I Won’t Hold My Daughter to a Standard I Refuse to Live By

I

A few years ago, the last thing I did every night before lying down was open job-hunting apps.

Not to send résumés. Just to scroll. Scroll through what peers were doing, which companies were hiring, what job titles and salaries people my age had. I’d scroll until one or two in the morning, eyes dry, mind still running. The next day I still had to go to work. 955. Not tiring, but I was sleepy.

During that period, I gained weight. I tossed and turned at night. The first thing I did when I woke up was reach for my phone to see if there were new messages. Later I went to the hospital. The doctor said mild depression and wrote a prescription. I didn’t take the pills. I put the box in a drawer. It is still unopened.

At that time, Little Lemon was just over one year old. When she cried at night, I got up to make formula. After I finished, I lay back down and kept scrolling through job apps.

I decided to change jobs. I went to a 996 company. During the interview, HR said the pace here is quite fast. I said no problem. I thought there was no problem. I was thinking: while there’s still time, improve my competitiveness and reduce the risk. After I got there, the working state was closer to 997. I left home at nine in the morning and got home after ten at night, and at least one day of the weekend was spent at the office. For three months, I basically never saw Little Lemon. When I left, she wasn’t awake. By the time I got home, she was asleep. One morning she woke up early and saw me putting on my shoes. She froze for a moment, then took a step back. I still remember that step.

My body started having problems too. My weight kept climbing. When I washed my hair, a layer of it clogged the drain. One morning while shaving, I noticed a bald patch on my chin, about the size of a fingernail. I went to a pharmacy to get my blood pressure checked: 150/100. The clerk said, “Do you want to sit for a while and take it again?” I said no need.

Three months later, I handed in my resignation. I went back to a 955 company.

Now a year and a half has passed. My company still hasn’t developed much, and the industry is still the same. But my blood pressure is back to normal. The bald patch on my chin has grown fine fuzz. I’ve lost weight. Every day at five in the afternoon, I shut down my computer and walk home, stopping at the vegetable market to buy a bunch of greens. On weekends I take Little Lemon to the park. She sits on the swing and asks me to push her higher, so I push her higher.

Sometimes former colleagues message me and say they’ll be at the office until eleven again tonight. I reply “Take care,” then lock my phone.

I still have anxiety. The industry being bad is a fact. The future having risks is also a fact. But I don’t want to trade my body for a “just in case.” If the risk comes, if my blood pressure is 180, my hair is gone, and my child takes a step back when she sees me, then what exactly have I bought with all that?

When the risk comes, I’ll deal with it then. That’s my mindset now.

II

Little Lemon is three. She stacks blocks. When she gets to the fourth level and it collapses, her mouth puckers and she’s about to cry. I squat down, pick up a block, and say, “Try putting this one underneath.” She takes it, puts it on, and it collapses again. I say, “Try once more.” She tries. This time it doesn’t fall. She laughs.

I didn’t say “It’s okay,” and I didn’t say “You’re amazing.” I just handed her a block.

I don’t know how she’ll do in school. You can’t tell at three. Maybe she’ll be okay. Maybe she’ll be average. I talked about this with my wife. She said, “You’re thinking too far ahead.” I said, “A little, but I want to get my attitude straight first.”

Here is the attitude I want to keep: if she has an aptitude for learning, then, provided it doesn’t sacrifice sleep, exercise, meals, and laughter, I’ll do my best to help her go as far as she can. If she doesn’t, then she can go to school happily and grow up healthy.

It’s easy to say. Hard to do. I know it’s hard. When someone in the parents’ group posts an olympiad certificate, I might feel a thump in my chest too. But I hope that after the thump, I can turn the phone over and keep reading picture books to her.

I’ve seen some people and some things. Plenty of people with good grades live happy lives; plenty live tangled ones. Plenty of people with average grades live happy lives; plenty live tangled ones. Grades and happiness are related, but they’re not two knots on the same rope. I believe that.

So in the future, if she bombs a test, the first thing I want to say is “What do you want for dinner?” not “Why didn’t you do well?” I want to see first whether she’s eating, sleeping, and playing with friends. Those things come before rankings.

I have a friend. His son scored 98, and he asked where the two points went. His son is in middle school now and closes his door as soon as he gets home. My friend says the kid is rebellious. I didn’t know what to say.

I don’t want Little Lemon to close her door on me in the future. If she does, I hope it’s because she wants to listen to music, not because she’s afraid of me.

III

My attitude toward work and my attitude toward her grades are the same thing.

When there’s a good opportunity, work hard. When there isn’t, live well. Physical and mental health first; everything else after. I don’t plan to change that order.

I’ve managed not to be anxious about my own job. In the future, when she’s in school, I hope I can also manage not to be anxious about her grades.

That doesn’t mean I won’t care. I will care. I will not let care turn into pressure. I want her to try hard without desperation. I want her to do well, and I want her healthy more.

The evening before last, I was cooking in the kitchen and she was playing in the living room. She ran over and tugged at the hem of my shirt, saying, “Daddy, look.” I looked down. In her hand was a pothos leaf she had pulled from the pot, held up high. I said, “Oh no, you pulled it off.” She laughed. I took the leaf and put it by the sink.

That pothos was one I’d brought home from the office. When I left, nobody wanted it, so I took it home and put it on the balcony. Now it has climbed half the wall.

The blood pressure monitor is in the drawer. I haven’t used it in a long time.