7 - KOREAN MOMS AND CRITICISM
Yesterday, I heard my mother’s voice coming out of my own mouth.
I was bustling around in the kitchen, listening to a podcast and putting dishes away in my usual, frenzied efficient way.
And my 16-yr-old stepdaughter came in to find herself something to eat.
I hadn’t seen her much all day, and before I had even given her a greeting and hug, I caught myself saying these three things to my her in a 5-minute period:
“Wow, your shoes are so dirty.”
“Remember to put your dishes in the dishwasher, don’t just leave them in the sink.”
“Have you eaten any vegetables today, or just pizza?”
All of which seem perfectly innocent on their own. I didn’t say them in a mean way - just in an offhand, matter-of-fact kind of way.
But something about it nagged at me, until I pulled my hands out of the silverware drawer and turned to her and wrapped her up in a hug and told her:
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean every single thing coming out of my mouth to be critical. You’re a wonderful person and I love you very much.”
And my precious girl… already head-and-shoulders taller than me, but who loves and needs me so much… who tries so hard to be a “good girl” because she’s already got it deep in her bones that that is what society wants from her… she relaxed into my arms instantly and smiled crookedly and said, “That’s ok!”
But I could tell it meant a lot to her, because she moved more lightly after that.
She told me, with excitement in her voice, about a “skibbidi-rizz” (??) TikTok video that was going around. And after that little moment of connection, she bounded off to her room to do whatever 16 year olds do with their free time and space.
The Lineage of Criticism and Perfectionism
Those are the moments I feel proudest of myself as a mom.
You know how our parents were probably doing their very best in raising us, and here we still are, writing blog posts and talking to life coaches about the wounds they left?
I constantly think about how we’re totally screwing up our kids, too, in fresh and unintended ways.
There’s no way to be a perfect parent, because there’s no way to be a perfect human. And because we think, naively, that having kids will heal us, when what they really do is yank us right back into the most painful parts of our own childhoods.
My 16th year was when I finally rebelled against my mother. It was like that whole year, we were fighting an elaborate multi-bracket tournament:
Her in her corner saying “I KNOW WHAT’S BEST FOR YOU”
vs.
Me yelling “I’M NEVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!”
I remember scream-crying that at her, from a deep well of existential pain. I was the “perfect daughter” - with my straight As, and perfect SAT scores, and 13 years of classical piano training… I had done everything she wanted me to do and still all my teenage ears ever heard from her was criticism. I won a few rounds of that tournament that year… won myself some more freedom to hang out with friends, to skip that 7th AP test, to stop doing piano competitions.
But still, at age 26, I had to ask my mom, “Are you proud of me?”
I’ll never forget the genuinely surprised look on her face. “Of COURSE.”
As if she was thinking, all at once, “How could she not know? How could I have let her not know?”
She was always so proud of me. And she was always so worried about me doing well without her protection.
Her criticism came from the way she viewed the world. I could be the most perfect daughter that ever daughter-ed and still, she would see me through those critical lenses, see everything that needed to be fixed so that I would be safe. I’m pretty sure my grandmother treated her the same way. My grandmother, who had survived Japanese colonization and war and poverty, and fought tooth and nail to build a hugely successful business to keep her family safe.
Healing through my Imperfect Parenting
So, the other day,
…when I realized that it was my mother’s critical voice coming out of my mouth…
…when I stopped and decided I didn’t want my daughter to hear only criticism and worry in my voice…
…when I apologized to my her and gave her loving language instead…
I guess that was like me taking one step off the path of intergenerational trauma, and heading in a slightly different direction towards love.
And, to me, that’s incredibly healing.
From this imperfect (but trying her best) mama,
Shinah