This week is a sad week for our household. My mom and stepdad flew back to China on Tuesday, after taking care of us for the last 18 months. We all went to the airport together to send them off. At the security gate, a teary Anna clung to her grandmother, freely displaying the sadness that we, the adults, were barely containing. After we finally managed to peel Anna off of my mom, I caught her wiping away tears as she proceeded to the queue.

The last 1.5 years were such a reprieve for me and V. After having a baby during peak pandemic, moving across the country, and both of us starting new jobs (multiple times), we were beyond grateful for the additional support my parents gave us. It was a huge sacrifice on their parts – both my mom and stepdad retired early to make the move happen. While my parents stayed with us, we were spoiled endlessly with daily home cooked meals and guaranteed childcare. My parents would pack Anna’s lunch, take her to school (and sometimes even pick her up if we needed it), run a million errands for us, and played with Anna every morning, afternoon, and evening. Meanwhile, we got to sleep in on weekends, go on solo trips, and always knowing Anna was well taken care of. It was truly heaven for us as parents, only made possible by the extraordinary love of my own parents.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing though. Living with one’s parents (or in-laws) is never for the faint of the heart, but I did get incredibly lucky. We all worked on making adjustments on a daily basis, but even then it wasn’t enough. About 6 months in, we finally reached a tipping point in the form of a particularly emotionally charged, and drawn-out, conflict between all of us (though my mom and I were particularly affected). After weeks of painful silences and poor sleep, and failed attempts of apologies and repair on our own, I suggested family therapy. Luckily, the therapist V and I had worked with agreed to work with me and mom. Most importantly, my mom required no persuasion and agreed.

We went all in with the therapy. There was no holding back, and lots of tears – but also discoveries about ourselves, and each other. We went to places that we needed to go, in order to get to where we wanted to be – which was a deeper understanding of each other, and a more connected relationship between mother and daughter. We talked about everything, but mostly focused on our experiences of generational trauma, and how to break out of it. We concluded our sessions after 2 months, and thanked our therapist for the incredible impact she had on us.

I credit family therapy as the key that allowed our family to reap the benefits of multi-generational living, while successfully navigating the many challenges that come with it. Like many immigrant families, the differences between me and my mom span across cultures, generations, temperaments, and values. While in some ways I am a carbon copy of my mom, in others we could not be more different. The disconnect between us has sometimes felt like insurmountable chasms. With the help of our therapist, we now have the tools – and deeper understand of each other – to finally bridge these gaps and reach the other in ways we had always wanted to, but didn’t know how to. I always encourage everyone to explore therapy, especially if they are struggling (which is probably most of us?). Life is tough, and it’s okay to get help.