Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: motherly love

Thinking more about love, part two

Yesterday, I wrote about love in the context of family. Here is the post in which I mused about how complicated it can get and how we don’t talk about the fact that some parents don’t love their children. When I state plainly that my parents don’t love me, even my closest friends have a hard time not rushing in to assure me it’s not the case.

Here’s the thing. I don’t say it to get pity or in an emo way. I’m saying it as factual. My parents don’t love me because they don’t know me. What’s more, they never wanted to know the true me, and at this point in my life, there is no positive to trying to share anything of importance with them.

As I mentioned in the last post, my mother became a mother because it was what was expected of her. Also, she never felt loved in her family, and I think she believed this was the way to earn that love. It didn’t work. My grandmother was also a self-centered, unloving person who bought into the sexist bullshit that boy children were more important/valuable than girl children. She had no interest in me at all. The three or four times I saw her, I don’t think she said one single word to me.

My mother never felt loved by her mother, and I think part of her rabid obsession with being a mother was to create a bond with her mother. The day I turned 26, my mother commented that she had my brother at that age. Which, fine. Whatever. I tucked it away as a fun little fact, but little did I know that was going to be my mother’s mantra for the next fifteen years–trying to get me pregnant, I mean.

By this time, she had moved back to Taiwan. Almost every time we talked, she brought up me having children. When my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, my mother commented that she (my grandmother) would love to be a great-grandmother before she died. She heavily implied that I, as the oldest granddaughter, should be the one to have the child. I jokingly said that it would take too long for me to get married and have a child, but I could do it on my own if she liked.

I was only joking because my family on my mother’s side is deeply evangelical/conservative Christian. The idea of having children outside of marriage (to a person of the opposite gender) was unthinkable. Much to my shock, my mother said she thought her mother would be fine with that. I didn’t say anything, but I thought, “Wow, nice to know her morals are so easily discarded.”


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Thinking about love again

I was reading random Ask A Manager posts as is my wont. One was from a woman whose mother was telling her that the reason she could not get hired is because she (the writer) was fat. The writer was also multiracial (black and white) and gay. So, of course, I instantly felt a kinship. People were rightly indignant on her behalf, and it got me thinking about my relationship with my mother (again). I had read the post before and usually ignored it when it came up again (when I hit the random post button) because it really touched a nerve. For whatever reason, I read it this time, and I am musing about my relationship with my mother.

That’s not unusual–me thinking about my relationship with my mother, I mean. It’s been tumultuous (at best) for my entire life. She called me a few hours ago atnd is her wont, dumped all her big feelings on me. She does this every time we talk. In fact, that’s the reason she calls me. I know it; she knows it; and it’s worse when she tries to pretend it’s not true.

The reason I was thinking about this post was because of one particular comment. This comment about how the commenter’s mother would have said something similar, but it would have come from a place of love. The commenter mentioned how she would deal with it, then acknowledged it would be harder if someone’s mom was deeply insecure or did not have the OP’s best interest at heart (paraphrased).

She could not bring herself to write down the obvious (or didn’t even think of it): maybe the mother does not love the writer. Now, in that particular case, I don’t think it’s necessarily true. However, there are plenty of mothers who do not love their children. And fathers. I am ‘lucky’ in that I have both a father and mother who do not love me as a person.

In ome ways, it’s easier to deal with my father. He has always been a deeply self-centered person who did not give two figs about anyone else. He was dependent upon my mother to make his life run smoothly (and his secretary when he was the president of an ecoonomic research center), but he did not love her as a person. In fact, his only use for people is what they can do for him.

Right now, deep in his dementia, he is fixated with me going to visit them. It’s not because he misses me as a person, though, but because as an insatiable extrovert, he’s desperately lonely. And one thing a child should be doing for him is paying him undivided attention. He has no inteerst in me as a person; he never has. He could not name five facts about me–even before he got dementia.


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