Ever since my blowup with mom on Saturday, I’ve been carrying around a belly full of bile. I was just feeling so damn angry. Angry with my mother’s co-dependency. Angry with her helplessness. Angry with her inaction. Angry with how my parents’ parenting has enabled Johnny to be flakey and unreliable. The night I flew into SFO at 2a, my dad left a voicemail and email, stressing out that he had booked my brother’s second flight and misspelled the name on the itinerary. Could I fix it? Jesus Christ. I was just in the air for five hours. Get Johnny to call in about HIS own fucking flight!!

Thankfully, when I called my father back, he said he did get Johnny to call, and it was all handled. The next day, my boss told me to work from home to prep the social media debrief/stats from the campaign last week. I worked on it, but all day, I was still feeling so much rage towards my mother. By evening, John could tell I was shutting down. We talked about what was bothering me. I was just so frustrated and mad about her lack of self-sufficiency. I went off on an entire tirade about her foibles. And then John observed that I was applying my own personality traits and strengths onto my mother. He emphasized that just bc these things are within my capacity doesn’t mean they are within hers. Do you think she does this out of malice? Would you be angry with someone who is handicapped? I argued that this isn’t a handicap. She used to be a very smart and accomplished woman. Now she has no survival skills. But she is surviving, he said. Just not the way you think she should.

And then I felt awful. I always say that rhythm is the bane of my existence, but actually I have two banes. Rhythm is definitely one of them. Expectations is the other. Growing up, I constantly struggled with the expectations of my parents, of my extended family (Chinese culture), and of myself. Throughout my life, I have frequently felt not good enough. And in areas where I actually did feel confident, my mother always judged my choices. The irony is that today I realized I have been judging my mother for her choices. And I call myself a feminist. I felt such a strong repulsion, bc I would never select her choices for myself, and I was totally imposing all my values of self-reliance and getting shit done onto her. This was an interesting epiphany, and all last night, I thought about how I’d been so harsh and unforgiving and yes, impatient as she had claimed.

This morning after I settled back in at work, my boss came by to see how I was doing. I said I was doing fine, but that I had had a meltdown with my mother during my trip. And then the tears just started coming. Fucking A. My poor boss. Goddamn, she has had me break down on her now like three times in the last ten days. Who knows what I rambled: mother daughter issues and a lot to do. Blah, blah.

Later this morning, my father called. Grandpa is doing really well. Last night, he ripped out the NG tube, but other than that, in the morning he was able to prop himself up. He also was able to get up with help and use the toilet. I spoke with him on the phone even, and he is responding. I felt so much relief. Then I told my dad that I was glad he delegated the ticket change to my brother. My brother may not execute tasks with the same urgency and approach we do, but it’s still better to delegate where ever possible. Dad can’t do it all. Not now, at 70 years old. I then spoke with my mother and apologized for losing my shit with her. She said she had already forgotten the incident, and that she knows I always do things with good intention. For now, I am letting go of the anger, and I’m trying to practice acceptance… at least until the next blowup!! Haha.