Growing Pains: How our relationships with our parents can change as we grow up
Sometimes, even when we grow up to be close with our parents, we find that there are some growing pains along the way. We find the nature of our relationship changing and sometimes it’s hard to acknowledge that change and to accept it. REALSOUL founder Katie Quan shares her own experiences with her own mother.
My mom and I have always been close.
As a kid, I remember my mom just glowed and exuded confidence. She was always at all my school events, charming everyone with smiles and small talk. She used to sit at all my baseball games, soccer matches, and cheered as I sat on the bench with all the other benchwarmers. Everyone loved her because she was this 4’11” spunky woman who held down a full time job and ran around the city, driving her three kids to whatever sports practice or class they needed to attend. I loved her simply because she was awesome.
In high school, when I needed a best friend, my mom was there. I spent much of my teenage years, gossiping and chatting with her during our carpool trips. It was through my mom that I learned the importance of giving back to the community. She encouraged me to take on leadership roles and lectured me when I wanted to give up basketball after a bad practice.
When people said I was just like her, it was the ultimate compliment.
It meant I was quirky and silly…
I was a hard worker…
I was passionate and open minded.
I was a true feminist, a community advocate.
… just like her.
Young Katie and her mom
© 2023 Katie Quan
When I went off to upstate New York, it was my mom who dropped me off. She thought my dad would get too sentimental and wanted to make sure we got a “clean break.” I remember when she was on campus, we just hung out a lot. I even stayed at her hotel room, knowing that it was a lot better than staying in my single person dorm. During my first semester away, I spent a lot of time with distractions. Whether it be watching Friends on repeat or writing poetry to boys I had crushes on, it was safe to say I was incredibly homesick.
Luckily, my mom and sister came to visit later that year and quickly relieved my infinite loneliness. My sister was on crutches at the time and with only one bed in the room, we fought over who “deserved” the bed. They both met the boy I had been crushing on and immediately gave an “ehh!” response. I left any memories of him quickly after that.
But after the second semester and beyond, maintaining our relationship became a little bit of a struggle. We were in different timezones and had schedules that didn’t always match, but we tried to make it work. As my sister attended college, we found ourselves three way calls, walking from one place to the next, catching up until one of us reached our destination. We would bid each other a farewell until the following week.
After graduating college and going home to start grad school, I moved back home. Unlike my high school days, I attended my classes and hung out with friends until 1 or 2AM where I would finally go home and wake up when my parents had already gone to work. I couldn’t tell them everything I did. I don’t think they would have wanted to know. All they knew was that I was a good girl who couldn’t take much liquor anyways and so there was a 95% chance I was safe (which is fairly accurate).
But in 2017, I began my first romantic relationship with the guy who would eventually become my husband. When I came back home from our first date, I told my mom everything. Any doubts I had, she helped to explore or dismiss them. She was truly excited for me. After all, I grew up with all my mom’s funny dating stories and she was glad that I finally could have some of my own.
What I didn’t expect though was for the conflict to be between my mother and me, and not my boyfriend. While she liked him, she hated the fact that she barely saw me. She didn’t like that I wasn’t there for dinner and that when I came home the following day, she had already left for work and we couldn’t catch up. Then, there were conditions to me moving out of the house and when I completed them, she was silent. Like the plot line of Gilmore Girls, I was requested to eat dinner with them once a week. I protested, but with my boyfriend’s nudging, I relented and agreed. I intentionally moved out when she and my dad were visiting China, in fear that it would cause another argument. I did it to save our relationship.
My sister later told me that my mom wished she could’ve seen me move out for the first time into a new apartment.
In return, I said I wished she had told me this herself.
In 2021, he proposed.
I, of course, said yes.
And this brought a whole new slew of troubles.
As we began our wedding planning, my family came in heavy with requests. Everything from getting married in a Catholic Church to having a Chinese banquet began to give me anxiety. I didn’t want to be married in a church. I didn’t want to have a banquet. Growing up, I thought that weddings were for the bride and groom, but this process taught me that I was being childishly naive. If anything, the wedding was for everyone, but us.
To make matters worse, I was told that as the first grandchild on my mom’s side, I was to be a role model for everyone else. My mom was convinced that if I followed the tradition of getting married in a church, the likelihood of my cousins doing the same was high. (My cousins later confirmed that this was not true… although I won’t lie, I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or not.)
