I Once Hated My Mom’s Nagging; Now I Don’t
I have not written a blog post in what feels like a very long time, but I do have an excuse.
I won’t reveal too many details here, but basically my parents have been forced to move out of their home due to circumstances beyond their control. Fortunately, they found a new house that will accept their Housing Choice (formerly Section 8) voucher, so now it was just a matter of packing and clearing stuff up. Clearing TWENTY years of stuff up. If there was an extreme version of Marie Kondo’s housekeeping skills, we really needed them.
Giant furniture, tons of clothes, memories of me and my sister from elementary through high school — everything we could have gotten rid of during spring cleaning piled up into one giant cleaning chore. As a result, it wasn’t just me struggling mentally. My mom and dad were stressed out from moving things constantly and having to rely on friends or cheap resources to get rid of the junk. Arguments became constant. They are also very old, past retirement age, which made this even more tiring for them. Meanwhile, my sister continued to study for her classes while boxes and bags were moved around everywhere.
A Mother’s Sigh
Ever since my mom noticed my depression from my job search, she’s been giving me change here and there for me to help myself — either by buying some quick snack or trying to spend on something fun to reward myself. Normally, I would say a quick thank you to her in relief as I chugged on sending resumes and tackling interviews while trying to tackle part-time jobs.
However, one day, I noticed my mom just lying on the bed in the afternoon, covering herself with her blanket as if trying to hide from the world…similar to how I would nap during my depression.
My heart broke.
My mom was known for her socialization skills, being friendly to every friend and stranger that she met. She was the upbeat cheerleader, encouraging everyone to keep going, myself included. Seeing her broken and defeated on the bed instead…it was the complete polar opposite of the mom I knew and looked up to.
The next morning, I was walking outside the house after breakfast, still trying to clear my head of negative thoughts when I saw my mom crouched next to a bag, ripping and tearing pieces of paper into a box. Feeling the need to keep my mom company and assist her (even though we do have a paper shredder), I sat down next to her and assisted her in tearing up her old medical records.
A Mother’s Story
My mom, happy for the company, began telling the story of how she and my dad came to America to raise me and my sister.
Both my mom and dad were born in the late 40’s and early 50’s in Vietnam. My mother’s mother (aka my would-have-been grandmother) died when my mom was eight months old. However, my mom had a brother and several sisters, so she wasn’t completely alone.
My mom never met my dad until after the Vietnam War. “Your dad was stuck in a ‘re-education camp’ for six years…it was horrible,” she told me. Eventually my dad was released from the camp, both my mom and dad met, and married a year later. Fast forward a few years more, they traveled to America and had me.
My mom began recalling all the times from my early childhood — my dad driving home from his pressing job at a clothing manufacturer, my mom picking up various part-time jobs before she picked me up from school, me being a bad influence on my sister and never helping out with chores. “I was very sad when no one would help me wash dishes,” my mom whispered but chuckled anyways. Darn you and your laziness, child Jen.
My mom’s stories clarified one question I had: why my parents never had retirement money. They both worked only part-time jobs, so 401(k)’s and employer matches were never offered to them. Just all the government programs they can sign up for and, eventually, Social Security income. It made working a full-time job (even a minimum-wage one) with benefits seem an accomplishment comparable to being a first-generation college graduate.
Moments like those made me realize now how spoiled, selfish, and ridiculous I was this whole time, from childhood to now in my post-grad school job search. I didn’t act like my parents were rich (of course not), but I was self-centered enough to think that I could pursue whatever job I wanted, and all the income and dream jobs will land perfectly in the palm of my hand. I didn’t think about how much my parents were struggling financially the whole time I was in school and college. I also didn’t realize how much effort I wasn’t putting into the job market (I took naps instead of printing out resumes and attending all of the career fairs on campus).
Part of me wished I took the initiative to pick up a part-time job in high school so I could build up that work ethic. Part of me wished I listened to my parents and pursued a career in pharmacy (which I know now is not as boring as I thought back then) for the job security while having the satisfaction of helping people. Part of me wanted to yell at the Jen from undergrad for being so lazy to not get involved in job fairs and network with people like my mom encouraged me to.
I was disgusted with myself. I felt ashamed. I felt that I failed my whole family, but mostly my mom.
However, my mom just smiled at me. She didn’t remind me about my failures or yell at me like she used to. Instead, she just said, “I’m grateful that you are here. Otherwise I would have left your dad.” I couldn’t believe it. My parents didn’t always have the smoothest relationship, but to hear my mom admit wanting to separate from my dad, directly from her lips…it was shocking.
But that wasn’t all. The next thing she said made me cry the most. “I hope you and your sister get a house one day.”
“In this country? In this economy?” I asked, flabbergasted. My mom chuckled. “Well, it may change in the future, who knows.” I envied her for her optimism.
A Mother’s Compassion
Nowadays, whenever I visit my parents’, my mom would quickly stop by and try to do my hair or give my face a massage. She would give me advice on how to tackle my depression and walk into work head on, as if nothing could stop me. “Don’t look down! Uncross your arms! Walk with confidence like you mean it!” She would the march across the yard and swing her arms proudly to show as an example, which made me laugh a bit. Thank you, Mom.
This was opposite of the mom I knew from high school and early college days, where she said things like “Why didn’t you apply for that Bill Gates Millennium Scholarship earlier?” or “Get good grades! That’s how you become a doctor!” and scold me when I wasn’t getting enough A’s. Not to mention the constant comparison between me and my classmates, which ingrained my habit of self-comparison from then on.
Recently she brought up some of those comments again, a few decades later, but there was no malice in them this time. “I only wanted you to succeed so that you didn’t have to struggle like your dad and I did. It hurts me to see you cry so much.” Oh Mom, you’re going to make me cry again.
Once upon a time, I would have moved away or yelled at my mom to stop nagging over me so much, but now I have never been more grateful to my mom than ever. The love was overwhelming. She still wanted me to succeed, even with my failures. Even though my mom is now frail, doesn’t have a lot of time left, and doesn’t have a lot of resources, she also wants to live life to the fullest herself. I couldn’t have asked for a better role model, and now I want to cherish the time I have with her as much as possible.
