Qiu, Yuwei. Your Near Is My Far. Shandong Publishing House of Literature and Art, 2025 (translations mine):
Mainstream psychologies have reduced the issue of trauma from a social problem to an individual or bodily one. This shift has exacerbated adversarial dynamics between generations (mother–daughter), genders (male–female), and urban–rural divides, leading to such stereotypes as “East Asian mothers are control freaks,” “East Asian women aren’t relaxed enough,” or “rural women are ‘brothers’ subordinates.’” The intent here is not to deny the existence of certain social phenomena, but to point out that we often mistake consequences for causes, treating them as mere matters of personal choice while neglecting the historical and social conditions behind these behaviors.
Many Western psychologists in recent years have also begun to critique this concept of self, arguing that it alienates people and breeds isolation. It leaves individuals feeling lonely, anxious, and narcissistic. In my clinical work with older generations of women, I have come to see that their seemingly “ineffective” behaviors are not merely expressions of narcissistic traits but responses shaped by their own needs and the historical context they lived through.
Gradually, I realized that as a therapist, I must not only study mainstream psychological frameworks but also maintain a critical awareness of their underlying ideology, pursuing localized explorations of my own. To interpret trauma, one cannot stop at the dichotomy between individual and collective; one must place it within larger social contexts and complex power relations.
The process from “Why can’t she understand me?” to “This is something she simply cannot give me” is a journey of recognition.
I came to see that empathy rests on two pillars: psychological energy and the understanding capacity. The former depends on inner maturity, the latter on our ability to revisit the past with the client and re-experience their feelings of that time. Both are indispensable. For a long while, I thought understanding mattered most, but later I saw that without sufficient psychological energy, it is nearly impossible to transcend one’s own perspective and truly understand another, especially someone who has hurt you. A colleague once remarked: “When my psychological energy is low, my imagination traps me in deep unease.” Empathy cannot be forced. An emotional flow beyond the self, it arises naturally after one has worked through a great deal of grief and developed the internal strength to hold it.
When a mother’s sense of self-worth relies entirely on the social identities bestowed upon her, the completion of each such identity — wife, mother, grandmother — leaves her emptier. She may then seek to fill the void by creating new identities, such as “being a boss,” to meet inner needs.
Letting go of expectations is a kind of farewell, a farewell to the imagined mother or daughter. Earlier I wrote mainly of daughters dismantling their idealized image of the mother, but mothers too must relinquish their ideal image of the daughter. This is a shared responsibility. One side’s willingness to face it can be supported by the other, but never wholly replaced. The process requires working through grief: denial, guilt, ambivalence, anger, unease, anxiety, depression. Only when these emotions are acknowledged and released can one accept the other’s real, imperfect self and different choices. Otherwise, unrealistic expectations persist.
Do not wait for your parents to recognize you before becoming an independent person. Take responsibility for yourself first before attempting to communicate.
We habitually begin questions with “why.” But research shows that “why” questions often make others feel accused or challenged, especially when they already harbor negative emotions.
I’ve observed that most of parents don’t consciously intend to hurt their children; rather, they themselves are helpless and can only resort to ineffective ways of coping with their emotions, such as provocation, suppression, avoidance, or outbursts. When emotional trauma remains unhealed, people use dogma and austerity to suppress inner anger, viewing emotions as an “obstacle” to solving problems, pitting emotions against problem-solving.
When describing emotions, use affirmative rather than negative language. We often say, “Don’t worry,” “Don’t cry,” “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Though meant to comfort, such words invalidate the other’s lived feelings and may have the opposite effect.
Empathy requires the willingness to feel one’s own vulnerability. A person who cannot accept their own emotions cannot truly accept another’s.
When parents complain that nothing tastes right or works well, it is often an expression of insecurity.
If I had to define the “self” in one sentence, it would be: “The self is an independent being composed of diverse needs.”
When mothers act domineering, there is usually a need beneath it: to be acknowledged, to be obeyed, to see certain outcomes in their children. Especially for mothers who sacrificed their careers for their children, the child becomes the vessel of all their time and energy. Their expectations intensify. This is not only a domestic tragedy but a social one.
There are two types of controlling behavior: overt “claws-out” dominance, easily visible, and a “roundabout” stubbornness that twists and turns but always circles back to her viewpoint, quietly unyielding.
If you are currently in a fragile state, financially or emotionally, keep a healthy distance from your parents. Create a space of autonomy, avoid sharing vulnerable feelings that may be easily triggered. When your energy strengthens, state your feelings and boundaries matter-of-factly. The other party may react defensively by suppressing, denying, or playing the victim to evade responsibility. Such reactions are common, since challenging long-held values provokes aggression. There is no need to justify or explain yourself; simply restate your boundary, calmly and repeatedly.
A father may suddenly be triggered by something, lash out in anger, and not understand what caused it or how to express dissatisfaction constructively.
Children often express strong emotions because they lack the tools to express themselves otherwise, using intensity as a way to be noticed.
For example, your grandfather may not actually be refuting you; he may simply be offering a different perspective. Yet you feel instantly contradicted, because years of his nagging have filled you with anger. His differing view reactivates that old scene, triggering rebellion. A more effective approach is to revisit the past and truly feel the anger that accumulated in childhood and to release it. This is not to change the past, but to clear the blockage so reconciliation becomes possible.
The key to breaking reactive patterns is not to “fight back,” but to notice your emotional state in the moment, use relaxation techniques, and release the physiological stress — racing heart, dizziness, tension in limbs — to free yourself from reactivity.
Parents are autonomous individuals with their own issues to work through. We cannot expect them to change before we can adjust our emotions. The more effective approach is to recognize what is happening and refuse to absorb their emotional debris. When you sense “he’s slipping into it again,” gently interrupt. I now stop my father mid-sentence and mirror back his anxious speech to him.
Over the years, I have accepted that I can’t expect to change my father or to have him understand or approve my choices. But I retain the right to tell him what I think.
Between anger and appeasement, I have found a third way: to give him direct feedback about my feelings. Whatever his reaction, I calmly and firmly communicate my discomfort or joy and my choices without justifying them. When he erupts in impotent rage, I tell him directly: “That’s your emotion. If you want comfort and support, I can offer that. But if you attack, I won’t accept it.”
For a long time, my image of my father was split, both fragile and violent. I later realized these were two sides of the same coin: narcissism and trauma intertwined, trapping him in his pain. I could label him an “East Asian parent,” yet I know his suffering is also part of mine. To reject him is to reject part of myself.
When I was young, I swore not to become my mother. Yet I’ve internalized her disappointment in me: I can’t “forgive” myself unless I excel. Otherwise, I feel unworthy and punish myself. I dread what she’d feel if she saw how much she hurt me, because she’s trapped in the same pattern. What I can do is to learn about her past, to know that being caught in this cycle isn’t my fault, and to free myself from guilt and anger.
In response to this emotional void, mainstream culture prescribes “be yourself” and “live your truth,” resulting in a false sense of agency through consumption, as if using a certain brand, following a celebrity, or listening to a podcast makes you unique, attracting like souls so you can receive love and attention. But this pursuit centers on having, not on feeling or understanding; it dulls awareness of others and of reality. The more we chase “selfhood,” the lonelier we become, living enclosed within our own worlds, fragile and anxious when we reach outward.