Micromanaged, Mothered, And Finally Free – Learning To Love Mum From Afar
Growing up in a single-child household – and long before phrases like “Tiger Mum” or “Helicopter Parenting” were casually thrown around – there was just my mum.
I thought this phenomenon of smothering your child with endless attention and scrutiny (that’s the double-edged sword of being the sole hope of my bloodline) was unique to me. My childhood was a constant loop of my mum going over every report card, interrogating me about all my activities and social circle, and essentially micromanaging every aspect of my life. Micromanaging in the workplace, you say? Pfft, I've survived worse.
During my rebellious teenage years, the constant monitoring of every single decision I made started driving a wedge between us. Not to mention, I was delivering stellar grades – but nothing seemed to please her. Good academic performance was my duty, not a bonus. Constant fighting matches started to fill the house – resentment grew. Lying became a defence mechanism.
Then, by some miracle, I managed to land a scholarship to study in Singapore. Finally, there would be a Straits of Johor–sized distance between us.
I relished the chance to live my life on my own terms, without agonising over whether my mum approved of every little decision.
Absence makes the Mum go softer (sort of)
As cliché as it sounds, this statement turned out to be true for me.
Though my mum was pretty tech-savvy, it wasn’t feasible to keep in constant contact when I was shuffling between classes and trying to build a campus social life.
And so, for the first time in her life as a parent, my mum let go. We kept each other updated with weekly Skype calls (RIP, Skype), and she still agonised over whether I was sleeping and eating well – but she was also… super nice?
Magically, she had mellowed when it came to my studies. She was more concerned about my mental well-being and whether I was adjusting to life abroad. At one point, she even said, “It’s okay to just pass your exams, don’t put too much pressure on yourself.” I was like, Who is this person?
Grief changed everything – including us
One week before I was supposed to attend my university convocation, both our worlds crumbled.
My dad passed away suddenly. For my mum, whose entire support system consisted of my father, her reality changed overnight. I was just stepping into adulthood and about to start my first job. We were both lost.
Navigating unspoken grief was tough. My mum needed a support system, but I had to begin working. I called her regularly so she wouldn’t feel alone, all while trying to cope with my own grief.
In terms of immediate family, I was all she had left. She started relying on me immensely – emotionally, financially, practically. I became the fixer, the one who now had to sort out all the “adult stuff”.
And over time, our relationship started to fray.
The hardest years (so far)
After my dad’s passing, my mum made it clear she wanted to move in with me. But as a fresh grad, I just couldn’t afford it. Once I was financially stable enough to consider it, she began pressing me to apply for an LTVP so she could come live with me long-term.
With the COVID-19 pandemic looming and borders closing, I gave in.
Living in the tight confines of our rented room, I quickly found there was nowhere to hide when I became the target of one of her rants. It felt like being 16 again, with every move scrutinised.
Reddit’s r/NMom thread became my safe space. I realised then that distance hadn’t actually changed anything fundamentally in her parenting style.
At one point, things got so bad that she threatened to cut ties completely. Still, my conscience wouldn’t let me walk away. After all, she raised me with care and gave up so much to give me the best chance at success in life. But I knew it was time to set boundaries.
The return of space – and sanity
Eventually, I made plans for my mum to return to Malaysia. I ignored her guilt-tripping, the emotional manipulation, and powered through. It was the best decision – for my peace of mind, my life, and, ironically, our relationship. Recognising that we were very different individuals who somehow couldn’t get along was the first step to reconciliation.
We bought a place in KL and worked on the renovations together. Once she was settled in, I made a point to visit her regularly and call her every couple of weeks so she wouldn’t feel abandoned.
The arguments reduced dramatically. She somehow had the good sense not to waste our precious time together on petty squabbles.
She’s still Mum – and that’s that
One day, after a particularly fiery disagreement, it suddenly dawned on me – no matter how rational or persuasive I try to be, my mum’s just not going to change.
That moment of clarity flipped the script. Instead of trying to change her, I decided it was better to change my responses.
Sometimes, that means not engaging with her when she’s throwing a tantrum. Sometimes it means nodding along even when I disagree. And sometimes, it means giving in to her demands if they’re not too a huge deal. Being the bigger person can be a quiet victory too.
Dealing with my mum is still a delicate dance. I have to be tactful, read between the lines, hold firm but stay kind. But these interactions have taught me skills that now serve me well in my corporate job – like reading the room and diffusing tension.
At the end of the day, I know she means well. And I’ll keep trying, in my own way, to nurture a relationship that’s taken years – and a whole lot of space – to mend. Even if that means designing her Mother’s Day card on Canva.
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