Shortly after starting the planning process, I was already exhausted and had no patience for any of it. In fact, I hated the questions so much that I put a pause on everything for months. The only people who were allowed to ask any questions were my siblings. All questions had to go through them and them only.
And despite all my pent up frustrations with the obstacles I was facing, I also felt my never ending guilt for not appreciating the suggestions. Asking questions meant my mom did want to be involved with this milestone.
Shouldn’t I have felt happier?
Shouldn’t I give her tasks to complete so she could be part of these festivities?
Shouldn’t I just cut her a break?
After all, she was my mother.
Between the repeating and clarifying of information and the constant questioning of choices, I began putting up walls… or boundaries as I called them. The more boundaries I put up, the more frustrated my mom became. Rather than discuss it with me personally, she went to my brother or sister to complain how iced out she felt. When we did speak, it ended with assumptions and tears. Unfortunately, we argue similarly and therefore, it felt like arguing with my uncooperative doppelganger.
As upset as I was, her irrational behavior had a rational reasoning. Like myself, she was the eldest child in her family. She was expected to be a role model for her siblings and as she got older, she was assumed to be the caretaker. To this day, she makes weekly visits to my two Eypos (grand aunties), without so much as a thank you or a pat on the back. My wedding, in a lot of ways, felt like a reflection of her motherhood. If I chose the wrong colors or food, it would be her who dealt with the complaints — not me.
Why? Because that’s what mothers do. They put up walls to protect their kids even when their kids are putting up walls against them.
As a child, my parents made sure that we had the most idyllic and safe childhoods. We went to summer camps, rode bicycles in nearby cul de sacs, and played pretend. On more naughty days, my seven year old self bit a girl while playing tag and cheated on fourth grade tests by slipping the answers into my desk – but all these stories made up a truly wholesome childhood that was made for the screens. When we went to visit my grandparents, everyone loved having all eight grandkids jumping into the swimming pool. During the holidays, we sang carols around Popo as she played the piano joyfully. As the unquestioned leader, I directed Christmas plays and talent shows until no one else wanted to participate anymore.
I’ve been told that these were the golden years and my wedding symbolized the end of an era.
I imagine that as a mother, it must be hard to say goodbye.
• • •
It’s a Sunday morning, 9:39 AM to be precise. I’m running a bit late after getting locked out of my apartment and I see my mom hobbling down the street with her cup of coffee. She just had a hip replacement and (very) reluctantly, holds her cane. My mom and I may have a rocky relationship, but it’s been two weeks since we’ve last caught up and that’s just enough time to “forgive and forget.”
She brightens up when she sees me, “If you drink the coffee fast enough, we can get another one for a dollar.”
We buy a few croissants at the local bakery and take a seat at the back. When approached about writing this article, I volunteered the topic of life transitions, but as I began to reflect, it turned out that it all begins and ends with my mom. If starting a conversation about the changing nature of our relationship means discussing it over a magazine article and a cup of coffee, then so be it.
Over the past week, I’ve been reflecting a lot – not ever thinking that she’d have to read this. But even within my own professional work, asking for permission is the one piece of agency we can give others when writing on their behalf.
I hand her the working essay and lucky for me, she has her reading glasses, saving me the awkwardness of reading it outloud.
She begins reading.
I wait… folding the paper cup holder anxiously inside and out.
After a couple tears from her eyes fall, she looks at me, takes a breath, and our conversation begins.
Katie and her mom in Europe 2013
© 2023 Katie Quan
Katie Quan
Born and raised on Ramaytush Ohlone land (now known as San Francisco), Katie Quan (she/her) is a third generation Chinese American. She is an artist, community advocate, curator, storyteller, and educator. Katie is the creator of REALSOUL, a curriculum-based arts organization that focuses on making Asian American stories intersectional, interdisciplinary, and accessible to learners of all ages. She currently serves on the advisory board to the Asian American Women Artists Association and Newsletter Editor to the Square and Circle Club. In her free time, you can find her drawing, bouldering, or swatting gnats away from her indoor plants.
REALSOUL
REALSOUL is a curriculum-based arts organization, founded in San Francisco. We develop creative offerings that shed light on the intersectional stories of Asian America and other BIPOC communities. We believe learning doesn’t stop in the classrooms, but continues in workplaces, living rooms, around campfires, and beyond. Our work aims to: 1) Explore and share movements of solidarity between communities to create intentional discussion, 2) Develop safe spaces for intergenerational lifelong learning, and 3) Empower and advocate through art and activism. Learn more about our work at: www.realsoul.us.
