Am I Not Worth It?
The first time I felt “abandonment” was in preschool and I never want to make Ash feel that way.
July 3, 2020 | 2:37 PM
Image by unsplash.com/@caleb_woods
The first time I felt the feeling of “abandonment” was in preschool. It must’ve been 1978, ‘79, so I was maybe three or four. My mom and I had just walked into the classroom for morning drop-off. As my mom was checking me in I strolled over to the first group of kids I saw and loudly said “hi.” I was then immediately ushered to the wall with my nose touching it and my finger over my lips. I began sobbing. I was flushed with anger and embarrassment. I looked over to see where my mom was and she was leaving. We made eye contact and she looked at me with helpless eyes, shrugged her shoulders in a manner that said there was nothing she could do, and walked out the door. Needless to say, I was crushed. I literally felt the colors surrounding me turn gray. Flat. Lifeless. Abandoned.
Some of you may be thinking to yourself, “What kind of mom does that?”. Well, I’ve had many years to think about that question and I have an answer. As an Asian girl growing up on the island of Hawaii in the 50’s, my mom was taught to be compliant and not to cause trouble (that’s how a “good” Asian girl behaved). Respect authority (in this case the teacher), because they are educated and know what is best. At the time when this preschool situation took place, my mom didn’t know that she could speak up. Advocating for your child wasn’t a concept in her world. She simply didn’t know.
Before I became a mom, I held a lot of resentment towards my mom on how she handled certain situations that involved me. I was so hurt and didn’t understand why I wasn’t worth standing up for.
What I didn’t understand was what it meant to be Namiko, my mom. An Asian mom married to an Asian man both making a life in a city where japs, chinks, ching-chongs, gooks (yes, I’ve been called all of those) were not treated in a friendly manner in the 70’s. My mom’s identity was a reflection of what the Asian culture expected her to be. She didn’t have many opportunities to advocate for herself, because she didn’t know how to, or if she was in the right to do so. It’s complicated.
And to be crystal clear, I respect and admire my mom immensely. My preschool sized brain couldn’t make sense of what was happening at that time and it wasn’t until I became a mom that I understood what it felt like to be in her shoes.
I’ll write more about this later. It’s a bit heavy right now…
What I learned:
Our actions or inactions communicate self-worth: It’s so important to me that Ash knows he can count on us to stand up for him, speak up for him, have his back if he is unable to do so for himself.
Communication: Ash doesn’t feel bashful or awkward sharing his thoughts and feelings with me (well, for now - middle school’s around the corner!).
Trust: As his parent, I have to continue building a safe space where Ash feels he can openly share his thoughts and feelings with Grant and me. It’s this type of reassurance that will help him feel less afraid to tell me things, reduce the level of worry or upset that he may feel inside, and lessen any doubt if I will still love him with what he may tell me.