MY CREATIVE INK
seen the 2 boards below in other session?
that was my thing. an insight drawn from myself, both as a daughter and a mom.
unresolved pain. unspoken apology.
yes, there was a reason behind my so-called rebel, which people love to give opinions but few ask what went wrong.
unresolved pain. unspoken apology.
yes, there was a reason behind my so-called rebel, which people love to give opinions but few ask what went wrong.
Paolo, the CCO of Publicis Groupe, recognized the pain underneath it.
i could tell from his face the moment i presented it; and later from how he reassured me he had tried to push it through.
but i didn't pass the microscope of other stakeholders.
too rebellious i guess.
i could tell from his face the moment i presented it; and later from how he reassured me he had tried to push it through.
but i didn't pass the microscope of other stakeholders.
too rebellious i guess.
but i did appreciate his effort to push it through and
his suggestion for another alternative solution around the idea called "unbiased sorry".
his suggestion for another alternative solution around the idea called "unbiased sorry".
till now, after 3 years away from "home", i still feel the ache — the same ache i felt the day i left Publicis Groupe
in silence back in 2023.
in silence back in 2023.
ME AS A DAUGHTER
i came from a very traditional background where male figures were absent on both sides of the family.
my mom grew up without a father.
she blamed her mother — my grandma, for stopping her from following him to the US after their divorce; then for stopping her dream of becoming a math teacher; and probably many more times after.
my mom never continued her studies beyond high school and instead fell in love with an emotionally unavailable man who himself had grown up without a father.
she didn't yet know her whole life was about seeking love without ever learning to love herself.
she blamed her mother — my grandma, for stopping her from following him to the US after their divorce; then for stopping her dream of becoming a math teacher; and probably many more times after.
my mom never continued her studies beyond high school and instead fell in love with an emotionally unavailable man who himself had grown up without a father.
she didn't yet know her whole life was about seeking love without ever learning to love herself.
from that trauma bond, i was born.
unaccepted. unseen. unloved.
unaccepted. unseen. unloved.
that said, my mom was the strongest and the most talented woman i have ever known; and I am forever grateful to have inherited that quality from her.
while my dad was… simply an emotionally unavailable man.
and there i was — witnessing her losing her light to external judgments and haunted past pain and eventually treating me the same way she was treated.
while my dad was… simply an emotionally unavailable man.
and there i was — witnessing her losing her light to external judgments and haunted past pain and eventually treating me the same way she was treated.
— rejected for scoring a 9/10 instead of a perfect 10.
— rejected for dyeing my hair red.
— rejected for loving language more than math.
— rejected for having sex at 18, when she found out.
— rejected for staying out late — 7 pm was already “too late”.
— rejected for having my own opinion. or maybe, simply, for existing.
— rejected for dyeing my hair red.
— rejected for loving language more than math.
— rejected for having sex at 18, when she found out.
— rejected for staying out late — 7 pm was already “too late”.
— rejected for having my own opinion. or maybe, simply, for existing.
as a teenager,
my dad dragged me to the door and kicked me out of the house with his feet in front of my siblings.
my mom trashed my name in front of relatives, read through my personal diary and humiliated me just for having one.
my dad dragged me to the door and kicked me out of the house with his feet in front of my siblings.
my mom trashed my name in front of relatives, read through my personal diary and humiliated me just for having one.
in my 20s,
my dad called me “slut” “whore”, “trash” and every creative insult he could think of for his own daughter.
my mom called whenever she needed an emotional trash bin, but never once spent a minute truly listening to me.
my dad called me “slut” “whore”, “trash” and every creative insult he could think of for his own daughter.
my mom called whenever she needed an emotional trash bin, but never once spent a minute truly listening to me.
in my 30s,
my dad acted as if he had forgotten everything, pretending I had turned out fine without him.
my mom, meanwhile, collected new sons and daughters — anyone willing to call her “mom” — but rarely asked her own daughter, who had left home for over 10 years, how she had survived without hers.
my dad acted as if he had forgotten everything, pretending I had turned out fine without him.
my mom, meanwhile, collected new sons and daughters — anyone willing to call her “mom” — but rarely asked her own daughter, who had left home for over 10 years, how she had survived without hers.
they both wanted forgiveness.
but the apology i have been waiting remains unspoken.
but the apology i have been waiting remains unspoken.
ME AS A MOM
still, i wonder why speaking my truth and granting myself grace for surviving makes me “too much” by society's norms?
am I meant to silence myself and bend to whatever the status quo expects?
F* NO.
