I used to be told all the time by one of my favorite teachers that hate is a strong word and that I shouldn’t hate anything. Truthfully, I don’t know if I genuinely hate kids or if I hate the idea of what kids can be and their effect on the world. I can’t see myself having kids. I can’t see risking my life for a baby, I can’t see myself giving up my life to raise a child, and I can’t see a life where my partner also cares for a child with me.

It is so hard being a woman of color. If we choose to have kids, we are more at risk of dying during birth because we are minorities. We don’t get the same care white women do when they’re birthing. When we have kids, we are expected to give up our past life to care for our children. We lose all independence because it is expected of us as women and sometimes it is expected in our culture. There is no support while being a mother, husbands or baby daddies can leave or just ignore their responsibilities and many do.

So why should I be a mother? I know I have terrible tastes in partners and I won’t risk my life to raise a child alone and pass down the trauma I went through.

I remember being a kid and I’ll be honest I was a good kid, kind and obedient. My family caused me to be cold, closed off, and emotionless because it was easier to act as if I could care less than to show the hurt they would cause me. Every now and then my mom would ask, “What happened to you? You used to be such a good kid.” I know she risked her life to have me but is it so bad to say that she was what happened? I love my mother but I hate kids because of her. It comes from fear of doing to them what was done to me.

I don’t want to do my best as a parent and still fuck up my kid. I can’t imagine going through all I would have to be faced with a child filled with trauma because of me just as my mother did. Or even worse what if they turn out to be a psychopath despite my best efforts? It is crazy to think about ripping the most sensitive parts of my body apart just to be left devastated in the future.

This is just my opinion. If you love kids and want to have them I wish you all the best in the future.

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I started having panic attacks when I was five. A bit young in my opinion but still I remember the day so clearly. I went to the beach with my family and when the day was over we all went to the bathroom to change into regular clothes. I did not want to wear what my mother picked out for me and instead brought the outfit I wanted to wear. This little thing made my mom furious and she started yelling bloody murder at me in public. I started breaking down, hyperventilating, crying, and every limb in my body locked. I couldn’t move, I sat on the concrete floor, crying, trying to catch my breath. My mom was apologizing profusely when she realized something was seriously wrong. The paramedics arrived because no one knew what was going on. They said I was just dehydrated. Nothing about a panic attack. My panic attacks have continued to this day and they are always this severe. To make matters worse, I developed anxiety and depression soon after my panic attacks started. My parents have gotten used to it now, they don’t comfort me like they used to. Instead, they choose to yell at me and tell me I’m crazy, they tell me I have to control my emotions or I will never get over my phase. So, I try my best to hide my emotions around my parents, I go to other people for help instead of them, and I developed some healthy and unhealthy coping methods.

I don’t have ill feelings towards my parents for how they handle my panic attacks. They’re immigrants, from their country, mental illness was not taught and emotions are seen as a weakness. They can’t understand what they were never taught. Of course, I wish things were different and that I had parents that would comfort me and calm me down but I empathize with how they grew up. I know they have mental health issues too but they don’t understand it and choose to bury it, only to hurt themselves. They were taught to bury their feelings and they tried to teach it to me. It has affected how I have grown and how they have. I love my parents and I know they are doing their best, now that I am an adult I understand they were only trying to help me despite all the pain it caused.

It is hard having a chronic illness in an immigrant household. I didn’t even know my mental health issues were a chronic illness until this class taught me. We are not alone, generational trauma is hard and I know so many other people deal with the consequences too. So here is my lesson to you, we are not our illness, we can learn to do better for our children, and to forgive those who meant to do us no harm.

