Me and “I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter”
This is about how strongly my white ass related to this YA book about a Mexican teenager going through grief.
CWs for post: Death, Mental Health, Attempted Suicide, Abuse
CWs for book: Death, Mental Health, Attempted Suicide, Abuse, Sexual Assault,
My earliest memory is of climbing into bed with my comatose brother. I may have had a bottle of milk, I'm not certain. The next is trying to grab his rosary at his funeral and being strongly scolded.
I don't remember being potty trained, but my understanding is that my oldest brother did that, because my parents either didn't have time and/or didn't give a fuck.
For context, though I'm not going to get into it, this post relates to my mom (as my parents are divorced, and my dad was never much of a problem, other than the fact my autistic ass never learned how to deal with anger).
Let's get into the book for a bit. Julia is a junior in high school when the book starts. She's fiercely independent, wants to be a writer, but unlike me, gets into a lot of trouble (and I suppose unlike me is Mexican). At the beginning of the book, she'd gotten in trouble and her parents had to pick her up, which is why her older sister had to take the bus. Her sister was texting and walking, and didn't see a semi coming.
The basic premise of the book is trying to understand what was going on at her sister's time of death, trying to truly understand her sister, and also get into college.
Now we meet her parents. Her mother is a scolding, nagging (though I hate to use that word) type that also never gives privacy. Her father is basically absent, just goes to work, and then vegs out 95% of the time.
This is what you get if you divided my mother into two people.
Nothing is ever good enough. Every present you give, you get a thank you, and you see it unused. You're not good enough. Your accomplishments are not good enough. Grades are a thing you should be thankful for, not a sign you did well, for example. You don't talk, you are basically just roommates trying to avoid each other, occasionally getting into fights.
I was literally never allowed privacy. Changing, shitting, nope. If I locked the door (because my mom never knocked I explained) she freaked the fuck out. My oldest brother was allowed privacy, but not me. Julia never mentions the toilet, but she does mention never being allowed privacy in her room because she'll presumably masturbate or something.
When Julia's untreated mental illness gets worse, she begins to realize that her mother probably would have rather she had died instead of her sister. The book never outright denies this. You can see it as a distortion if you like, but it really feels to me like it's up for interpretation (as they come to understand each other better).
I felt the same way, and it's always a factor when you're living in the shadow of a dead person. Our relationship never got better though.
Whereas Julia's mother, while not completely understanding, is trying to be supportive of mental health treatment, my mother was not.
When I was at my worst, I was threatened with the hospital, because “we just don't know what to do with you”. The hospital represented (and still does) terror, confinement like an animal, and all sorts of bottled up things. So I faked being happy, being better. It probably set my recovery back years to be honest. Let me be blunt: If there had been a gun in my house, I would have killed myself. I would not have slit my wrists like Julia tries. I wanted something certainly fatal.
Is it fair to call Julia's mother abusive? I go back and forth. While I took years of Spanish, that does not mean I fully understand Mexican culture, (especially since most of my teachers were from Columbia), so translating things may make them more harsh than they are meant to be, there's also the fact that this reminds me so much of my life that I may be subconsciously “punching up” the Spanish text, plus there is a cultural element here.
I mean her father, that's emotional neglect. Pure and simple. But personally I get uncomfortable labeling things emotional abuse because I worry that takes away from things that are “actually” abusive (this is a distortion of my mind). This is a trap abuse lays out for us. See, it's not that bad. I think part of the labeling problem is Julia's mother seems contrite, and wants to improve her relationship with her daughter as the book is in its final act. My mother has that wish, but has never put it in the effort. It was always my fault. I wasn't trying hard enough. I was being bullied into being a better child. I'd make efforts, and she'd twist them and they'd become my fault, because she'd put out poisonous rhetoric.
But how do you describe abuse to someone who doesn't want to see it? I don't know. I don't think I will ever convince my family. And as for Julia, (not that I ever think there will be a sequel) her family situation is improving, and I think how she deals with the past is her own choice. There's this implication with the Olga subplot that I never got into that she should let the past stay in the past.
You can let the past stay in the past if the past is no longer an issue, is not the present. It's a happy ending for Julia, but not for me.
Feel free to at me on the Fediverse, please provide context though.