When I first told my family that I would be teaching online for the foreseeable future, my mother responded “That’s great news.” I didn’t think so, and now that many people around the world are involved in some sort of remote learning, working, or meeting situation, I think most people would agree with me. It isn’t great.
But I’m glad it’s allowed me to be in the US with my family.
I Feel Safer Here with My Family
I distinctly remember a day in February having a conversation with my friend Zain saying, “I’m really glad that COVID-19 didn’t originate in a country in Africa. I can only imagine how people would treat me here (in China).” If you’ve read my blog, you’ll know that I don’t always encounter the nicest circumstances as a black person in China. Even 4 and 5-year-old children seem to have something against dark skin, one telling me point-blank in English, “I don’t like brown people,” when Ben suggested that the little boy hold my hand. He folded his hands across his chest, as if afraid that I would reach out and take his hand without his consent.
Seeing the prejudice that Asian people were experiencing all around the world during what was then just an epidemic, I could only imagine what would happen to me if this outbreak had happened in an African country.
What I didn’t expect was that African people and people of color in general would still be discriminated against in some cities in China. I don’t understand the logic, but it concerned me when I saw a Chinese news article early on suggesting that COVID-19 may not have originated in China. The fact that we’re so hung up on where it came from and discriminate against people depending on how they look is saddening to me. It’s happening all over the world, and there’s simply no logic behind it.
As China starts to open businesses again, I’m glad that I’m not there. To be honest, I wouldn’t feel as safe there right now. I know there are many people who are black and living in China at this moment, and they are okay. There are also many people who are black and living in the United States, and they are not okay. However, I just don’t think I could handle the additional pressure in China of wondering if I’d be turned away from a restaurant because I’m a foreigner, and specifically one with dark skin. The slight inching away when you get on an elevator, or the dramatic pretense that you stink, or the blatant conversation about you and how unattractive you are have all occurred under non-pandemic circumstances. I can only imagine what it would be like now. I have no heart and energy for it.
I Need the Support of My Family
Being a new mom is hard enough, and I’m glad I’m close to my family and can get support here. Ben’s parents would of course have helped us in China, but I’ve come to realize and accept that Ben’s parents perform love differently than I am accustomed to. Unfortunately, this difference in how we demonstrate love has been significant enough to make me feel not loved at times. More accurately, I feel that Ben’s parents don’t know how to love me, and I’m not sure I know how to love them. I do feel confident that we will learn how to love each other over the coming years, but we aren’t there yet. And it relieves a lot of the stress from my shoulders to simply accept what our relationship is at this moment as opposed to mourning what I think it should be.
I did gain some insight into our relationship after leaving China though, as distance can help give some perspective. I also gained a new insight into parent-child relationships when I asked my students to explain a concept in Chinese culture, of which many chose to explain filial piety. I am really glad I asked them this question because it helped me to understand my parents-in-law much better. Most students said that children owe their parents a debt for having raised them. This helped me understand the seemingly constant reminders from my father-in-law that we should be grateful to him and my mother-in-law for their care.
This, however, is not the parent-child relationship I am accustomed to, nor is it one I want to model. For me, Alaya owes me nothing. Her existence is a wonder; it is a gift; it is a miracle. It is a state of being that didn’t have to be. I find great joy in being granted the opportunity to be her mother. Taking care of her is my choice, and she is not responsible for my choices. While I’m sure when she’s older, I’ll also go on about how I did this and that for her when she was a baby or something like that, I hope I’d only be saying that in jest or to tease her. I have thoroughly enjoyed the trials and laughter of being a mother. If I were given the opportunity, I would have another child as well.
In general, love for me is a choice. For my Chinese wedding vows, I wrote:
Ben and I went to Paris this summer. During the trip, we went to close a lock on fence next to a bridge that had many other locks from other couples showing their commitment to each other. Their hope was that this lock would never again be opened, and in the same way, this couple will forever be together. Ben and I then went on the bridge nearby with the intention of throwing away the key, but I then stopped him.
