Dealing with parental triggers: A growth story
I think many of us struggle to be our highest selves when around parents. There's so much history to untangle, and no matter how much we've evolved in our mind's eye, it's not always evident in theirs. There's then guilt or shame when we revert to behaviors we'd normally never do otherwise, and get stuck on processing.
I think I made a good breakthrough in my recent experience with my mom though, and I'd like to share it below in case it resonates or helps anyone else.
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I broke my ankle about 7 weeks ago in a motorcycle accident, and didn't tell my mom for about 2 weeks. When I finally did, she flew almost immediately to Chiang Mai.
"Wow, amazing," most people say. "Your mom cares so much for you."
And it's undoubtedly true - I am deeply grateful and appreciative that someone would love me so much that they would literally fly halfway across the world to check if I'm ok.
But at the same time, over the course of the 2 weeks she stayed with me, I also had various moments of tension, anger, and disconnect with her. In these moments, I questioned if I was just somehow fundamentally uncompassionate, inconsiderate, or uncaring.
When talking with other friends about this, especially Asian American, this struggle does not seem unique to me. No matter how much they tell themself they are their own independent person, they still feel guilt or shame when they are not the perfect son/daughter.
So I'd like to share a bit about how I processed my guilt and transformed it into peace, through the lens of one particular incident during my 2 weeks with my mom. On the surface level, it's about 1 particular conversation, but ultimately, it was about accepting myself and learning to healthily communicate boundaries.
--Part 1: The incident--
It started 7:30am one day, when I was still half-asleep. The door creaked open, and unannounced, my mom walked in and started chatting about her last night and what had to be done during the day.
With eyes half-open, and ears not even a quarter attentive, I found myself annoyed: didn't she know I had not even woken up yet?
As she obliviously rambled on, my impatience grew, and I finally snapped in a curt, sharp way, "please stop".
She quieted, processing what had just happened. After a few moments, evidently realizing I was in no state for surface-level chatter, she switched to some logistical coordination instead and then left my apartment to go about her day.
Left alone now, I grappled with my triggered emotions: happiness at being left alone, but shame in how I achieved it. As I woke up, the happiness faded a bit, and the shame intensified, culminating in a paralyzing feeling of 'am I a bad person?'
--Part 2: Grappling with guilt--
So I sat with my feelings and did my best to simply observe them. And as I observed them, my narrative began to shift.
My first major realization was: The irritated part in me was not my whole self. The irritated part came up because in the past, when my need for space was not respected, I felt shamed or over-ruled for stating that.
We often confuse parts of ourselves as our whole self. So our narrative in the moment becomes "I am a bad person".
But when we recognize our irritated or 'bad' selves are only PART of our whole selves, our narrative shifts to "A part of me is a bad person."
I felt better now, but still wasn't feeling great.
So the next thing was to notice how I judged the irritated part of myself as 'bad' and mal-intentioned. My narrative was that part of me was intentionally causing harm to another person. But as soon as I said this, I realized this wasn't the case.
In reality, our parts are almost always very well intentioned. That morning, what I really needed was some space. So the irritated part was trying to meet both my need for space AND protect me from the shame I felt in the past when stating my need for space. Irritated William did this in the only way he knew how: by aggressively pushing the other person away.
So recognizing this, I had my second major narrative shift: "I am a person with a need for space, and the irritated part of me protected me in the only way it knew how."
I was feeling better now, because I realized I was actually enforcing my boundaries, but was still feeling pretty bad about the harm I caused.
So then I brought my higher self in, and asked:
'How might I stand up for my boundaries in a way that does not harm others, but does not trigger shame for me?'
The answer came back: I had to resolve the shame of expressing feelings. I had to find the shamed Child William that was still stuck in me, and update him into the present. The present where having boundaries was encouraged and not shamed.
Breathing in, I went into my minds eye, where I found myself squatting next to a sad, despondent, ashamed younger version of me - Child William.
I let him know it was 2023 now and that my adult self was capable, willing, and encouraging of its healthy need to have boundaries. I extended feelings of compassion and safety, and as I did this, in my minds eye, Child William turned to me and wept.
He cried.
And I held myself as he did.
And as the tears flowed out, I felt the inner tension dissolve. With every sob, I let Little William know it was ok. With every convulsion, I held him and conveyed my presence. And as it all played out, I observed and felt the tension release. The change was barely noticeable at first - each sob just seemed like an endless wave followed by the next - but I held strong, and as I held strong, tension released in increasingly noticeable ways.
And when it was done and the emotional flow had slowed, I took a deep breath in, through the mouth, through the chest, through the abdomen, all in the way into the stomach. And just as slowly, I breathed out, all the way out, in what felt like the most satisfying extended sigh in the world - a good 7 second hahhhhhhhhhhhhhh of release.
And when I breathed in again, I noticed my throat felt clearer than ever before, free of phlegm, like life was flowing unobstructed into me once more. My mental landscape, once tied up in tightly wound thought loops, felt wonderously free and uncomplicated.
I took another few breaths in, savoring the lightness, and then - seeing both Little William and Older William dissolve, I merged back into the present.
--Part 3: Integrating into the present--
Armed with new knowledge and new headspace, I resolved to integrate my healing into the present and undo the harm I had caused.
I told my mom next time I saw her: "Remember that morning a few days ago where I snapped at you?"
"Yes" she responded, not quite sure where this was going to go.
I continued: "Well, I've thought about the incident a lot, and want to apologize. I see that you were hurt, and it was never my intention to do so."
"Ok, thank you," she replied, cheering up a bit.
Seeing an opening, I continued to the hard part: stating boundaries: "I did that, because I didn't know how to accurately express my need for space. When you come in the mornings unannounced and don't check in if I'm in a headspace for conversation, I feel disempowered and helpless. Just as I wouldn't invite myself into a friends house unannounced (unless we agreed to that norm beforehand), can I request that you message me to check in on coming over first?"
Surprised but calm, she responded "Thanks for letting me know. I understand where you're coming from. I did feel hurt in the moment, but realized where you are coming from. I appreciate you telling me anyways though. I can do that."
Relief and pride flooded through me. Relief that the conversation had gone well and pride that my mom had done the self-work to take this with such grace. This feeling was a milestone marker in our relationship, representing how we now had an adult-to-adult interface as well as our mother-to-son one.
From that day on, my mom texted some variant of "Hey William, when would be a good time to come over?" On the surface, this was just a nice logistical change, but the feeling underneath was a reminder of how it felt to express my truth.
Not all parents, especially those among my Asian friends, will have this capability.
But I reflect that even if this hadn't worked out, I would have been proud in myself for living up to my truth: for stating both the regret in the harm I had caused, and for maturely communicating my boundaries.
Expressing our authentic selves is a reward in and of itself.
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