As my daughter grows older, the more I realize that to be able to love your child unconditionally, you first needed to have been loved unconditionally in your own childhood. That kind of tender, gentle love between a child and a mother… it’s truly not easy to practice just by watching movies, reading books, or listening to others. We only get one set of parents in our lives. The way our parents treated us throughout our lives has become ingrained in our subconscious. The interactions we experienced become the familiar, unsurprising norm, and these, in turn, shape the kind of mother we become when we have children ourselves.
There are women who strive to evaluate and discern which relationships are positive and which are negative, and who actively work to re-mold themselves. And then there are those who simply fall into the same pattern, passing on uneven, gentle-less love from one generation to the next. It’s hard to break free from anything, isn’t it?
More than half of my emotional capacity is constantly exhausted and weary from trying to break free—a struggle that has lasted more than half of my life as a mother. It wasn’t as noticeable when Noah was a cute, babbling toddler, but as my child enters the age where they stop listening to my words, the age of resistance and disobedience, it is I who has to break free from the parent-child relationship I was conditioned into, more than the child does. The ropes that tie me down, inherited from my own experience as a daughter, are so tight that my struggle is intensely painful and exhausting. But because I’ve made the decision that I will endure the pain and break free, instead of letting my child suffer, I experience greater exhaustion and pain.
When my daughter goes to school, I have to wake her up. She is still a child who hasn’t taken on personal responsibilities yet, and I constantly find myself complaining by comparing her to my own childhood. When I was 10, I had to wake myself up with an alarm clock to catch the 6:30 am school bus. I had to pack my own lunch, put on my uniform, carry my own bag, and walk to the bus stop alone. If I couldn’t get up or woke up late, the only option was to miss school. There was no one to take me, and I had to sort it out with the teacher myself. The nightmare of my entire teenage life was waking up late and missing the school bus. I’ve been late countless times in my dreams. In reality, I was a student who was always on time. Even though I scold my daughter on one hand, I realize on the other that the life she has now is the childhood I had longed for and wanted, and that makes me happy again. Setting aside whether my child is self-reliant or not, if we had had this situation in our teenage years, wouldn’t the ropes I’m struggling against now be slightly less painful? I don’t know if it’s madness or an obsession, but I absolutely loved opening my lunchbox at lunchtime, not knowing what curry was inside. That obsession has been rooted in me even now, in my 30s.
I wanted to cling to my mother and sleep next to her. Moments like “Mommy loves you so much” with a kiss, or kissing her while saying “I love you, Mommy”—those were only in the movies. In reality, my mother was someone who got hot easily, and loving kisses between a parent and child are memories that have faded away beyond recall. Initially, I spent my life constantly blaming my mother, but recently I’ve come to understand her. I realized that my mother was someone who couldn’t break free from her own childhood. Because of that, I understand even more that I have to work harder to break free. This gentleness-less love has to stop with my grandmother and my mother; it must end with me. I will not pass it on to my son and daughter. Sometimes, I feel like I’m crazy. I feel proud of my emotions, beliefs, and actions, and then I shake my head, feeling like I’ve lost my mind. I have to live as if I’m a madwoman. Just imagine me in the middle of this: I have to understand my mother without blaming her, and I must understand my daughter without scolding her. I’m crying even as I write this.
At a time when I am going through such difficulty, I am grateful for my children’s father. Every time I say, “Please believe in me, I’m trying,” he always encourages me, saying, “I do believe in you, my dear, you can do it.” If he hadn’t been so understanding, I don’t think I could have broken free to this extent. If I had simply treated the children in the way I was conditioned, our family would not be this happy. I truly don’t think I could have done it alone. Now, I have tried so hard and achieved so much, and the pain has lessened considerably.
There must be many mothers like me out there. When you can’t express it like I can, or write like I do, you must feel suffocated. I want to be someone who offers encouragement. Break free, no matter what. It is exhausting and painful, but the pain is worth it, just knowing that someone who suffered like you—your own child—will not have to, and that there won’t be another child like you. This is because you are the ‘Starting Point’ of reform for your child, your grandchildren, and your subsequent generations. While you struggle for your children, also try to resolve the pain associated with your own parents. Let’s walk this path together. When one hand forgives, the pain in the other hand lessens. We can sever our unimprovable childhood and simultaneously create the most beautiful childhood memories for our children. Because it’s a two-way journey, isn’t it?
We can do it.
May Jue
16.11.25 (Sunday)
Ashely – 10 years, 4 months, 14 days
Noah – 3 years, 11 months, 4 day