I didn’t want our love to be the kind of love that couldn’t be unlocked because we had thrown away the key. I didn’t want our love to be like a prison where some warden had locked us in. Instead, I wanted to keep the key. I wanted our love to be a choice. We were making this commitment to each other because we wanted to not because we had to.
You see, love is a choice. Not just a choice that we make today with these witnesses, but it is a choice we must make every day, even every moment. It’s the choice to be patient, it’s the choice to be understanding, it’s the choice to be kind, it’s the choice to give even more during time’s when all these decisions are hardest to make.
As I read these vows, I find the last paragraph to be particularly relevant to our situation now. At this time, I think we’re all struggling. Everyone has their own trauma. A friend of mine referred to it as a “collective trauma,” and I am sharing my situation in the hopes that you won’t feel alone.
You see, besides being a new mom, I’m also the spouse of someone who struggles with depression. Ben, my husband, has had a deep depressive episode before, not long after we got legally married. In fact, it was this depressive episode that inspired the vows above, which were written for our Chinese ceremony a year and a half after we got married. By then, Ben had recovered from that depressive episode, and he wouldn’t have another episode until after Alaya was born.
I didn’t know that paternal postpartum depression (PPPD) was a thing until I found myself smack dab in the middle of it. (Isn’t that how it always happens?)
For six weeks postpartum, the postpartum nurses from the hospital where I gave birth would call me every Saturday to ask me how I was doing. They wanted to know if I had any questions about taking care of Alaya and whether or not I was healing well. They would always end by asking me a series of questions meant to assess whether or not I was suffering from postpartum depression. However, they never once asked me to hand my phone to my husband to give him the same assessment. I wish they had.
During the “fourth trimester,” I was so wrapped up in my care of Alaya and plans for her care after I went back to work, I didn’t immediately notice that Ben was having another depressive episode. Besides becoming a new father, Ben also got a new job (or a promotion, if you will). He would be working in the same department, but his new role would mean more responsibility and require new skills. So, when he seemed stressed, unhappy, and exhausted, I wasn’t surprised. I did as much as I could to support him, encourage him, and lift his spirits. I also took on as much of the burden of Alaya’s care as possible. However, the metaphorical cloud continued to loom.
It wasn’t until Alaya was closer to four months, and I was preparing to go back to work that things really began to unravel. On one trip home from a hospital visit for Alaya in Shanghai, he told me, “Sometimes I just feel like you don’t know what I want.” I was stunned. Of course I didn’t know what he wanted. I had been saying that for weeks, even months at that point. He didn’t know what he wanted, so how was I supposed to know?
He wasn’t sure that he could do his job or what the meaning was of the work he was doing.
He wasn’t sure he ever actually wanted children, and he found the time he spent with Alaya to be stressful, especially if she was fussy.
He’d lost interest in things that he used to find joy in.
He struggled to sleep and to get out of bed.
He occasionally felt that death was the only way people could see that he was suffering.
One day Ben said to me, “I just keep oscillating between hope and despair,” and it stuck with me. It was and still is, I think, the best way to describe the times we’re living in now. Not just Ben’s depression and new momhood, but also the situation with COVID-19.
Being in the US with my family helps me to feel more comfort, peace, and safety during despairing times. It’s also a place where Ben can get the professional support he needs. We signed up for BetterHelp for him while we were still in China, but since the therapists are based in the US, it’s now easier for him to schedule appointments while he’s here. He also has a counselor through Duke University.
It’s easier to write and share this now because we’re in a place of hope. I’ve written more than I’ve posted these last few weeks because I wasn’t sure how or where to start. I wasn’t sure if I could share what is more Ben’s struggle than my own. I wasn’t sure how to talk about my current lived experience without talking about the depression. I appreciate that Ben has given me permission to share his struggle with depression on my blog.
On Saturday, we will have been married for 5 years. Happy Anniversary, sweetheart. I look forward to celebrating our 50th together.
“I have loved you for a thousand years, and I’ll love you for a thousand more.” Christina Perri
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