When you have an Asian mother, your life is meticulously and constantly judged, and for me at least, I seemed to fluctuate between being an utter disappointment or making her immensely proud. It's a weird ability, to be able to walk on the tightrope of motherly approval, and despite my balance throwing me off completely, catapulting me into self doubt, elevating my insecurities, and making me feel small and worthless, I keep going back, a true masochist, always seeking my mom's approval.
And yet, now, as an adult looking back, if I had to attribute my confidence and self worth to one person, it would be my mom. My mom, the one who always reminded me I was a diamond in the rough, and that I was beautiful on the inside and out, even in the midst of reminding me to watch my weight, to take my skincare seriously, and to dress a certain way, as if appearance was the only thing that mattered. My mom, the one who always told me I am smart enough, I am good enough, I can try harder, I can do better, and who pushed me into after school programs, extracurriculars, and always pushed me to give back and be kind, but who was also the one who told me my crafts looked cheap and ugly, my clothes were unflattering, my make-up was ill done, and my home cooked meal was just okay. Never enough. And yet, when anything big happened, anything traumatic like a car accident or a boy dumping me, my mom was the first person to support me, to lift me up, to tell me it would get better, and to be on my side. She never undermined my huge emotions and was always there to support me. And that's what I remind myself now when I feel criticized because she's telling me I'm not feeding my kids well enough, not making enough homemade soups or preparing fresh cut fruit for them, or teaching them Chinese at home. I know she's just pushing me to be better, but I have to get off the phone and take a break, even if for a moment.
As a mother now, my son often yells back at me, "you just want me to be perfect! There's no such thing as perfect!" I politely disagree with him, and then go on to explain that I want him to try to be better, but that doesn't mean he has to be perfect. And in that moment, I realize maybe I am becoming more like my mom than I ever envisioned. I began to understand that her hope for me to be better was guised under the premise of an overly critical Asian mother. Because love from my own mother was never expressed in the form of direct praise until I had a specific accomplishment measured by an accolade or title, I never understood the love she did have for me because it got lost in translation.
The other day at my children's swim class, I heard another mother praise her young daughter, telling her, "you did so great! I am SO SO proud of you!" And I scoffed quietly from the side, wondering what her daughter actually did to make her proud. And in that moment, I realized, I am becoming my mom. But maybe that isn't so bad. Maybe it's okay for my kids to want to work hard and do well because of themselves, and not because I'm on the side cheering them on every single moment of their entire life. I plan to be there to hug them and be physically able to communicate my love to them unlike my own mom, but I also plan to mirror my own mom by pushing them to continue to work hard despite failure again and again.
Maybe part of growing up is realizing the bad you once thought tormented you about your own mother wasn't really so bad, and then you start to think about the qualities you definitely want to embody in your own motherhood journey, even if those are similar to your own mother who you once swore you'd never be like. It turns out it's the same, in a different way.
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