To my heart, my mother,
You are not the traditional tiger mom. You believed in therapy, in mental health, and somehow, you found the strength to break the cycle of generational trauma — a monumental achievement that you rarely give yourself enough credit for.
I was not your trophy.
I was not your bragging right.
I was not your punching bag.
I am your youngest child.
Your only daughter.
Your best friend.
I know you may never fully admit to growing up in an abusive household, but I want you to know how deeply I appreciate that you broke free from that legacy. You chose love, compassion, and understanding.
You taught me, firsthand, that love should never be conditional — not like it was for you. Love is in the moments we shared: when you consoled me after a failed math exam instead of chastising me; when you suggested therapy instead of brushing off my struggles. Love is in our ritual of hugging every time we see each other — a small, beautiful rebellion against the stoicism so many Asian households adopt.
You gave me more than care — you gave me freedom. Freedom to express, to be myself, and to feel loved without limits. You showed me what it means to heal, to grow, and to give love that is endless and whole.
I was always baffled when I learned about my friends’ family dynamics. How love in their homes felt more transactional than emotional, and how physical affection was rare — if not nonexistent. Praise seemed to hinge on achievements, and their lives were meticulously scripted by someone else’s expectations.
They were destined to follow preordained paths: to become doctors, accountants, or some other “respectable” profession, not for their happiness, but for their parents’ bragging rights — a golden badge to flaunt at Christmas dinners or to overshadow the accomplishments of relatives.
You did not share these goals with me, instead you wanted one thing for my future.
Happiness.
I need you to hear this — I need you to believe it. You are not, nor will you ever be, the cause of my mental illness. We share scars forged in the same fires, but also the same unyielding resilience. You are my pillar, my confidant, my best friend, my mother.
There’s a quiet grace in the way you carry yourself, even if you’ve never noticed it. You were raised in a family that didn’t always see your worth, yet you turned that pain into love for me. I vow to remind you daily how deeply grateful I am for you. You carry guilt you don’t deserve, and I would give anything to ease it.
You taught me what unconditional love looks like, and I will never stop loving you loudly in return.
I will forever be indebted to you, for being the mother you should’ve had.
I used to dream of endless possibilities with a wish for more wishes, an infinite loop of opportunities. But now, if I were to be asked again, my answer would change. I would wish for one thing only — for you to share my lifeline. To have you walk beside me until my last breath, so that not even time itself could steal you away. Because a life, no matter how full, feels incomplete without you in it.
Whatever souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.
Yours,
Your daughter.
