Yanwen’s blog

My mother is famous for telling the truth, at least to me. I always practice with dumbbells while video chatting with my family. Yesterday, my mother saw my upper arms and commented, "You practice dumbbells all the time, but your arm flesh still looks like butterfly wings."

I can interpret this comment in many ways. It could imply that my efforts are futile, or, as I told her, it might mean that without my practice, my arms would have nothing but skin and bones. And also I need to practice more. She agreed with my interpretation.

From this, I think about how language is an art, and how parents can use it to influence their children. The way parents communicate every day can have a strong impact on their children.

This also brings back many of my growing-up experiences. As a late bloomer with a speech impediment, I grew up with two precocious and eloquent sisters. Our relatives often showered praise and compliments on them, never sharing any with me. It’s amazing that I was so resilient and always bounced back from disappointments.

This simple interaction with my mother highlights the power of words and the importance of mindful communication. Parents' words can significantly impact their children's self-esteem and motivation.

First of all, be unambiguously positive as much as you can.

Second, if you want to be truthful, give constructive feedback. Throwing negative comments only is not a responsible feedback. Also, deliver it with care, support, and encouragement.

Finally, mindful communication is key to building strong, healthy relationships with our children. With positive language and constructive feedback, parents can greatly influence their children's development and self-esteem, helping them grow into confident and resilient individuals.

Yesterday I read an article published at HuffPost site, written by a Chinese girl growing up in Hong Kong.

The article has this title: "My Parents Expect Me To Take Care Of Them And I Don't Know What To Do About It" and it starts with this "Even though this is common in Chinese culture, I have mixed feelings about it."

The author continues along the same mood, "Children are expected to give back to the parents when they reach adulthood by providing monthly allowances to show 'Filial Piety,' a deeply ingrained core value in the Chinese culture which describes respect for one’s parents."

The author's tendency to overgeneralize her particular Hong Kong case makes her lose credibility here. I remember one writer wrote about a Chinese village in 1930s, giving readers the impression that this is what the entire China is about.

The author continues sharing a long litany of her grievances against her parents, highlighting all the ways she felt that her parents had failed her as parents.

I understand that she has every right to complain about the poor parenting that she suffered. She must have a strong emotional and psychological need to pour out her feelings. And writing and sharing it publicly can be a way to find support and validation from others who might have something similar. Also, she might hope to raise awareness about the challenges of growing up with the kind of cultural values that she calls "filial piety."

Perhaps her parents deserve what they get by having their daughter write publicly about how much she suffered at her parents' home.

While I understand her strong urge to let out her grievances and feel sorry for her, I still believe what she has done should be a last resort when dealing with family problems. 

Ideally, open and honest communication within the family should come first. I don't think she has considered how her parents felt if they could read what she wrote about them.

As a parent, if my child went on the internet and shared with the world her suffering from my parenting, without first discussing it with me, I would feel a profound sense of failure, guilt, hurt, betrayal, like a nightmare.

It's crucial for families to foster environments where issues can be talked about openly, directly and respectfully between children and the parents, so that the children would not feel the need to go public about how bad their parents are.

Last Tuesday, 5/14, we went shopping with a young couple who are expecting their second baby in two weeks. Later, I learned that their apartment was fully packed with baby stuff.

This made me think of many things. Years ago, I was with a family that welcomed their first baby. I saw the same level of anxiety with them, busy with both the excitement and preparation for the new addition to the family, also having the house fully equipped with baby items.

It is natural for parents-to-be to get over-prepared by bringing home plenty of items. Still, I want to share with my young friends that having too many items means taking up your space and time, soon or later. Sometimes, it can become overwhelming, counterproductive, stressful, and burdensome.

From my own experience, what babies need most from the very beginning is their parents' time and loving presence. Their earliest hours are the best moments for human bonding and emotional attachment. No money, no materials, nothing can replace your physical closeness if you want to give them a healthy psychological start.

When my son was born, we were graduate students, living on scholarships. Yet, we gave him an abundance of what he needed to grow at that stage of life. We held him, read to him, and laughed with him. I remember reading books on parenting that emphasized parental presence instead of expensive presents, quality time instead of quantity of toys, and creating a clutter-free and peaceful environment for the baby.

The whole situation brought to my mind Eric Fromm's book on two modes of living: To Have Or to Be?  To have means to possess, focusing on material possessions, possessions of power, and even of people; to be means to experience, to enjoy, to love, and to live in the moment.

In the end, what truly matters is not how much we have, but the depth of our experiences and connections. For new parents, this means giving your baby your time, attention, and love, the things that truly last and impact their lives.

There was a touch of sadness that I couldn't whisk away for the whole evening. So I have to talk about this first thing in the morning.

Yesterday, while chatting with my sister's son about another possibility for his future, he said he was too old for that path. He is going to be 36 years old this year, holding three jobs and trying to make as much money as he can. It's great on one level.

I felt sad over the whole situation for many reasons. First, I sense the loss of his dream and ambition that he once held and so passionately talked about, that they represent the aspirations we all once had in our youth. This ambition of youth often holds symbolic meaning of hope and a sense of possibility, and it’s sad to see him letting it go.

Second, I see the pressure of daily practicality that forces us to compromise what we once dreamed of and reconciling it in real life. Do we have to make this shift from idealism to realism and allow this pursuit of worldly wealth to overshadow other pursuits? Can we prevent the loss of some part of us, perhaps our true self, in the process of pursuing financial success?

Third, I can also see the force of conventional expectations here, the notion that by a certain age, your path in life should be this or that. But it is too restrictive to allow society to define where we should be at a certain age. Perhaps opportunities shrink with age. Still, it sounds too final to feel old and to stop pursuing his dreams.

Ideally, dreams and ambitions are not confined by age and people at all age deserve to have their own aspirations. Perhaps the sadness I felt was not just for him, but for all of us, and his words suggest that our dreams have an expiration date. Perhaps the belief that dreams never die is more a belief than anything else.

It was a busy Sunday. We met up with a friend for lunch in Flushing. From there, we went to my son's place and had a small gathering with my sister's son.

Over lunch, my friend told me about her experience as a caregiver in China. She was there for a few months, taking care of her 87-year-old mother who had a stroke last year. As a result, her mother faces many challenges, from taking care of herself to speaking and writing. It was easy for her to feel despaired and lose the courage to keep living.

My friend hired a helper to care for her mother during the rehab period. Meanwhile, she was there not only assisting her recovery but, more importantly, being her cheerleader, providing her positive emotional and mental support.

Her mother is lucky to have a daughter who is there for her, offering emotional support and encouragement! Being her cheerleader is another new level of care, which is crucial to her healing process.

But my friend wasn't prepared for the enormous tolls of being a caregiver and cheerleader. Supporting an elderly parent recovering from a stroke involves huge physical, emotional, and mental effort. She felt overwhelmed and emotionally drained. She herself became depressed under the weight of caregiving.

Then she turned to writing, trying to get relief for herself. She put her thoughts, feelings, and daily experiences into words. Writing served as a powerful outlet for processing these experiences, allowing her to gain a new layer of mental clarity and inject new meanings into what she experiences. She also got the sense of relief she sought.

What I learned today is that writing is therapeutic. It is important for us to find coping mechanisms to maintain our mental health and well-being while dealing with demanding caregiving duties. 

Ending our day with a shared meal and heartfelt stories like this one reminds me of the strength found in friends and relatives, and the healing power of expressing oneself through writing.