USA: Parents As Seen Through The Eyes Of Children

USA: Parents As Seen Through The Eyes Of Children

My husband is a software engineer who specializes in smart phone application development. Our four-year-old son described his father’s job as “very challenging.” He said, “Dad is always fixing phones, lots of phones. His lab is loaded with phones.”

I am an independent journalist and a freelance writer. Our son described my job as “very easy.” He said, “Mom is always playing with her computer, chatting on the phone, and traveling by air.”

So this is how my son looks at writing to deadline, phone interviews, and business trips. How cute, yet how annoying! My husband and I joked about this, and I told him, “So our son thinks your job is challenging and mine is easy. That’s not fair. I don’t want to be looked down on—not by our own child!”

For the first time I saw myself through my child’s eyes. I was both surprise and amused to realize that I actually have a fear of being looked down on by my child. Then I thought about my mother, and what she was like in my eyes when I was four years old.

Back then, I was afraid of my mother. She was a so-called “tiger mom” who spanked me often. Most of the time, I didn’t know what I had done wrong. I was constantly scolded for my “bad attitude” when I was too young to even understand what an attitude is. I vividly remember how scary my mother was when she was beating me, but I barely remember what I did to anger her.

There are a few things that I remember, though. Here is one memory. My mother used to make fried rice noodles and throw in a lot of dried shrimp. The smell of the dried shrimp totally covered the flavor of the shiitake mushrooms and the sweetness of the cabbage.

I asked my mom, “Can you not put so much dried shrimp in the fried rice noodles?”

She effectively silenced me with an angry shout: “This amount of dried shrimp is necessary in fried rice noodles! Shut your month and eat up, or I’ll beat you up.”

When we visited my uncle, his wife made fried rice noodles, but without the dried shrimp. It was delicious. I ate two bowls and happily said to my mother, “Look, Auntie made fried rice noodles with no dried shrimp! It’s good! Let’s try this, too!”

When we got home that day, my mother grabbed a tennis racquet standing by the door and started to strike me with it. She was too upset to find the rattan that she usually used. The racquet strokes fell on me like raindrops; the pain was great. I started to cry, “Why are you hitting me?”

She shouted, “Because you have a bad attitude! Stop crying or I’ll beat you even more!”

For a long time, I didn’t know why I was punished. My mother was an irritable and horrible person in my eyes. I guessed she hated me, but I wasn’t sure. I dared not ask.

Later, when I was in middle school, a friend of mine lent me her CD of Blur’s. I brought it home, totally forgetting that we didn’t even have a CD player. I put the CD on my desk.

My mother saw it and asked me, “What’s this?”

I said, “It’s a CD I borrowed from a friend. But we don’t have a CD player at home, so never mind.”

My mother asked me what a CD was. I said, “A CD is a compact disc. You don’t know that?”

She suddenly raged, grabbed a clothes hanger and hit me in the face. I cried, “Why are you doing this?”

She shouted, “Because you have a bad attitude!”

I was fourteen years old. While I was being hit by that hanger, I started to hate my mother. I thought she was being unreasonable. I thought she was just randomly beating me up because she happened to be in a bad mood, or worse, for no reason at all. I vowed that I would never become somebody like her.

Then I grew up. I left my parents a long time ago, but I’m still searching for the answer to the tough question, “Why my mother physically abuse me?” I tried to look at her from a mature woman’s eyes, and not from a child’s eyes. I finally figured out that maybe, just maybe, I knew one of the reasons behind my mother’s abuse. She spent her whole adult life as a housewife, and was kept at home for the whole time. My father’s parents did not have a harmonious marriage. My grandmother once ran away from home, and as a result, my father was insecure about relationships. He limited my mother’s social and career life. My mother hated to be isolated from the outside world, but she was helpless. She was afraid of being despised, especially by her children. And when I showed the attitude that she considered scornful—for example, by criticizing her cooking or questioning her knowledge—she beat me to maintain her dignity.

When I was a child, I first feared and then hated my mother, but I didn’t despise her until I became a teenager. Now, when I think of her sense of inferiority, my heart almost aches. But I don’t want to be sympathetic. My mother had a big ego, and it would be painful for her to know that her daughter had sympathy for her.

