Yanwen’s blog

As promised in my previous writing, today I will conclude Wang Lining’s story.

After her daughter’s hurtful words, Wang dragged herself back to her room and cried uncontrollably. Living on the 17th floor, she opened the window, threw one leg outside, and was ready to jump. At that moment, a question pierced her mind: "What will happen to my daughter if I die?" This made her pull her leg back.

She locked herself in her room for several days while her daughter sang outside, celebrating her newfound freedom. By the fourth day, Wang began asking herself a crucial question: "What’s wrong with me?" For the first time, she questioned her own actions. In the past, she always believed others were at fault. Now, she thought, "There must be something wrong with me; otherwise, how could I have raised a child like this?" With this realization, a strong desire to understand herself emerged. She reached out to friends, asking them to find courses on parenting, child psychology, and counseling.

Wang attended a five-day course, during which she realized she had committed every mistake the instructor warned against. Deeply regretful, she knew what she had to do immediately: apologize to her daughter, something she had never done before.

When Wang returned home, her daughter remarked, "How come you don't look as annoying as before?" Wang immediately knelt down before her and said, "I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I know I’ve been wrong." She recounted each incident where she had failed as a mother. "Can you forgive me and give me another chance to learn how to be a better mom?"

Hearing this, her daughter admitted that she had felt terrible over the past few days, feeling like a truly bad person. But she continued, "I couldn’t admit defeat. If I did, you’d completely control me, and I’d have to obey you for the rest of my life."

Wang gently replied, "Let’s forget the past and forgive each other. Let’s start it all over again, as if you were just born today." Her 16-year-old daughter smiled, a childish grin that hadn’t been seen for ages.

It took both of them four years to play catchup work. Her daughter eventually caught up academically and was accepted into the prestigious Beijing Film Academy (北京电影学院), one of the top film institutes in China.

The most touching part of their journey is this: Wang changed so completely that her daughter began to doubt whether this woman was truly her mother. She often asks, "Tell me some stories from my childhood or what one of my birthday events," just to confirm her identity. "If you’re not my real mom, I’ll find her. I want my real mom back, no matter how flawed she is."

A Chinese saying "浪子回头金不换" (Làng zǐ huí tóu jīn bù huàn) means "A prodigal son returning home is worth more than gold." It captures the essence of transformation and redemption, emphasizing that the value of reconciliation and personal growth is beyond material wealth.

Wang Lining’s journey with her daughter shows that if you want to change your child, you must first change yourself. What started as a painful, zero-sum conflict between them transformed into a win-win bond, built on mutual understanding and growth.

Ultimately, their story reminds us that the ties of family, especially between mother and child, are unbreakable. No matter the conflict, nothing can sever this bond. Wang’s transformation wasn’t just about her career or her role as a mother—it was about rediscovering the love that had always been there, waiting to heal.

In the end, children have the remarkable ability to change their parents’ lives for the better—if the parents are willing to embrace that change.

I had a busy post-holiday day yesterday, shopping, doing chores and meeting one of my Korean students. Yesterday, I heard Wang Lining (王立宁) share the tough time story she had with her daughter, the challenges that eventually led her to become a psychological counselor.

Before this career shift, Wang was a very successful businesswoman. While she excelled in managing her company, she felt like a total loser at home: her marriage fell apart, and her daughter became increasingly rebellious, leaving Wang unsure of how to connect with her family.

She said, "When I realized I had trouble expressing emotions, I began studying parenting and developed an interest in psychology. Seeking 'self-healing,' I chose to study practical psychology out of all the branches available."

At that time, her daughter was 14 and refused to attend school, saying, "Why do I need to study? You’ll support me for the rest of my life." 

These words struck a chord with Wang, reminding her of what she often said to her daughter: "I don’t have time for you because I need to earn more money to support you." The unintended message to her daughter was clear—the purpose of her mother’s hard work was to ensure she wouldn’t have to work hard herself. She can always rely on her mother.

Her daughter was labeled a "100-score youth," meaning her combined test scores in Chinese, Math, and English totaled just 100, averaging 33 out of 100 in each subject.

"I'm the laughingstock of my class. Do you think I should still go to school?" her daughter challenged. She insisted she would only return to school if her mother stayed home full-time, just like her grandmother.

In response, Wang outsourced all her company’s work and informed her employees that she would be dedicating herself fully to her daughter. Despite spending two years at home, the situation didn’t improve.

Even though Wang tried to fulfill every one of her daughter’s needs and wishes, the girl remained unhappy. What she truly needed was proof that her mother loved her, as Wang’s frequent absence during her childhood left her daughter doubting her mother's love.

Wang recalled, "As a successful businesswoman and mother, I was tormented by my 14-year-old for two years. In frustration, I asked her, 'How did I give birth to someone like you?' She replied, 'You can shove me back into your belly.' Hearing this, my head spun, and I fainted. I vaguely remember my daughter walking past me without doing anything and returning to her room without a word." She was completely heartbroken.

Wang Lining's story is a long one, and it underscores my belief that children can influence or even change their parents in ways beyond imagination. Her experience is a testament to how life’s unexpected challenges, especially those involving her daughter, can lead to profound personal transformations and even a career change. I'll share the rest of her story tomorrow.

The day after American Labor Day marks the return to the office for employees and the return to school for children.

You’ve probably heard of the “Monday Blues” or post-holiday syndrome. Recently, I came across something similar in children: post-summer syndrome, or back-to-school syndrome.

This refers to the difficulty children and adolescents face when transitioning back to school after a summer filled with carefree fun and relaxation.

