The weak spots

I’ve recently been reading The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan, again. I can’t tell you just how many times I’ve read this book. Nor would I be able to tell you just how many times I watched the movie. I recall that when I first read the book, I saw so much of me and mother in the individual characters. When I saw the movie, I believe I walked out because it affected me that much. I don’t think I ever walked out of a movie before or after that one time. I don’t know what came over me to read this book again, right now, given that there is a list and stack of other books that I want to read. Not to mention that I’m still working my way through two other books. Regardless, here I am reading The Joy Luck Club yet again.

I must admit that reading TJLC again, I now have a different perspective. A different set of eyes reading the book and absorbing the information. I now read lines or portions of the text and either realize exactly what the lesson is or have multiple experiences of my own that can relate to what I’m reading. So, I’ve taken to writing down excerpts that stand out to me as they have given me many ideas to build on for my own purposes.

While I was reading last night, I came across a portion of text that referred to the invisible barriers that a character had created in order to protect herself from her mother’s attacks. Not the direct attacks where it’s clear what the purpose is, but the indirect attacks. The attacks that hit at our very core. Our weakest spots. Now, I am sure that any mother knows how to do this, but in my experience, from what I’ve seen, Chinese mothers seem to have this down to an art. That both of you could be in a regular conversation alone or with others, and without even skipping a beat or tone. That was exactly how my mother could be when we were together.

My mother knew exactly what buttons to push. She knew exactly what to say. And even moreso, she would say her sharp, cutting words in such a regular tone of voice that it would get me at more core like you wouldn’t believe. And it was all the more frustrating when she would do this when we were in mixed company. It’s not like I can have such a reaction when we are in front of others. (In fact, the only times I’ve ever been saved from my mothers sharp words was if her mother was around.) And it got so bad that I never knew if my mother was being light-hearted or cutting with her words. Hitting my weak points seemed to come so easily. She had a way of doing this that I felt as though just about everything she said to me had some sort of hidden meaning that was meant to grind my nerves.

Now, the bad thing about this is that I learned how to do this very same thing. Just as my mother could cut me to the quick in about three sentences or less, I too, am capable of doing the same thing. And I am learning on a daily basis how to not exercise that skill that my mother perfected. It hurts too many feelings and leaves feelings of inadequacy or resentment for which I want no responsibility. At least most of the time I just make these comments under my breath or in my head . . . it's much better that way. I only wish my mother could have seen that when it came to our interactions. I mean, I know that my mother's job was to be my mother and help me better myself. However, I don't think that includes cutting me to the core with her words that she knew would hit me where it hurt the most. I remember the first time I brought home a 92 on a test. What does she say to me? Where are the other eight points. I constantly heard the barrage of questions or wonderings aloud of why I couldn't be more like my brother, why couldn't I have friends like my brother . . . the constant devaluing of the choices I made in my life. The constant disapproval of just about everything. Focusing on all the times I wasn't around with my family rather than the times where I did pull through for my family. I constantly felt the frustration. I constantly felt the sting of my mother's extremely well-placed words.

To this day, I am still recovering from my mother’s ways. The one that has had such a lasting impact is not taking everything that everyone says so personally. That comments aren’t always full of hidden meanings, but that they are exactly how they sound. And that not everyone is trying to cut me to the quick and have me feel small by their words. It is a daily process to keep the invisible barriers down so that I don't respond defensively or passively to what people may say. Words are words. That's it. Not everyone has mastered the art of using words to the degree that my mother has. And even if they have, not everyone sees the benefit in mastering the art of hitting the weak spot as my mother did.

At this point, it is what I make it . . . or not make it.