For most of my life, my relationship with my mother was defined by an unspoken set of rules and expectations that felt like an emotional minefield. The constant comparisons between me and my siblings, the silent treatment whenever I dared to deviate from her way and the unrelenting criticism were part of my daily reality. It was a relationship where peace existed only as long as I was agreeable and compliant. But the moment I started seeking therapy and found my voice, everything changed—for her, not for the better.
As a grown woman with a husband and children, you might think I would be free to live my life on my own terms. But my mother has always had very specific yet unspoken rules. I must call her every day, no matter what. I am expected to answer her calls on the first ring. I should always do what she would do, even if I fundamentally disagree. Disagreement is labeled as disrespect, and expressing hurt means I hate her. If I agree with anyone who disagrees with her, I’m disloyal. And above all, I must never tell her she is wrong—I should always affirm how wonderful she is.
These rules created a sea of self-doubt, confusion and people-pleasing behavior that took a decade of therapy to begin to untangle. Even now, I sometimes feel her grip tightening, and I find myself wondering if I’m “in trouble” for breaking one of her irrational rules. At other times, I feel a pang of compassion or even pity for her. She often reminds me that she’s “doing the best she can” and that she’s just trying to help. A smaller part of me believes she genuinely doesn’t know any better, shaped as she was by a mother who was void of emotion and a family that only praised her for achievement and problem-solving. This undoubtedly shaped her perception of herself and her worth—and how she projected those beliefs onto me. She taught me that my value was conditional, tied to how well I could fulfill her expectations or mirror her desires. It’s a painful realization, one that took years to confront. But now, standing on the other side of years of therapy and self-discovery, I understand something vital: it’s not my responsibility to heal her or to compromise my mental well-being to protect her feelings.
Growing up in a BIPOC family, I’ve come to understand that some of the unhealthy dynamics I faced with my mother were shaped by cultural beliefs that have deep roots. In many BIPOC families, women are taught to be the pillar of strength for everyone around them, to prove their worth through endless performative efforts and to suppress their true emotions under the guise of strength. This idea of strength, where sacrificing your needs and emotions is glorified, contributes to unhealthy parenting and generational trauma. It’s a cycle where emotional needs are often ignored or invalidated, passed down like heirlooms from one generation to the next.
Reflecting on this, I can only imagine the resentment my mother must have felt growing up under such immense pressure, with little emotional support or understanding. Her worth, too, was measured by what she could do, what she could achieve or how well she could suppress her own pain. She learned to be “strong” in a way that left little room for vulnerability or genuine connection. I see now how these cultural expectations played a role in shaping her into the mother she became—trying to mold me into the same image, using control and criticism as tools of survival. I believe she truly is doing the best she can, but the best she can still hurts me. Both can be true.
I realize that while I can empathize with how my mother came to be the person she is, I also have the right to draw boundaries. I have the right to say no, to disagree and to stand up for myself, even when it means upsetting her. It’s a delicate balance—between understanding and self-preservation—but it’s one I’m finally willing to navigate on my terms.
As I continue this journey, I remind myself that my mother’s trauma and her resulting behavior are not mine to carry. My healing is my responsibility, just as hers is hers. And while I will always wish for a healthier, more authentic connection with her, I no longer feel obligated to sacrifice myself at the altar of her expectations. I choose, instead, to honor my own voice, my own needs and my own well-being. For me, that is the true meaning of freedom.