As the back-to-school season approaches, pediatric psychology clinics see a surge in young patients. In fact, this period is a peak time for such visits every year.

The experts and educators claim that this transition back to school can be stressful for children, especially when they must adjust to a structured routine after a long break. Symptoms may include anxiety, mood swings, difficulty concentrating, and reluctance to return to school and even to study.

The challenge is even greater when new teachers, classmates, and academic expectations are involved. Parents and schools often try to ease this transition by gradually reintroducing school routines, discipline and learning. But when the adjustment becomes too overwhelming, some children may need professional help from pediatric psychologists.

I recall when my sister’s son was in elementary school in the U.S., he enjoyed himself thoroughly during winter break, playing computer games and laughing without a care. But once school started in the spring, he began missing his mother, crying and refusing to go.

Plenty of today's children seem more psychologically fragile, lacking resilience. They are like "温室里的花" (wēn shì lǐ de huā), meaning "a flower grown in a greenhouse." This metaphor describes someone who is sheltered, pampered, and protected from the challenges of life and the outside world.

Summer is a lazy, nostalgic period—a reminder of my own childhood summers, with no structured routine, chasing dragonflies, and making toys with neighborhood friends. But back then, I don’t remember ever hearing about any syndrome or the need for psychological counseling.

We’re all familiar with the saying “survival of the fittest,” though our interpretations of “fittest” may vary. I believe that being “fittest” means having the ability to adapt to a changing environment. 

Ultimately, back-to-school syndrome is a failure to adjust or to adapt to a new routine of life. It seems that some of today’s youngsters are like 温室里的花, too fragile and unfit for survival. What do you think?

Today is American Labor Day, observed on the first Monday in September. Today this holiday often marks the end of summer. For most of us, it means a long weekend. It has some interesting historical aspects worth noting.

Both American Labor Day and International Workers' Day, also known as May Day, have their roots in the late 19th-century labor movement in the United States. American Labor Day originated in New York in 1882, while May Day was established to commemorate the Haymarket Riot in Chicago in May 1886.

The Haymarket Riot, or Haymarket Massacre, is a pivotal event in international labor history, having a profound impact on the fight for workers' rights, including the push for an eight-hour workday. The violence and subsequent crackdown during the riot became symbols of both the struggle for labor rights and the repression of international labor movements. As a result, May 1st was designated as International Workers' Day, a day recognized worldwide to honor workers and their sacrifices.

Although the Haymarket Riot galvanized the global labor movement, it left a notorious legacy in the U.S. Due to the suspected association with anarchists and socialists, and its perceived radicalism, the riot was viewed unfavorably in its own country. The Haymarket Martyrs were labeled as radicals and criminals rather than being commemorated as heroes.

In response to these tensions, and following the Pullman Strike of 1894—a nationwide railroad strike that resulted in significant disruptions and federal intervention—President Grover Cleveland sought to improve relations with the labor movement. To distance American Labor Day from the violent connotations of the Haymarket affair and avoid associating the U.S. labor movement with its radical elements, Cleveland signed a law establishing Labor Day as a national holiday on the first Monday in September.

A Chinese saying, 避实就虚 (Bì shí jiù xū), translates to “Avoid the reality, choose the illusion.” This saying implies avoiding difficult or controversial issues in favor of something less contentious.

By establishing American Labor Day on the first Monday in September rather than May 1st, the U.S. government chose to 避实就虚, distancing itself from the contentious history of the Haymarket Riot and promoting a more neutral and uncontroversial observance.

The first day of September marks the start of Labor Day weekend in America, and with it, the beginning of the fall semester. For high school seniors, this signals the start of college application season—a time filled with anticipation and stress. For me, it also means extra work.

Last Friday, while walking along the Brooklyn waterfront with my son, I mentioned that a high school friend of mine was planning to return to China for the 60th anniversary celebration of our alma mater, Tianjin Foreign Languages School.

My son strongly encouraged me to go, even offering to pay for the trip. I gave him several reasons for not attending, one of which was the college application season. I’ve already been contacted by a few anxious Chinese parents seeking help with their children's essays.

This anxiety seems particularly prevalent among Chinese parents. While many American parents are certainly concerned about their children's college choices, the intensity of this concern can vary widely. In more competitive regions or among certain socioeconomic groups, some American parents do experience significant anxiety about which college their child attends. However, the pressure and energy they invest may not always match the level seen in many Chinese families, where educational achievement is often regarded as a marker of success and family honor.

For Chinese parents, particularly first-generation immigrants, education is of paramount importance. This belief often leads to greater parental involvement in the college application process, including seeking out help with essays and other materials. Interestingly, the second generation, having been more Americanized, tends to adopt a more relaxed approach.

The Chinese saying 望子成龙 (Wàng zǐ chéng lóng), meaning "hoping one's child becomes a dragon," reflects the high expectations and aspirations parents have for their children's success, particularly in education. This phrase also captures the deep-seated anxiety that accompanies the college application process for many parents, where academic and professional success are seen as vital to their children’s future.

This cultural expectation is deeply rooted in the belief that education is the key to a prosperous future. While the second generation may have adopted a more relaxed approach, for many first-generation immigrant parents, the stakes remain high. Helping their children going through the college application process is not just about gaining admission to a prestigious school; it's about fulfilling a dream of success that has spanned generations. In this way, the college application season becomes a reflection of the hopes and anxieties that define the immigrant experience, where every application holds the potential to turn their child into the "dragon" they’ve long envisioned.