When my own son described my job as “very easy,” I realized that I too did not want to be underestimated by my child. So I reminded myself about my own mother. She was eventually despised by her own daughter, not because she made bad fried rice noodles, not because she didn’t know what a CD was, and not because she was an isolated housewife, but because she had abused her child. Ironically, she abused her child exactly because she didn’t want the contempt.

I realized that children are not confused. They only despise parents when the parents despise themselves.

I asked my son, “Surely Dad is great! When you grow up, do you want to be an engineer just like him?”

He said, “No. I want to be a writer just like you. So that I can play with my computer, chat on the phone, and get on airplanes all the time.”

How did you see your parents when you were growing up? How would you like your children to see you?

This is an original post for World Moms Network by To-Wen Tseng. Photo credit: Mu-huan Chiang.

To-Wen Tseng

Former TV reporter turned freelance journalist, children's book writer in wee hours, nursing mom by passion. To-wen blogs at I'd rather be breastfeeding. She can also be found on Twitter and Facebook.

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BRAZIL: The Dangers Of Being A Fat Mother

BRAZIL: The Dangers Of Being A Fat Mother

andrea_weightI want to start out by saying that this is not some sort of fat shaming post – much to the contrary.

Not many years ago I weighed 67 kg (about 147 lbs.) – what is considered to be the “ideal” weight for my height. Now I weigh 105 kg (231 lbs.). Yes, my weight fluctuated back and forth over the years, but I had never weighed so much, not even during my pregnancies.

In fact, people often ask whether my weight gain had anything to do with my pregnancies. “No”, I answer, “I began gaining more weight after my youngest child turned one”. “So what happened?” is often the next question.

Having been the slave of an eating disorder for a long 26 years, I have a lot of answers for that one. Analyzing the motives behind my overeating and binging episodes took up a great portion of my life when I was trying to cure myself, but that is the theme of a sequel to this post.

The fact is, my gaining weight, now that I look back, was actually an important step in rethinking my relationship with food and with my own body.

What I wanted to share today was a handful of things I learned after gaining close to 40 kg (over 80 lbs).

It did take a while for people to notice and start to comment. After all, I am a very tall, big boned woman who likes to wear loose, comfy clothing. But after a certain point people started to comment. A lot.

“What is happening? Have you been to a doctor?”
“You have to work on your self-esteem!”
“Are you pregnant again?”
“Are you absolutely sure you’re not pregnant?”
“You need to try this recipe/diet/exercise program.”
“You need to take care of yourself!”
“Be careful, your husband might start cheating on you if you don’t get your act together!”

And on and on and on…

Most people meant well, especially close friends and family. However, I would stare at the mirror and think I didn’t look that bad. No, I didn’t like having a protuberant tummy for the first non-pregnant time in my life (nothing against tummies, but I have always been more pear shaped). But other than that I thought I looked quite good. Medically I am fine too – after looking at the results of a whopping 26 tests, my doctor said my blood work could have been that of a 15-year-old.

However, other stuff does bother me a lot, the first being the assumptions people started to make, well-meaning or not. Many assume that being fat means you have health issues or very low self-esteem.

Another annoyance is trying to find clothes. For most of my life – even when I was skinny – I have had trouble finding clothes (and shoes!) that fit me, as I am a tall and big boned woman in a region where most ladies are not this large. Now it is so much worse and soooooooo much more expensive, which always feels like I am being punished for some reason.

At some point I began to read about the different movements that have been sparking up around the globe to celebrate women of any size and shape (men too, but there is just so much more pressure on women). I discovered that among all of the studies linking body fat to health issues, there are several that have not found such a clear link. But these are not given nearly as much attention by the media.

All in all, health and body size is a very personal issue that is linked to a huge number of variables. There are also studies that have linked dieting patterns to eating disorders, and teenage girls are at the greatest risk.

So, in the midst of all this, what are the dangers of being a fat mother?

To me the greatest dangers of being a fat mother are forgetting to love my body no matter what, trying to change it to conform to the world’s standards, and obsessing over weight-related issues instead of truly enjoying my life.

