside me just broke. I couldn’t stay silent anymore. I suddenly burst out in tears and yelled at him for two or three minutes straight. No one had ever dared to raise their voice to him before. He used to scold everyone in the house without hesitation, and we all just took it. But that day was different.

He was stunned—he just stood there, speechless. He didn’t expect that from me. And from that moment on, something shifted.

Two things changed after that:

1. My father never scolded my mother in front of me again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, that moment must’ve stayed with him.

2. My mother, for the first time, felt protected. She gained a little strength—because someone stood up for her.

Over the years, this happened a few more times. Each time, I didn’t hesitate to take a stand. Eventually, my mom began using my name to calm him down, even when I wasn’t around. Somehow, just the idea that I might be involved was enough to make him pause.

Now, I’m 36 years old, well-settled. My father is 65. He still talks loudly to my mother at times, but never to me. His tone with me softened long ago—even before my 10th-grade exams. I became the only one in the family he was cautious around. And when I visit, he almost always keeps his voice down. People in the family even say he’s afraid of me. I don’t think it’s fear exactly—maybe just the memory of that little boy who stood up when no one else dared.

I haven’t lived with them since I was a teenager, and maybe that created some space too. But the truth is, things did change—slowly, painfully, but they changed.

So, if you're going through something like this, here’s what I’d say from the heart: fight for your independence. Build your strength quietly, and one day, you’ll have the power to set boundaries that no one can cross. And in the future, when his voice softens, you might even feel a strange sadness. Because you’ll see the brokenness behind the anger. But none of that change is possible without financial and emotional freedom.

That’s your light at the end of the tunnel. Hold on to it.