Legacy in Her Hands: A Mother’s Day & Asian Heritage Month Reflection
This May, as I basked in the love and appreciation of my children on Mother’s Day, I found myself thinking of my own mother. The thoughtful gestures from my kids filled me with warmth—but also with a quiet longing. Longing for the comfort of her presence, for the familiar feeling of home she carried. Though our relationship wasn't always easy, she is still very much with me—today, she remains a resource of comfort, strength, and love in ways I could not always see when she was alive.
This reflection is also inspired by Asian Heritage Month—a time when I find myself returning to the histories that shaped not only our culture, but also the women who came before me.
A few years ago, I attended a local Toronto book club event where author Zhang Ling presented her novel A Single Swallow. Her story, set around World War II, explored the lives of three men who loved the same woman, Ah Yan. But it was something she said during her talk that stopped me: the concept of the Three Obediences—a Confucian ideal that governed women’s roles in traditional Asian societies. A woman was expected to be obedient and dutiful to her father before marriage, her husband afterward, and her sons in widowhood.
Something clicked.
I had never fully considered how this cultural framework shaped my mom’s choices, her silence, her strength. And in understanding this, I felt a softening within me—a sense of grace.
The Gift in Her Story
My mom was born in the 1930s in Taiwan, where women were raised under the influence of the Three Obediences and the Four Virtues—which emphasized proper conduct, speech, appearance, and domestic skills. Her world was defined by family loyalty and cultural duty.
She married young and became a full-time homemaker, standing firmly beside my father as he made the leap from military service to entrepreneurship in Taiwan. Her life centered around raising us and supporting his dreams. As a child, I often wanted her to be more vocal, to take my side, to challenge the power dynamics at home. But her loyalty was unwavering—even when she disagreed, she remained steadfast. At the time, I didn’t understand. I judged her for it. I wanted her to fight for me.
Now, I understand she was fighting for me - in the ways she knew how.
Within the boundaries she inherited, she still planted quiet seeds of change. She would tell me and my two sisters: “Study hard. Get a good job. Be independent.” She didn’t rewrite the rules for herself, but she gave us tools to do so in our own lives.
And beyond tradition, she showed up in deeply human ways. She made sure we had what we needed, created safety in our routines, and modeled endurance, resilience, and self-sacrifice. Even when words failed her, her actions spoke.
The Moment that Opened the Door
After my mom passed away—more than 20 years ago and just two years into my own motherhood—what lingered most were the wounds: the distance, the emotional gaps, the sense that she was always on someone else’s side.
During early therapy work, my therapist once asked me to recall a good memory of my mom. I couldn’t. The silence sat between us, heavy and sad. But in the quiet that followed, a memory floated up.
I was about five or six, asking her about the three small moles on the back of my neck. She touched each one as she answered:
The first one means you will always be taken care of.
The second one means you will always have food to eat.
The third one means you will always have a roof over your head.
Then she added, “These moles bring good luck. You’ve been blessed with them.”
It was more than a superstition. It was a reassurance. A mother’s quiet promise that I would be safe. And now I carry that promise in my work, my parenting, and my healing.
Opening the Door to Healing
Reflecting on my mom’s life through the lens of history has been an act of healing. She didn’t have the choices I have today, but she helped create those choices for me. She didn’t fight the system, but she stretched its edges for her daughters. And in doing so, she passed down more than tradition—she passed down strength, compassion, and the quiet determination to do better for the next generation.
This Mother’s Day and Asian Heritage Month, I honor her story and her legacy—not just as my mother, but as a woman shaped by history, who still found ways to love deeply and fiercely in the ways she knew how.
A Reflection for You
Perhaps there is someone in your life—your mother, grandmother, or caregiver—whose love didn’t always come in the ways you wished for. Perhaps their silence hurt, or their choices confused you. And perhaps, with time and reflection, there is space to hold both the hurt and the love.
What stories shaped them? What legacy did they carry and pass on to you—intentionally or not?
As we honor the mothers and mother figures in our lives, may we offer ourselves and them the grace of context, and the gift of compassionate reflection.
“To understand the present, we look to the past. To heal, we learn to make peace with both.”