[03] The Indian Mom Rage Quit

04 Dec, 2023

My fiancé and I come from very different families. Where mine is structured and gendered, his is flexible and less traditional. But, lucky for us, both have fairly rebellious parents ;)

Among the things I love about our mix of cultures, our division of labour is my favourite; he creates, and I restore. Our efforts are always aligned to our betterment, and we play to our strengths.

And then, last week, I got mad at him because after having a long day at work, I came home and cleaned up the apartment instead of leaving it for the following day. You'd assume that he had something to do with it. You're wrong, and so was I.

You see, every evening, I wind down by putting my house back in order — I truly enjoy the rhythmic nature of it. I don't really let others help with this because it is meditative for me; as someone deserving of a tidy home, I make the apartment beautiful each night so it can greet me in the morning. As deserving as I was that night, my intention was misaligned, and my fiancé was collateral damage in my effort to feel recognised, capable, and valued.

Recognition

I had a giant thundercloud above me, threatening to strike anyone in my path, and even our cats watched me from their safety under the dining table. I spent an hour moodily straightening out the couch cushions, angrily washing the dishes, hatefully wiping down the counters, and anxiously sweeping the floor. I was practically boiling over with rage in my effort to be seen doing the hard work and then be sincerely and openly appreciated for it.

And when that didn't happen, I felt forced to Share My Feelings in a way that was detrimental to my relationship: displacement¹. I call this domestic brand of displacement the Indian Mom Rage Quit.

Being at the receiving end of The Indian Mom's Rage is a shared lived experience. Its the stuff of nightmares and expensive therapy.

There you are, just existing in your home or helping with something you were asked to do. And then: * enter mom * huffing and puffing and threatening to blow the house down around her. And you.

(As her child, you'd have known exactly why. It was probably your dad, but you're not allowed to say it is. We've all been at the receiving end of her silent, stressed-out, stressful hurt — that shit stays with you.)

I recognised my seething, low-volume outburst that night for what it was. Acknowledging that my response to the situation was immature at best and harmful at worst was difficult. No one wants to be seen being wanting.

Repair and the Benefits of Structured Debate

Intention is everything when you're saying sorry. Being intentional means that the apology is sincere, that you've actually given thought to why you're sorry, and (after having asked) recognised how your choices hurt the other person. Being raised in a Brown Family often means that this kind of apology isn't modelled for the kids in a public way. After any disagreement, instead of apologies, there's no conversation about it the next day, then there's an abrupt and forced return to normalcy, and finally, you wait for one of the adults to violently explode at you if you (the child) break a vase or get a low score on your test.

Behaviour change isn't easy on the best of days. My catalyst for change was seeing how much kinder my fiancé's responses were compared to mine. Where I became vindictive, he was compassionate. Where I was abrasive, he was gentle. Whether in deeds or words, he always inspires rather than forces a change in the other person despite their mistakes.

I don't think anyone enjoys being sorry about things all the time. This time was no different. But, the value of my relationship was more important than the forced results of expecting validation for my daily effort. So, as we always do on difficult days, we had a structured debate about it. And then, knowing that we're now on the same page, went to bed peacefully and together.

A Note on Indian Parenting

While Brown culture has its success and many pitfalls, our stress responses as adults are what we saw our parents and role models do when we were growing up. When enough people are kind in words and deeds, and when enough people get mad at something a certain way, both become ingrained in the collective experience as "the culture". I don't have to remind my fellow Brown Kids that by writing this, I'm not talking smack about my parents; I'm simply unlearning their models and growing as a person.