My parents were incredibly strict and allowed me almost no time to do anything other than study or work for them around the house.
On weekends, they would set me so many chores that it averaged around 10 hours, including a break for lunch. They thought it did me good, because it kept me from "roaming the streets" (their words) and getting into trouble.
I had my own bedroom, but no privacy - it was inspected frequently and left "turned over" - like after the police have raided on TV. It would be my job to "tidy" it back up again. I had to keep my room spotlessly clean and free from clutter or pointless ("distracting") objects. I mention this because the lack of privacy was probably the thing that upset me the most,
My mum was actively against fashion, but this was probably the area I pushed hardest against. I would alter the fashion-bleak things she bought me to make them better. I had a hand sewing kit and a lot of fabric markers.
I had younger siblings who were (it seemed to my kid-brain) worshipped like deities.
Into adulthood, I am left with the distinct impression that neither of my parents ever loved me, at all. I try to reassure myself daily that love isn't usually conditional. I know it isn't, because I never withdraw love from my children simply because they have annoyed me. However, I still go to pieces during any disagreement with my husband, because I can't seem to let go of the idea that he could switch his love off.
The impact of my upbringing is that I am intensely private, I upset easily, and I don't like to talk about it. I am also quite successful, on paper. I went to a good university and I have a good job / nice house / nice family. My parents see this as "mission accomplished".
I like to have nice things and I feel nice when I buy them. I sort of hate this materialistic side to myself. I have hundreds of designer dresses. I'm actually ashamed when people call me out on it and say things like "I never see you in the same dress twice" etc.
My "perfect life" is like some kind of sham though, because inside I'm still the 12yo girl who cried herself to sleep almost every night.
Maybe not tiger parenting so much as simply abusive. But, nonetheless, food for thought. Don't smother your kids.