Chapter 7: Under Mom’s Shadow

Though she's Mom's real sister, their personalities couldn't be more different. Auntie is capable, fun-loving, and independent. Even after marriage and having a child, she travels solo every year. She lives brightly and openly. Mom can't control her—and is even a little afraid of her.

I remembered the photos Auntie posted from her solo trips to Portland, New Orleans, even a solo road trip along Route 66. She always brought back wild stories and little souvenirs for me. Compared to Mom’s tightly controlled routines, Auntie was a breath of fresh air.

Because every time Auntie sees Mom, she advises her not to be a stay-at-home mom just for my sake, but to find something for herself. Her clear, logical arguments even make someone as stubborn as Mom waver. That's why Mom doesn't want me going to Auntie's—she's afraid Auntie will "lead me astray."

Aunt Sarah told me once, "Nat, your mom loves you, but she’s scared of letting go. She thinks if she loosens her grip, you’ll slip away. But that’s not how love works." I wanted to believe her.

But I think Auntie is right: "You study for yourself. If Natalie understands that, you don't need to worry about her 24/7. If she doesn't, even if you worry 25 hours a day, it's useless."

The words echoed in my mind, a counterweight to Mom's constant pressure. Auntie’s faith in me made me want to believe in myself, too.

I've understood the meaning of studying since I was young and genuinely like learning, so from elementary school to my senior year, every winter and summer break, every weekend, I obediently attended one tutoring class after another.

I remembered the endless worksheets, the back-to-back Zoom sessions, the way my backpack always felt heavier after each break. It was routine by now, almost automatic—like breathing.

The result of working hard is that my grades are excellent, always among the top. But Mom is never satisfied.

Sometimes I caught her scrolling through parent group chats, comparing my grades with kids from across the state. Her disappointment was always just one test score away.

If I do well, she finds the mistakes I shouldn't have made and lays into me over and over for being careless.

Every time I saw a red mark on a quiz, I braced myself for the lecture that would follow. "You knew this word last week, so why’d you miss it now?" The mistakes became bigger in her eyes, until they were all she could see.

If I don't do well, like this time, she starts nagging from the day she gets the grades, and after countless repetitions, she turns Christmas Eve into my personal trial by jury.

Her voice would echo through the house, bouncing off the walls and settling into every corner. No achievement was ever enough; no failure ever forgiven.

She knocks me down with her words, just to remind me who’s boss.

Sometimes it felt like she needed me to be small so she could feel big. The power dynamic in our house was always tilted in her favor.

She thinks I should look up to her, obey her, and thank her, because she gives me endless motherly love: "Natalie, in this world, no one loves you more than Mom."

She’d say it with a smile, as if it explained everything—her rules, her demands, her constant criticism. The phrase became a mantra in our house, one that didn’t feel like love at all.

Yes, but at the same time, no one suffocates me more than Mom. Her need to control me, both physically and mentally, is everywhere.

It was like living under a microscope, every move scrutinized, every choice weighed against her expectations. Even when I closed my door, I never truly felt alone.

If Auntie hadn't appeared like a savior to pull me out in time, I think tonight I would have been strangled by this suffocating motherly love.

Lying in Auntie’s guest room, I stared at the ceiling, grateful for her rescue. I wondered how many more times I’d need saving—and whether I’d ever be able to save myself.