Her Mother Used to Beat Her If She Failed

Author: Huina Zheng

Huina Zheng, a Distinction M.A. in English Studies holder, works as a college essay coach. She’s also an editor at Bewildering Stories. Her stories have been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and others. Her work has received nominations twice for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She resides in Guangzhou, China with her husband and daughter.

to watch over her brother. When her brother erred, she bore the brunt, chastised for not shielding and guiding him. Once, in a fit of rage over such a perceived failure, her mother wielded a broom with such force that it broke her arm.

The baby, a girl. Her love, unswerving. Frustration. Anger. Self-control. A mantra she repeated: “I’m not my mother.”
“I’m not biased,” her mother asserted, her words as sharp as the strikes she dealt. “Look how disciplined, responsible you are today! All because of me.” The perplexing “It’s for your own good.” The maddening “I’m fair.” The heart-wrenching “You’re the older one.”
“I loved you the moment I had you,” she said to her daughter. “Very much. All the time.”

When her daughter withheld toys from her cousin, she, the mother, held back. Controlling. Controlling the storm within. She trapped the beast of fury deep in her heart, where she had battled it fiercely over many years. Covered in scars, bleeding profusely, skin torn and flesh exposed. It gnawed at her. It left her battered and bruised. Until she refused to let it prevail.
She taught herself to tame this beast. Pat it. Smooth its tangled fur. She’d led it through the courtyard, across the highway, all the way to her mother’s doorstep. There, how she confronted her demons! Left it where it all began.
Now, she nurtures her daughter with love unconditioned, in a home of equality and empathy. The beast, she never saw it again. It left the cage, leaving her forever free.