I was raised to hate my daughter

I have been having this recurring thought lately. I think I might have been raised to hate my daughter. This sounds harsh and off-putting. But living with my parents and sister while simultaneously trying to raise a toddler has had me fighting surface battles when really the discord seems to be occurring much deeper within me.

Stop whining.

Stop screaming.

Stop talking so much.

Stop being so demanding.

Stop being so mean to your grandparents.

All of the things that get my heart racing and my blood boiling are such normal kid things. Why do I have such a strong reaction to them, especially while living at home with the people who raised me? Probably because I was shown and taught that girls are supposed to act a certain why. Be pretty, be good, be polite, be quiet. And although I thought I had consciously shed all that conditioning, it turns out it’s buried deep within my subconscious and rears its ugly head whenever I am in the thick of an uncomfortable kid moment with Miki. I sometimes fly into a rage that I don’t even recognize myself through. I hear my voice yelling and I see my arms flailing and yet, I don’t identify with what is happening in that moment.

I wonder if it would be different if she were a boy. More allowances are made for boys in my experience, though Korean culture does pigeonhole boys as well as girls – boys are a bit more allowed to exist as they are. They can be wild and look messy, and it adds to their charm. Whenever I see my daughter looking crusty or doing something gross (as all kids do) I have a knee jerk reaction to correct the behavior or aggressively wipe her face. It wells up like a bubble in my brain and slowly expands until it’s occupied most of my head and started to press into my throat and chest. I start to feel stressed beyond measure and somewhat undone.

Then I start to think – is my motherhood being whitewashed? Am I holding myself and my daughter to a standard of living that is not a reality for us? In a vaccuum, in a completely financially secure and emotionally stable household, I can see all the peaceful parenting advice really working. Throw in some mental and emotional trauma, racially fueled condescension, financial stress, culturally distant parents, low self-esteem and lack a sleep and that peaceful parenting stuff just feels kind of laughable and really privileged. Am I leaning too hard on that belief? Am I absolving myself of the responsibility to try to be a zen goddess mother by making excuses and scapegoating the system? I don’t know. You tell me. Just something to think about.