My Mother’s Love

She understands me more than anyone, never fails to make me laugh, and somehow makes the world stop spinning when I feel lost. I can always tell what she is thinking, which puts me at ease because people who are hard to read make me second-guess myself. I am proud to say she is my mentor and best friend.

Mind you, my relationship with my mother has not always been great. She became a mother under challenging circumstances, which made her strict, controlling, and difficult to be around for the first 15 years of my life. She came to America from Japan as a naive young adult, fell into an abusive relationship, and found herself homeless with two children in 2004. Although she found the courage to leave my father and take my sister and me to a domestic violence shelter, her struggle did not end because my paternal family attempted to regain custody for years.

By the time we had moved to a small apartment complex in Amherst, MA, she was exhausted from court hearings and a full-time job that required her to work until dark. Although she gained full custody of my sister and me and successfully changed our last names from elementary to middle school, her stress seeped into me daily. Her time away from work pressured me to care for my younger sister, making me a controlling, parentified child. She also enforced strict rules such as 7 p.m. internet cut-offs until junior year of high school and revoking privileges if I tried to mediate in her arguments with my hot-headed younger sister. However, she put the most pressure on me academically. In middle school, I went to Kumon regularly, attended Saturday Japanese school, completed Japanese HW pamphlets she found online, played two sports, babysat the neighbors, and watched over my little sister. Most nights, I stayed up until 3 a.m. completing school assignments, rushing to school the following day at 7 a.m. with a bottle of 8-hour energy.

The years of overwhelming responsibility made me crack in eighth grade when I began talking back to my mother and quickly losing patience with my sister. There were weeks when I would give my mother the silent treatment. It still pains me to remember the nights I went to sleep with eyes swollen from tears after our fights. Somehow, everything changed during my Freshman year of high school.

Firstly, I quit about half of my extracurricular activities, and she did not argue. Perhaps my months of angry outbursts had tired her or lowered her expectations of me. Secondly, my mother became interested in mental health and returned to school to become a social worker. Once she became a social worker, she shifted from authoritarian to authoritative parenting. My sister’s and my input and emotional well-being became more important than her control over us. We also started individual and family therapy. We argued less frequently and began to enjoy each other’s company. While we would still occasionally bicker, and she would still cause me anxiety by turning off the internet for small mistakes, our relationship was the best it had been in years.

In my first year of college, she finally stopped enforcing consequences; honestly, I stopped doing things that upset her. Our relationship blossomed during Covid when I returned from university due to mental health issues. She took care of me emotionally, consoling me on my bad days and taking me to do things that used to give me joy. For example, we regularly went to the library and Barnes and Noble to quietly read, chat, and enjoy pastries. We also went on walks where we talked about everything from our celebrity crushes to things that worried us. When my hair began falling out from the stress of my poor mental health, she blow-dried my hair for me so I would not have to see all that was coming out. Overall, she shifted from being a cold authority figure that made me feel suffocated to a source of safety and comfort.

Nowadays, we call several times a week, regularly sending life updates. She giggles with me about my love life and asks me for advice on dating apps. My mother also sends me care packages, which always brightens my mood. But my favorite thing about my mother is that I could talk to her forever. There is nothing I can’t tell her. Even on difficult days, a few hours of talking to her makes my heart feel lighter. She has made me dream of having a family one day so I can pour the love she gave me into my own child. As I grow older, I think about how we all have limited time on this Earth. My mother will eventually pass away, leaving me with nothing but our sweet memories. Until then, I will do my best to spend as much time as I can with her and repay her for always being there for me.

Parents are supposed to be our protectors, teachers, and guides in life. When they make mistakes, it can harm us more than any other person could. Still, try to have compassion for your parents. Not only did they grow up with a different culture, at a different time, and probably under more difficult circumstances, but it is their first time going through life too. Of course, not all parents deserve your understanding or forgiveness. In those cases, it is okay to put yourself first. I hope that my story shows you that there is hope for even the most broken relationships.

That is all for now, and a friendly reminder to call your parents if you have not talked to them in a while.

Warmly,

Joy