How Parents Can Heal Themselves First, Then Love Their Children

A lot of people ask me why I studied psychology. My answer is simple: my marriage was in crisis, and I needed a way out. That was a very silent season of my life. There was an invisible wall between my husband and me. We each pulled back, each hurt on our own, and neither of us knew how that wall had grown up. I knew I expected far too much of my husband, I knew I was domineering, I knew things between me and the children were sometimes stretched very tight. But I didn't know why. All I knew was that it couldn't go on like this.

What I Was Looking for Wasn't Just a Husband

The first psychology book that really stopped me in my tracks was about attachment theory. It said that the patterns we act out in marriage and close relationships are very often a replay of our childhood relationship with our parents. I put the book down and sat there thinking for a long time. I thought of myself losing my father at thirteen, of all those years I held the family up on my own, and of what I was really looking for with all those expectations of my husband.

Suddenly I understood: what I was looking for wasn't just a husband. I was still looking for a father.

Later I learned a concept called "emotion regulation": the way a person deals with feelings is already shaped in childhood. If you weren't allowed to say you were upset as a child, you'll bottle up your feelings as an adult. I was the child who learned to hold back her tears. There was another class that left me sitting in the classroom unable to move. The teacher said that many people who on the surface are managing others and making demands of them are, deep down, asking a question that never got answered when they were small: Am I worth loving? Am I good enough? If I keep everything under control, will I be safe?

I felt seen right through. Losing my father at thirteen left a gap that made me start pouring every ounce of strength into proving myself. But the harder I tried to prove myself, the more I needed to control the outcome; and the more I needed control, the more easily things spun out of control. That wasn't my husband's problem. It was my own homework.

Change Hides in Small Pauses

Real change isn't one big turning point. It's built up out of many small pauses.

• One day, arguing with my husband, about to fire back, I suddenly stopped and asked myself: how much of this feeling did he set off, and how much have I been carrying from long, long ago?
• One day, when my child made a decision I didn't agree with and I was about to correct him, I suddenly stopped and asked myself: am I worried about him, or worried about my own image?
• One day, when someone criticized me and I was about to defend myself, I stopped and asked myself: is there any truth in this criticism?

With that one pause, the whole conversation went a different way. I began to see that if I looked for a father in my marriage, and that burden sat on my husband's shoulders for years, it wasn't fair to him. Behind controlling our children there is very often fear: am I doing this for my child, or to protect myself? I also began to respect my own needs. I have the right to be tired, the right to have unhappy days, the right to say what I need.

Before I studied psychology, I thought I was managing other people.
Afterwards I realized I'd been working hard to manage my own fears.

That Thirteen-Year-Old Girl Could Finally Do Something

The deeper I went in my studies, the more I wanted to help others. I qualified as a registered counselor in Canada.

After I got my license, the first time I truly sat on my own across from a client, it was a woman about my mother's age. She had depression. She came to me needing help. I was very nervous. But one feeling was very clear in that moment: I had seen this kind of pain. My mother had gone through this kind of pain. The thirteen-year-old girl who trailed behind her mother couldn't do anything back then. But now, maybe I could do something.

A sense of calling I can't quite explain was confirmed right then. This woman kept coming for a long stretch of time. I walked alongside her, step by step. Watching her come out of the deepest darkness, watching her eyes go from empty to full of light, watching her start to smile again: that was one of the deepest joys I've known as a counselor.

She came out of her depression. That day, I knew I had chosen the right path.

My second clients showed me another, more complicated kind of family pain. They were a couple who had immigrated from China to Canada. After the move, the culture shock, the pressures of life and the struggle to adjust to a new place began to crack their marriage. The wife's temper got worse and worse, the husband couldn't stand it, and the two of them fought constantly.

And their child was living in that atmosphere. The child started having problems: got hooked on drugs, got into fights at school, and was finally expelled and not allowed back in class. The whole family was in crisis. I decided to start with the wife. I helped her see what was hiding behind her anger, helped her understand where her feelings came from, and helped her see that the ways she used to protect herself were actually hurting the people she loved most. It was a hard process, but she was someone willing to change.

As the wife began to change, the atmosphere in the marriage began to loosen, and the husband saw some hope too. But the child was still out there, with no school to go to. So I went to the school. I talked with the teachers and the guidance counselor and fought for a chance for this child to go back to class. I knew that if a child loses even school, his future gets that much harder.

In the end the school agreed to let the child come back. To make a long story short, this family made it through. The couple's relationship was restored, and the child went back to school and found direction. That case taught me something deeply: a family is a system, and one person's change can move the whole family to change. And one family's change can save a child's future.

Once I was officially a counselor, one question I faced was: who do I learn from? Counseling is a profession that needs ongoing supervision and learning. In Canada, it isn't easy to find a teacher who truly understands Chinese families and their cultural context and can also help you keep growing. I searched for a long time and realized that rather than looking for a perfect teacher, I'd be better off creating a platform myself. That idea later became the original purpose behind founding my company, New Horizons Family Education Consulting.

What Psychology Taught Me

1. Look back at yourself. When you feel wronged, angry or uneasy, first ask: what is this feeling telling me? How is it connected to my past?
2. What failure means. Failure isn't the end. It's an important message telling me where I need to adjust.
3. Go forward with compassion. Don't get stuck in what has already happened, and don't shut it away either. Acknowledge it, then keep walking.

Psychology didn't make me a perfect person. It made me a more clear-eyed one: clear-eyed about myself, clear-eyed about others, clear-eyed about what is really going on in a relationship.