A taste of Life
Has anyone ever told you how you’ll never know how sweet life could be until you’ve tasted the sour?…or something like that? For me, it’s like I never knew what it is to be human until I had my kids. Anyone whose met me might relate me to a piece of stone. Always afraid to show my weakness, I never dared cry in front of anyone; my tears were wept in the privacy of my room as I licked my wounds to heal. In another’s hardship, I kept that straight face as I offered some empty advice or condolence. The advice was always empty because it lacked experience and relation. Looking back, it was like I put myself on some pedestal, thinking I always knew better–I didn’t mean to. Perhaps it was my Vietnamese upbringing that convinced me to hide myself from the rest of the world, reminding me to keep everything private, and perpetuate a facade that everything’s OK, I’m OK, and I’m strong. Perhaps I was just a naive little girl living in my head of how the world should be instead of facing it head on. Or, maybe, I was simply afraid of getting hurt–by friends, family, anybody. Now, in retrospect, it was this behavior that prevented me from creating meaningful relationships, with friends, with my doctors, with my family (not Loi because I was always able to be open with him without feeling judged…that’s why I married him). But the moment I witnessed my newborn getting intubated after having not seen him for more than 10 minutes before he was whisked away to the NICU, I lost it. In these past few months, I’ve become more and more human. Just letting go of myself a little created immense reaction. After two weeks of feeding woes with Justin, I called his pediatrician–sobbing. The stress of it all took a toll on my sanity and I let it show. After our conversation ended, I thought, “Great, he’s going to think I’m more of a crazy, psycho mom than he already does”. That Monday, I showed up to his office a little embarrassed, regretting that I even lost my composure. Surprisingly, since then, he actually spends time with me, and listens to me. This man, also Nathan’s pediatrician, never had more than a few obligatory medical advice to say in the past 2 years that I’ve known him. Now, he tries to understand my worry and address it. As a doctor, I always had great respect for him. But, when it came to relating to the parent, I always felt like he was lacking. Maybe it was me all along…I realized, to be strong does not mean having to suppress my emotions. To be strong means to show that softer, more tender side sometimes. It shows that I’m confident enough to say, yeah, I hurt sometimes, just like you. But, I’ll get back up, and so will you.
November 15th, 2007 at 12:56 pm
What a thoughtful post. Thank you for writing. I know I have managed to live on both sides of that emotional pendulum in my life, and I continue to swing back and forth some as I mature. I think I went for three years without crying once — ever — but then I later managed to cry my way through the better part of a few months — and believe me, it didn’t matter where I was or with whom when the waterworks started.
I have yet to have kids, so I haven’t experienced their humanizing effect, but I have had a lot of situations in life that have taught me that there is virtue in something other than a stiff upper lip. More importantly, perhaps, I have learned true empathy is an amazing gift. We can never really feel what others are feeling and experiencing, but we can recognize our own frailty and our own strength and our common humanity in them and their circumstances and allow ourselves to feel compassion. Sometimes that compassion leads to tears, and that, too, is beautiful.
November 26th, 2007 at 11:53 pm
You are a strong woman. I think many of us do this. I don’t like to let people see me cry. It certainly makes us human. We can only take so much and sometimes we just need that release.