We often assume that the fatigue, mental load, emotional labour, and years of investment poured into our children should be recognized by them. It’s natural to hope for acknowledgment, but expectations especially unspoken ones tend to dissolve into disappointment. The adrenaline of the celebration fades, leaving unresolved emotions at the edge of the dining table.
我們往往以為，自己在育兒過程中累積的疲倦、精神負荷、情緒勞動，以及多年的付出，應該得到孩子的認可。我們渴望被感激是自然的，但期待尤其是未曾說出口的往往會在現實中化成失望。節日的激情退去後，未被處理的情緒只會留在餐桌的一角。

Most days, we’re simply trying to stay afloat. Between work stress carried into the living room, guilt for losing our patience, and the endless repetition of caregiving, we can mistake survival for failure. And in the quiet moments, when our minds circle around how much we give, we rarely pause to ask a more profound question:
在大多日子裏，我們都只是在努力不被淹沒。夾在從辦公室帶回家的壓力、失去耐性後的內疚，以及照顧孩子的無盡「輪迴」之中，我們很容易把「撐著過活」誤以為是「做得不好」。而在那些難得的靜默時刻，當腦海轉著自己付出了多少時，我們很少停下來問一個更深層的問題：

What does it truly mean to be a parent?
為人父母，其實意味著甚麼？

Self-Realization as Parents
父母的自我覺察

I am a mother of two living children and one on the other side. Parenthood is demanding enough and yet becomes even more complex when raising neurodivergent children who navigate a world not built for their nervous systems. It carries grief when we have lost a child. It calls forth courage when we were once the wounded child ourselves, learning how to parent without a map.
我是兩個在世孩子與一個在彼岸孩子的母親。為人父母本已艱鉅，而當我們要撫育多元化的孩子、在一個並非為他們的身心系統設計的世界裏前行更是複雜。除當年失去孩子帶來哀傷；而當我們本身也曾是受傷的孩子時，更需要勇氣在沒有指引的情況下學懂如何成為父母。

In those early years, I was stretched thin between wanting to be the “ideal mother” while feeling numb from the repetitiveness of daily tasks. I was advocating for neurodivergent children in my practice, and at the same time raising my own. I often felt like I was both planting and trying to bloom at the same time.
那些早年裏，我一方面渴望成為「理想母親」，另一方面卻在日復日的重複生活裏感到麻木。我在工作上為多樣化的孩子發聲，同時也在家裏撫育著自己的孩子。我常覺得自己像是一邊播種、一邊又努力綻放。

Then one day, my children brought home small plants from school. Something simple shifted. Parenthood, I realized, is less about sculpting and more about cultivating. We nourish our children the way we nourish a living seed with patience, warmth, communication, and consistency. It can feel tedious in a world obsessed with instant results, but growth rarely happens in public view.
直到有一天，孩子從學校帶回幾盆小植物，一件簡單的事讓我內裏有所松動。我明白到，為人父母與其說是「雕塑」，不如說是「栽培」。我們滋養孩子，就像滋養一顆有生命的種子，需要耐性、溫度、溝通與持續一致。在一個迷戀即時成果的世界裏，這種過程或許顯得沉悶，但成長很少是在眾目睽睽之下發生的。

we are not planting for the branches, the flowers, or even the fruit, we are tending the roots.
我們栽種的，不是枝葉、不是花朵，甚至不是果實，我們守著的是根。

“What is firmly rooted cannot be pulled out.” — Lao Tzu

「有國之母（根源），可以長久，是謂深根固柢，長生久視之道」—— 老子

Leaves will fall. Storms will break branches. Seasons will change. But roots with its quiet, unseen, steadfast are what carry a life through uncertainty.

葉會落，風雨會折斷枝幹，季節會輪替，但唯有根的沉默、隱秘、堅定才能帶領生命穿越不確定的時刻。

New Angles on Growing Pain
成長痛的另一個角度

Every family carries its own constellation of stories. Neurodivergent children, disabled children, living children, deceased children, each soul arrives with its own path. Each pregnancy is its own universe. Each parent is shaped by invisible histories.
每個家庭都有一整片由故事組成的星群。多樣化的孩子、身心障礙的孩子、在世的孩子、離世的孩子風等，每個靈魂都自有它的軌跡。每次懷孕都是一個獨立的宇宙；每位父母都被無形的歷史塑造。

Rather than comparing, shaming, or measuring ourselves against social expectations, perhaps the deeper purpose of parenting is to reclaim our humanity. Our children draw us back to feelings we once buried. They help us confront our shadows. Through them, we learn emotional resilience, compassion, and the art of grounding ourselves again.
與其拿自己與他人比較、感到羞愧，或被社會標準衡量，也許成為父母更深的意義，是讓我們重新找回人性。孩子讓我們回到那些曾被掩埋的情感；他們也讓我們直面內心的陰影。透過他們，我們學會情緒上的韌性、同理與再次落地的能力。

This journey is not a stock market chart to analyze. It is a relationship requires first with ourselves, then with our children, and through them, with the world.
這段旅程不是用來分析的股票圖表，它是一段先與自己，再與孩子的關係，然後透過他們與世界連結。

