A state of resolute

I have been thinking a lot about my state of mind. Especially where I feel I need to improve my state of well-being.

I never liked the idea of wanting help. It was not how I was raised. Asking for help is a sign of weakness in Chinese culture. As a Filipino, there is no shame in asking for help unless you return the favor in kind.

I'm Filipino Chinese. I have experienced a lot of conflicts in my life. I was raised to keep my feelings to myself. So much so, I became violent, frustrated and indifferent.

On my 30th birthday, it was apparent that my attitude was affecting the ones I love the most. Even if my relationship ended bitterly with my daughter's father, we became friends again just like we were once 14 years ago. I learned he took the first step in forgiving me. It was only 3 years ago that I had the courage to write to him. I wrote how sorry I was for not being supportive enough. I also wrote how much I forgive him for hurting me and for being so impatient with my adjustment to the American way of life.

I thanked him personally for befriending my husband. My daughter feels lucky having 2 sets of parents. Even if her stepmother spoils her, I'm rest assured that my daughter is very grateful for the attention and love my husband and I give her.

I have accepted the fact that my father loved me as best he could. Even though he's no longer here on Earth, I'm still indifferent to his absence. I have been raised by my mother throughout my childhood and adolescent years. It wasn't until I left for college when my father began his effort in connecting with me. Even in the smallest amount of time we had alone together, he learned that I am the most considerate, compassionate and loving person he has ever known. It was the best compliment I had ever received in my entire life. I will never know why it took him so long to tell me that. I never got the chance to say thank you.

The difficult part of my life is making amends with my mother. Even after consoling her bereavement, she criticizes me for "airing the family laundry" to the public. I am a survivor of domestic violence and abuse. There is nothing honorable about it. I am not afraid of violent threats anymore. There isn't anything I can do to change the past.

Even after writing a letter on how much I understand the abuse she went through, I am still criticized for insinuating the assault. I was a child. I did not have the knowledge or the experience to convey opinions in resolving the marital issues my parents were having. I just wanted them to stop fighting. I forgave her for putting me in the middle of their marital arguments. Whether or not the arguments were valid or petty, no child should ever be made a witness in order to choose a side. It was stressful. Especially when you're trying to get good grades in school.

For the longest time, she has told me she loves me. Yet, her actions show me otherwise. I rarely ask for anything. When I do, I get shamed for it. I was not the jealous type until my youngest sister was born. I rarely complained. My father had traumatized me regarding that matter.

My relationship with my mother has always been one-sided. It is pointless to console her resentment towards me. It has come to a point where I can't even think straight. I had been overwhelmed by the anxiety so much since my childhood, that my depression caved into a health risk. I never would have thought I would be a clinically depressed person at this moment of my life. Yet, here I am doing the best I can to fight it.

Even after my long silence from her outburst during my birthday 3 years ago, I still get criticized. I have always been ridiculed about my looks, my weight, my body size, how I dress, how I speak, how I live my life and how I practice my faith. Now married with a child of divorce, the criticism is endless. Even if I tell my mother how much I love her, she will never believe me. All because I lied about farting in the study without saying "sorry." The irony of the situation is not the fact that I lied. It was the fact I pretended to be the perpetrator.

I have no leverage. I was a young mother of 21. I never regretted my marriage to my daughter's father. He taught me a lot of things. I related that sentiment with him and my husband. We all understood that neither one of us want to be together again in the same room for any length of time. My husband respects our mutual agreement.

I'm almost 40. I'm grateful for my husband for being patient with me. It's a long time coming. I am due for consoling my personal battle with my depression.

I'm not depressed because I can't win my mother's love for me. I'm depressed solely on the planet I live in. The society that allows people to spew hate, lies, greed and gratified dominance.

I cannot deny the existence of my suffering. It is not the destination of my future. I know I'm getting better because I am no longer afraid to be myself. I am whole. I have fewer conflicts with other people. Even when I criticize myself openly, strangers and acquainted friends alike compliment my mother for raising a wonderful daughter.

That's all what should matter. I am not my past. I never will be. That's all I can look forward to. With that in mind, I am rest assured that my daughter will follow the same journey of self-worth, self-esteem and compassion. I am not my mother. I never have and never will be.