I want my children, and my daughter especially, to know that they are worthy of love regardless of what their bodies might look like, and I must model that example as best as possible.

I said this would not be a fat shaming post, but it is not advocating fat either. It is advocating joy, self-love and happiness, no matter what size, shape or state your body is. People (me included, for a long time) tend to think that if you love your body as it is you won’t have the motivation to change. Now I see that not loving my body regardless of anything else only makes things worse, and for a long time only made me want to eat more. Also, for a long time I thought avoiding my body (as in avoiding the mirror) was a good enough substitute for loving it.

There is so much more to say, but for now that is a small piece of my story with my body.

And you? How do you relate to your body? Tell us your story in the comments!

This is an original post to World Moms Network by Eco Ziva of Brazil. Photo credit: Alan Levine. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.

Ecoziva (Brazil)

Eco, from the greek oikos means home; Ziva has many meanings and roots, including Hebrew (brilliance, light), Slovenian (goddess of life) and Sanskrit (blessing). In Brazil, where EcoZiva has lived for most of her life, giving birth is often termed “giving the light”; thus, she thought, a mother is “home to light” during the nine months of pregnancy, and so the penname EcoZiva came to be for World Moms Blog. Born in the USA in a multi-ethnic extended family, EcoZiva is married and the mother of two boys (aged 12 and three) and a five-year-old girl and a three yearboy. She is trained as a biologist and presently an university researcher/professor, but also a volunteer at the local environmental movement.

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NETHERLANDS: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

NETHERLANDS: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

DSC_0034I had a little ritual with my son when he used to be little.
Sometimes when snuggling I would sit him down and tell him a little story.
I would tell him about the biggest most precious gift I ever received.
It has been ages since I told him that little story,  but I still remember my son’s eyes turning big in anticipation as I got to the end of the story, revealing what the gift was.

“The gift was you,” I said.

And I proceeded to tell him how happy the gift made me and how loved he was.
No matter how many times I told him the same story, he never got tired of hearing it.
And I never got tired of telling him the same story.
I had promised myself very early on in life that if I ever had children, I would make sure they knew they were loved. As far as I was concerned, they would never have to deal with low self esteem or feel unwanted.

For most of my childhood, I spent time excusing myself for being me.
I tried to change myself, copy others, or suppress things that were typically me.
I apologized a lot. When you spend that much time being aware of what you are not supposed to be, you’re under a lot of pressure.
I used to bite my nails almost to the point of bleeding and I was shy and clumsy.
I broke things, I fell a lot, I bumped into things. It was a hard task, trying not to be me.
Today when I look at my middle child, who is almost like a copy-print of me, I laugh at my attempts.
That kid is so present, so alive, so wild, so loud, so emotional, so outspoken, so amazing.
There is no way to tone that down. And what a waste would it be to do so.
My kids have taught me that it is okay to be exactly who you are and that the flaws and the twitches are what makes a person unique.

My kids have helped me accept myself. I see myself when my daughter is persistent. I see myself when my oldest child gets emotional, I see myself when my kids do silly dances and I see myself when one of them nestles on the couch and disappears in a book.

It doesn’t bother me that my daughter feels too shy to speak around strangers, or that my son is difficult when he feels overwhelmed. Nor does it bother me that my daughter is chaotic and would forget to bring her own head to school, if it wasn’t attached to her body.
I see me.
Whenever I look at my kids, really look at them, my heart bursts with love.
I have always promised myself that whenever I had kids, I would give them the space to be themselves.
What I never expected was that through my love for them,  I would learn to love and accept myself more.
And that is truly a gift.

What gift have your kids added to your life?

This is an original post to World Moms Blog by Mirjam of The Netherlands. Photo credit to the author.

Mirjam

Mirjam was born in warm, sunny Surinam, but raised in the cold, rainy Netherlands. She´s the mom of three rambunctious beauties and has been married for over two decades to the love of her life. Every day she´s challenged by combining the best and worst of two cultures at home. She used to be an elementary school teacher but is now a stay at home Mom. In her free time she loves to pick up her photo camera. Mirjam has had a life long battle with depression and is not afraid to talk about it. She enjoys being a blogger, an amateur photographer, and loves being creative in many ways. But most of all she loves live and laughter, even though sometimes she is the joke herself. You can find Mirjam (sporadically) at her blog Apples and Roses where she blogs about her battle with depression and finding beauty in the simplest of things. You can also find Mirjam on Twitter and Instagram.