A Vision on the Water
水上的一個畫面

A few days before Mid-Autumn Festival, I woke with a clear vision:
中秋節前幾天，我醒來時腦海裏浮現一幅清晰的畫面：

I was on a small wooden boat, floating on open water which just big enough for my husband, myself, the kids, and a white, fluffy puppy sat quietly by my side. The scene was peaceful, yet symbolic, like a whisper of what was about to unfold.
我坐在一艘小木船上，漂浮在無邊的水面，船隻剛好容得下我、老公、孩子們，以及一隻白色小毛狗安靜地靠在我身旁。畫面寧靜，卻帶著象徵意味，彷彿在預告著即將發生的事。

Later that day, a wave of heaviness hit with an extended family. All I wanted was one simple boundary: no arguing in my home. For over forty years, arguments were their daily rhythm, and I could no longer invite that into my space.
當天稍後，一陣由親友帶來的沉重襲來我家，而我只想要一個簡單的界線：不要在我家裏爭吵。四十多年來，爭吵是他們的日常節奏，而我再也無法讓這種能量及情緒進入我的空間。

When the event was over, the heaviness lingered. The house felt dense; energy tangled. It was only after cleansing the space, resting, and reconnecting that clarity emerged.
回到家後，那股沉重感覺仍揮之不去。屋內的能量沉滯不動、彼此糾纏。直到我們淨化空間、休息、重新連結後，清晰及安穩的感覺才浮現。

The dream had been a message, the boat in my vision made sense. It was my new chapter, building the foundation of our next evolution with husband and the kids as a team.
原來那個夢，是一個訊息，我夢中的那艘船開始變得清晰。那是我與老公及孩子們是時侯一同建立新篇章、下一階段的根基。

The Anchor: What We Truly Give Our Children
錨：我們真正給予孩子的

Most importantly, 15 years have passed, I realized how I want to parent from here forward. The wisdom I carry comes from information I have lived, practiced, questioned, and transformed. Wisdom is information metabolized through knowledge and experience. And one day, these teachings will become the information my children will choose to transform into their knowledge, their insight, their own wisdom.
更重要的是，15年過去，我明白了往後想以甚麼方式做父母。我所承載的智慧，是從經歷、實踐、質疑與轉化中得來的。智慧，是被經驗消化後的資訊及知識。有一天，這些教導會成為孩子們將要消化、轉化的訊息、知識及洞見，最後而成為他們的自己的智慧。

Here is what I hope to pass on:
以下是我希望傳承的：

I might not give them a boat.
我可能不會給他們一艘船。

I will not hand them a compass.
我可能不會交給他們一個指南針。

Their journeys are meant to be charted by their own spirits.
他們的人生旅程，應由他們自己的靈魂來指引。

But I will give them something essential but often forgotten because it is unseen.
但我會給予他們一件重要卻常被忽略的東西。

I will give them an anchor.
我會給他們一個錨。

Not flashy.
它不華麗。

Not celebrated.
也不引人矚目。

But firm enough to keep them steady when the sea rises.
但足以在海浪升起時，讓他們保持穩定。

Quiet enough to remind them that they belong to themselves.
靜默得足以提醒他們：他們屬於自己。

Strong enough to ground them in moments that matter.
堅實得足以在重要時刻為他們貼著地。

Right now, they ride on the boat that holds the four of us. One day, they will sail in their own directions. When they do, I hope the anchor shaped from our experiences, our healing, our conversations, and the boundaries I finally learned to hold will travel with them.
現在，他們仍坐在承載我們四人的船上。將來，他們會朝自己的方向啟航。到那時，我希望那個由我們的經驗、療癒、對話，以及我終於學會守住的界線所形塑的錨能與他們同行。

What Parents’ Day Truly Means
父母節真正的意義

Physical celebrations still matter. They bring joy and connection. But the purpose of being a parent is found less in the flowers and dinners, and more in the questions we dare to ask ourselves:
具體的慶祝依然重要，它們帶來喜悅和連結。但為人父母的意義，遠不在於花束與晚餐，而是在於我們願意向自己提出的問題：

How do I grow alongside my children? What part of myself am I healing through them? How can we co-create a foundation built on trust, empathy, and truth?
我如何與孩子一同成長？我透過孩子療癒了自己哪一部分？我們如何共同建立以信任、同理與真誠為基礎的關係？

Sometimes, the simplest question opens the deepest door:
“Is there anything I can improve as your parent so we can build something meaningful together?”
In asking, we give our children permission to be honest. In listening, we give them the anchor of safety. And in growing together, we discover what this day, this role truly means.
有時，最簡單的問題能打開最深的門：
「作為你的父母，我還有甚麼可以做得更好，好讓我們一起創造有意義的關係？」
在發問時，我們給予孩子真誠的空間。在聆聽時，我們給予他們安全的錨。而在共同成長之中，我們才真正明白這一天，以及這個角色的深意。

‍

Photos : Noirstone | Unsplash charlesdeluvio | Unsplash Liv Bruce | Unsplash Din Djarin