Retiring from being a ‘good daughter’
Father’s Day has just passed, and over the past decade, I’ve fluctuated between “Yay, Fathers!” to “How dare this YouTube ad mention the F word to me?”
I grew up with a dad who was physically present and very much bound by duty. He was the eldest son, had the refugee boat journey, was the only one in his family to leave Vietnam, and very much started with nothing. Growing up, I understood his role through the things he did: going to work, teaching me how to drive (teaching or yelling? hmmm), and even burning DVDs when I wanted to watch movies like Shrek / Monsters Inc.
These days, I don’t celebrate Father’s Day. It’s not because my dad has passed away - he’s very much alive and traipsing somewhere between Melbourne and Ho Chi Minh City. We simply don’t have a relationship.
That distance has given me a lot to think about. Particularly the role of obligation, responsibility, and all the things we feel we “should” do for other people.
For a long time, my dad seemed to know exactly what his “shoulds” were:
I should provide for my family.
I should mow the lawn and do outdoor chores.
I should visit my mum and send her money.
The role of the eldest child can come with a lot of responsibility, and this was something my dad had learned throughout his life. He knew his duties: provide for the family, look after his mum, do what was expected of him. It just turns out there might be a time limit on how long you can live purely from a sense of duty, before all that unspoken resentment eventually finds a way out — often in the form of a mid-life crisis.
And perhaps that’s part of what has stayed with me. How much of what we do for other people comes from genuine choice, and how much comes from a deeply ingrained sense that we should?
And I have my own version of the “should” voice:
I should reply to my friend straight away.
I should react to their Instagram story so they know I love them.
I should be available when someone needs me.
But I’ve started to notice that there’s a difference between doing something out of obligation and doing something wholeheartedly.
When I’m genuinely committed to something, cooking a five-course meal for a friend can feel like an act of love. But when I feel obligated to provide food, even making the most basic meal can feel exhausting.
This is where things get complicated.
Being considerate is a wonderful strength. But, like any strength, there’s an optimal zone. When we overplay it, being considerate can become over-considering: constantly anticipating other people’s needs while losing track of our own.
And sometimes, the cost doesn’t show up immediately.
We say yes when we want to say “ummmm, no”. We keep helping when we’re already tired. We tell ourselves it’s fine. Then, slowly, resentment starts to build.
I’ve experienced this myself. I used to think that being a good person meant being willing to do things for others. It took me a while to realise that generosity feels very different when it’s freely chosen versus when it feels compulsory.
This is something I often think about in therapy, too. Our families can teach us very early what it means to be a “good” daughter, son, partner, friend or person. For many people from migrant and Asian families, these lessons can be closely tied to sacrifice, responsibility and putting the collective before yourself.
These values can be deeply meaningful. They can also become heavy when we never stop to ask whether the life we’re living still reflects what we value.
I’m not suggesting we throw our responsibilities out the window. I’m interested in something much more subtle:
How much of your heart is actually in what you’re doing?
Sometimes the answer will be, “All of it. I genuinely want to be here.”
Sometimes it will be, “I don’t really want to do this, but I’m choosing to because it matters to me.”
And sometimes it might be, “Actually, I’m doing this because I think I should — and I’m starting to resent it.”
That last one is worth paying attention to.
These days, I’m trying to become more honest about where I sit on my own “obligation to wholeheartedness” odometer. Not everything I do needs to be enjoyable, and caring for others will sometimes require effort and sacrifice. But I want my relationships and responsibilities to come from a place of choice as much as possible — rather than quietly accumulating resentment.
Now, I no longer feel the same pressure to figure out what I should do on Father’s Day.
Instead, I can take my mum out for a strawberry matcha to celebrate that it’s a random Wednesday.
Milestone dates like Father’s Day can bring up complicated feelings, especially when family relationships, culture and expectations are involved. Rather than immediately trying to avoid those feelings, perhaps it’s worth staying with them for a little longer.
And asking yourself:
What do I actually want to do?
What am I doing because I think I should?
And what would it look like to be honest with myself and where my heart is?
Sometimes, that honesty is where a more wholehearted way of living begins.