Freshman year was a roller coaster of emotions. During that time, life was hard on me because I wanted to impress my mom to the fullest and I felt getting good grades was the only way. I spent endless nights with my laptop as I worked to achieve great grades.  My mom and I often argued even if it was the littlest thing. Constant fights were draining and it upsets me that our relationship was full of small arguments. I realized that my mom and I didn’t trust each other enough. No matter how much I knew she was right at some points, I couldn’t seem to admit it to her.

My mom was raised in Cambodia, her lifestyle was completely different from mine. The streets were full of children selling items and food. Raised in an urban province where it was rough and difficult, my mom grew up carrying the full responsibility of taking care of her family. While, as she would tell me, my only responsibility was to study hard so I could get into a good college. She grew up having to be independent, while I grew up dependent on her. As a Cambodian American, I struggled with Cambodia’s culture and norms. But, she put a lot of pressure on me to do my best to represent our country, Cambodia. My challenging relationship with my mom caused me to seek supportive figures in my teachers. Despite rough times, I started to grow attached to my English teacher. One rough day, when I was having challenges at home and school, I ended up sobbing in her classroom. She became a mother figure to me when I didn’t have the best relationship with my mom. Moving into the year, life would only hit me more during sophomore year.

Under the weight of my mom’s pressure and school work, I was burning out. In October of my sophomore year, I had my yearly physical. The nurse asked me if I was okay. It took a lot of courage for me to share my feelings as I tend to bottle them up, but I did. After listening, the nurse suggested that I should start seeing a therapist. I was shocked that I needed a therapist. I took this as a chance to improve my mental health. Though, my mom was surprised, “I never knew she felt this way?” she told the nurse. “Are you sure it’s not a phase?” Ultimately, she agreed to help me get a therapist.

During the first session, I was anxious but surprised at how smoothly it went. I appreciated that the therapist carefully listened to my feelings. She recommended that we bring my mom to the next session. She also told me, “Try to understand that your mom grew up in a different country.” In the next session, with my mom next to me, my therapist asked questions of us and got us to share our perspectives. My mom spoke with my teachers, and explained the tough situation at home, hoping they could be more understanding with me. We decided that I should change some of my classes. Our relationship improved a bit because I knew my mom was trying for me.

Summer of my sophomore year, my mom and I began to get closer. Sharing my days with her gave me more confidence. My mental state was way better than in my sophomore year. Once junior year hit me, everything felt strange but in a good way. I hung out with people who cared for me, and my mom most importantly is now the closest person to me. I used to eat earlier and stay in my room but now around 6 pm, I would wait for her to come from work so we could eat together. I started to share my days with her and she listened, understanding I am still a kid with feelings. I am bound to make mistakes at some points but I know I have her support.

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