Hi Everyone – Today, I was planning to publish a post about hair and balayage, but given what’s been happening right now, and my recent efforts to be more open, I’m going to save that post for another day, and tell you guys about my experience being separated from my parents as a child, and how it’s affected me.
I don’t mean to launch into a sob story to make anyone feel bad for me, or to compare my experience to what some of the kids getting detained at the border are going through. My story is different. But I do want to say that it’s heartbreaking to hear what’s happening, especially when it really doesn’t have to be this way. I feel like many of these kids are going to be traumatized for life. Some children might never be reunited with their families again.
Like I mentioned before, my family is from mainland China. Things are different in a communist country, especially several decades ago. My dad is the youngest of five siblings, and he was the only one able to go to college. Not because he was necessarily the smartest, but because that opportunity wasn’t available for his older siblings. Because of his education, he was the only one who was able to move from his small town to Beijing, where he and my mom met.
When I was a few months old, my dad was accepted into a graduate school program in Texas, which was an incredible opportunity. He moved to the US when I was 11 months old. My mom joined my dad when I was 2. She got into a master’s degree program as well. This is where the details are a little fuzzy and I’m not sure exactly how things played out. My parents were planning to move back to China after graduating, but due to a series of events involving the aftermath of Tiananmen Square, they couldn’t.
All I know for sure is that I didn’t see my parents again until I was 5. Apparently, they tried to send for me earlier, but because they barely made money as graduate students, my Visa application was denied. They had to save as much as they could to prove that they could support me, and therefore didn’t have money left for plane tickets to visit.
Of course, this was way before Skype existed, and long distance calls were incredibly expensive. So I really don’t have memories of my parents from my early years. I remember meeting them at the airport when I finally moved here. At first, I called them “You” instead of “Mom” or “Dad” when talking to them. How do you call someone Mom or Dad if you don’t know them?
I know for a fact that I’m not alone. I have a couple friends who were in similar situations when their parents moved to the US. I’m lucky that I had grandparents in China who took me in, but even though my grandma took good care of me, it wasn’t the same. Some of my earliest memories are of me feeling ashamed, and trying to explain to others that my parents were in America and they didn’t abandon me.
I was always incredibly nervous and anxious. You can’t help but feel like something is your fault. Could I have done something differently or better? Adults sometimes questioned why I was so meek. I remember someone commenting that I seemed like “such a weakling.” One time, my grandma took me to the doctor because I always had to go to the bathroom. My school noticed the same thing, and they thought maybe I had an UTI or bladder infection. After running tests, the doctor said “there’s nothing physically wrong with her, she just has anxiety.”
The Chicago Tribune did an article about the health effects that children suffer due to separation, and it’s frightening. Although I was ultimately reunited with my parents, and it’s now been 25 years, I still think I have minor “abandonment issues.” I sometimes fear that people close to me will leave me, especially if I don’t live up to their expectations. When I was in middle school, my teacher pointed out that I seemed really cautious about befriending other kids. She said that if they were friendly to me first, I’d reciprocate, but I’d never reach out to them first, often seeming cold. She was totally right. What if I got close to someone, and they left?
I’ve definitely felt very guarded my whole life, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve tried to work on breaking down some of those walls. I’ve had people say to me that they’re surprised at how warm and friendly I actually am when they get to know me. Which is both nice of them to say so, but also kind of upsetting to hear, because I don’t want to seem cold to people! But I think there’s the whole idea of “well, if I seem like I don’t really care to begin with, then I can’t actually get hurt.”
For example, even though I love meeting new people, I have a smaller group of friends that I spend all my time with, probably because I rarely initiate new friendships. I get really excited when other bloggers/readers reach out to me, but I pretty much never reach out first because it’s so scary. Chris and I have been talking about having kids soon, but Ifeel scared about that as well. What if opportunities come up for us like they did for my parents? If we pursue them, will our kids think we’ve abandoned them? I feel nervous about the idea of having kids and leaving them with babysitters, nannies, or at daycare.
As far as the families at the border, my heart goes out to them, even though my personal views about illegal immigration are kind of mixed. (This is because my family and I were legal immigrants and followed all the rules, often at a difficult personal cost. I have family members who would love to come live here, and have always been denied, and I have friends from Europe and Australia who came here for school or work and had nightmarish issues with their legal statuses.) But here’s the thing – for everyone who moved here or had forebears who moved here – we all came so we could have a better life. That’s all that anyone wants. I just wish that young children don’t have to pay the price.