I’m thirty-seven years old already. Yet sometimes, I still can’t keep myself from hating my own mother and getting angry at her.
For example, just now, my one and a half year old daughter ate some grapes just after she finished eating her yogurt, and my mother started nagging me that I shouldn’t let the kid eat yogurt and fruit together, otherwise she will get a diarrhea, and so on. Then she said that I could read that in the parenting book I bought. I felt so annoyed hearing that: when my mother considers that things don’t align with her logic, she will just pull circumstantial evidence to support her ideas. “There is nothing like that in this book,” I said,” it’s all your imagination.” And she immediately answered, “If you’re not gonna read those books you bought, then you might as well burn them!”
I went on fire as soon as I heard that. Since I was little and as I grew up, my mother always had this extreme mode of education and communication, with me and my sister: forcing us to kneel down if we didn’t manage to write a school assignment, 背不出九九口诀就用针扎耳朵，beating us if we played for 10 minutes on the way back from school, or tearing up the comic book we borrowed from a friend as soon as we got home. And now she’s still there saying to burn the book I bought if I didn’t read it! I’m really, really annoyed. From when I was little until now, I haven’t felt any motherly warmth, she was always abusing us or lecturing us. She would always pick dinner time to abuse us, hardly ever to praise us or commend us. She would always call us “not proper humans”, but praise other people for this and that. After we became adults, she still had a severe, blunt way of communicating with us, and was always lecturing us about everything. I’m really exhausted, and sometimes I wish I had never born, so that I wouldn’t have to suffer all these troubles.
My big sister and I are not in very good health, physically and psychologically. My sister is now almost 40, and she doesn’t want children of her own. As for me, after I having a child of my own, I’ve become even more angry with my mother, because I still can’t understand how she could be so cold towards her own children. When I’m with my mother, we just quarrel; sometimes we even have arguments in front of my daughter. I really don’t want to pass on to my daughter the adverse effects that my mother had on me, but there’s no way that I can hold back my temper. I never wanted to live with my mother, but sometimes I feel that she’s just a poor, lonely old lady.
I’ve tried to communicate with her, but she has this reflex of finding excuses or avoiding the question. For instance, I tell mom: “When we were little, you used to beat us a lot, and this has a lot to do with the fact that now, I have problems finding an emotional balance”. Sometimes she says these were special circumstances, sometimes she says I make it up. Etc. etc. Each time I try to communicate, the result is that I’m even more angry and depressed. There’s really no way we can exchange: as soon as I bring up the topic, it immediately leads to conflict, closed mouths and sulking. I particularly remember one day, when I was in primary school: I had been brutally beaten, so I went up to the roof above the fourth floor (my family lived on the fourth floor), and really thought that I should jump off and die, my heart and my head all full of hatred and grief. I can still sense this feeling very deeply, as if it was carved into my bones.
I hate my mother. Especially as I find out that there are more and more things in common between us. Such as reflexively passing the buck and finding excuses. I hate these defection. The older i grow, the less I can endyre my own shortcomings and my mom’s. So when we’re together, there’s no way that we can avoid having conflicts. And yet we can’t not be together. My mother is old now, can’t support herself, if I don’t live with her, my heart couldn’t bear it. But if we live together, happiness will always be difficult to find.
For the period that my mother has lived with me, there’s hardly been an enjoyable day. No matter how good I feel, she always find a way to knock it down or pour cold water on my head, messing up with my emotions. There’s hardly been an enjoyable day.
Today, I was depressed again.
Shops close for few days on Easter holiday; today, Saturday, they’re open for one day. I originally told my mum that I’d take the opportunity to buy a few gifts she can take with them when she goes back home, and at the same time, I’ll buy clothes and shoes for myself. 好 借她回国之机退税。Who would have thought that it would start snowing this afternoon? I told my daughter: it’s snowing, today mummy is not going out, I’m working from home. (I do university research, I often work from home, including nights and week-ends). My mother immediately told me: “so you’re not taking the opportunity that shops are open to go and buy your things!” I suddenly got angry at her, didn’t she notice it was snowing? The weather is terribly cold, to get to the train station from home I have to spend ten minutes on the bike, and if I ride in the snow, by the time I reach the train station my whole body will be drenched, and I still don’t have a hat, I forgot my winter hat on the train one day, and I will get hurt from the snow blowing into my face. My mother knows all this, but she just ignores it, she ignores her own daughter’s pain, as if she was only ever thinking about results, but never thought about the conditions for these results.
I also remember, when my mother hadn’t yet left China to come and help me look after my daughter, my daughter was not not one year old yet; her father, my ex-husband, had already found another woman and was no longer coming home; and I had to do everything on my own – take care of a child, my work and everything else in my life, so that I would hardly sleep four hours a day. Sometimes, I called my mother back home, I just wanted to exchange a few sentences to feel the warmth of family and a sense of proximity, but my mother always threw this sentence at my face: How is your Danish going? My feeling of anger and depression is really hard to describe, I was like a chain stretched to the limit on a tight grip, which would break if it went just one notch tighter; but my mother never felt any concern for the difficulties of her own daughter, she was just focused on the goal, her only concern was whether her daughter completed the tasks she set out for her; she never wondered if her daughter had a minute every day to take a breath, or a minute every day to study a foreign language; and she didn’t try asking me, is everything going well in your life, are you finding things difficult at work, is it not bitter to work so hard alone in a foreign country?
Having a mother like her makes me so depressed every day. I would rather I was not born in this world than be my mother’s daughter. I hate my mother.