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CALIFORNIA, USA: Family + Puppy = Happiness?

CALIFORNIA, USA: Family + Puppy = Happiness?

ewa-samples-dogsA few months ago, while waiting in our laundry room, I saw some magazines left on the table. I picked one of them and started flipping through. Being in a not so very happy period of my life, one article drew my attention: Give yourself a happiness makeover. Beneath the title: Longevity expert, Dan Buettner traveled the globe to discover what makes people happiest. This caught my attention more than the title itself.

Essentially it was an article about how to improve your happiness in 10 steps. I normally don’t read that crap but then I thought: what the heck, it won’t hurt me.

So here are a few steps listed in this article:

  • “Make the most of your mornings.”:  CHECKED. Two kids (one newborn), three if counting husband, four if counting a recent (at that time) addition of a high-maintenance puppy to our family. I didn’t even remember my mornings…I didn’t even remember my name!
  • “Stop spending; start saving.”:  Don’t have much to spend or save, I thought. CHECKED.
  • “Get a daily dose of friends.”:  Well, I have 303 friends on Facebook…CHECKED, right?

There was even advice for those who don’t go to church: “Start going.” Duh!

Anyway, the list went on, and then, there it was, the golden advice: “Gain Peace With a Pooch.” Now it got more interesting! (more…)

Ewa Samples

Ewa was born, and raised in Poland. She graduated University with a master's degree in Mass-Media Education. This daring mom hitchhiked from Berlin, Germany through Switzerland and France to Barcelona, Spain and back again! She left Poland to become an Au Pair in California and looked after twins of gay parents for almost 2 years. There, she met her future husband through Couch Surfing, an international non-profit network that connects travelers with locals. Today she enjoys her life one picture at a time. She runs a photography business in sunny California and document her daughters life one picture at a time. You can find this artistic mom on her blog, Ewa Samples Photography, on Twitter @EwaSamples or on Facebook!

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ARKANSAS, USA: The Things That I Know For Certain

ARKANSAS, USA: The Things That I Know For Certain

In six months, I will celebrate my 40th birthday and as I grow older, there are things that I begin to know for certain. At the top of my list is the fact that it’s never too late to further your education. As you, dear reader, peruse this blog post, I will be graduating in the Fall Commencement at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. A journey that I started on four years ago will finally be reaching its destination.

As I have written about in previous blog posts, my life has been a rollercoaster journey of bad decisions. I trudged through my teens and early 20s in a fog of low self-esteem and insecurity. There was always a running monologue in my mind of why I just wasn’t good enough. Despite being a single mother to two children, I bounced from one low paying job to the next and was never sure of exactly where I would end up.

But then, five years ago, something miraculous occurred: my life completely and utterly fell apart and I was forced to rebuild from almost scratch. I can attest that hitting the utter rockiest of bottoms can be a lifesaving event. Somewhere in that process, I began to make valuable changes to how I thought of myself. (more…)

Margie Webb (USA)

Margie Webb is a forty-something, divorced mom of three biracial sons: Isaiah (25), Caleb (20), and Elijah (6/8/1997 - 7/2/1997) and two bonus sons: Malcolm (5/10/1992 - 10/9/2015) and Marcus (25). She lives in Lafayette, Louisiana by way of Little Rock, Arkansas, and enjoys traveling, attending the theater, cooking calling the Hogs during Arkansas Razorback football season, spending time with family and friends, and is a crazy cat lady. In addition to obtaining her Bachelors and Masters degree, she also has a Graduate Certificate in Online Writing Instruction and a National HR Certification through SHRM. She excels in her career as a Human Resources Management professional. Additionally, she has represented World Moms Network as a Digital Reporter at various conferences, including the United Nations Social Good Summit. Her life has been one big adventure in twists, turns ,extreme lows, and highs. After recently embracing her new lease on life and her identity in the LGBTQ community, she is excited about what is yet to come. She can be found on Twitter@TheHunnyB

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