Step 1: Get married

Step 2: Have kids

Now I will not lie, I dreamt of my wedding day since I was a kid. It is a want of mine but that want is slowly diminishing nowadays seeing the state of humanity. There is no compassion in people anymore, no empathy, no chivalry. Maybe I just have bad taste in men but why would I subject myself to entrapment if I won’t get all my needs met? Just like Dr.Kate said in class, more women now do not want to get married because men won’t do anything to help the house and more men want to marry in order to get out of doing housework. Why should I have to nag my husband to clean, to do simple chores? Wives are expected to mother their partners and later, kids. Not to mention that some fathers think of taking care of their own kids as babysitting. Frankly, it seems more like hell than a dream. The role of a wife is to cook, clean, and care for everyone in the family. The role of a husband is to work and do absolutely nothing after or cheat because life is too hard after having the kids they wanted. 

Currently, my new favorite show to binge is “Desperate Housewives”. This doesn’t help my views of marriage and kids either, all the characters have real struggles when it comes to marriage and kids. The children lie and are complete menaces to their mothers, the trouble they go through to raise young kids and teens would honestly make me lose my mind. It happened to three of the mothers in the show, one checked herself into a mental institution after her son falsely accused her of abuse and her daughter ran away to be with a boy, one committed suicide over a crime she did to protect her psychotic son, one started popping Adderall like candy to be the perfect wife and mother. All their husbands have affairs or work so much that they are never home to help with the kids, leaving their wives to suffer alone. I know it is an exaggeration but it is a struggle for wives and mothers to have all these pressures on their shoulders. As someone who already struggles with mental health issues, being a mother and a neglected wife would be my last straw. 

If your dream is to get married and have kids then of course follow your dreams but be realistic. The gender role of being a wife and mother makes you handle all the responsibilities alone, the husband won’t help much if even at all. Are you prepared to go down this path alone? Look at Dr.Kate, if she had kids she wouldn’t be able to go to Paris in January. Kids and marriage come with the cost of freedom and a whole lot of sacrifices as a woman. However, for men, it won’t devastate their life.

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“All Asians are smart.”

“All Asians get straight A’s”

I have heard these stereotypes all my life. My experience with education has not been the best. I disregarded my happiness and well-being for my education and this is the phenomenon of being a first-generation student.

I am the youngest of four in a first-generation Vietnamese household. My parents immigrated to America, with limited education and no knowledge of the English language. Despite that, they were able to escape from an environment of poverty and social immobility, in hopes of giving our family opportunities they never had. Because of their hardships, my parents placed a big emphasis on my siblings and I to only focus on our education. 

With the significance of education prominent in my household, I feared my parents’ disappointment if I failed to meet their expectations. To gain familial approval, I worked myself to tears. I did not have much of a social life, I rarely took sick days, and straight A’s were expected, not suggested. As a result of the immense pressure, I developed depression, anxiety, and panic attacks at the age of five. I developed insomnia because I worried about my future and if I was doing well enough to gain my parents’ satisfaction. I was destroying my health and I didn’t care because I wanted approval from my parents. It was only when my parents bragged about my grades to their friends that I got the recognition I desperately desired.

In an Asian household, mental illness is seen as a weakness. I was told I was crazy and stupid because of my struggles with my mental health. I felt myself go mad because I stopped caring for myself. Therefore, I concealed my “weakness”, to avoid judgment and shame from others. 

The stress and anxiety prevented my pursuit of happiness but drove me to work harder to achieve my goals. There’s at least a silver lining. So here is the ending of my story, I still struggle with my mental health but I learned that my happiness should come first even if I’m risking disappointing the people I love. I still do my best in school, but I know my limits now. I made myself proud. I have already made it this far, so who’s going to tell me I’m not good enough?

Grades do not define you, nor does the expectations of your culture. You are your experiences and what you learn from them. It’s a struggle being a first-generation student, but if you’re making yourself proud, then who cares about what anyone else thinks? Now that I’m older, I understand immigrant parents aren’t trying to break you down, they’re encouraging you to do your best in the only way that they know how because they weren’t raised to deal with emotions. It may not be the right way, but it’s a cultural thing.

Moral of the story: Do what makes you proud of yourself and never ruin yourself for anyone’s expectations.

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