星期一的早晨，气温已入寒冬。冲一杯热咖啡暖身，开始一天的看诊。我才刚一坐下，对面的这位母亲就迫切地向我叙述她近期和女儿的种种。她六十出头，十分娇小活泼，眼神里透着孩童般的稚气。但今天收起了以往的笑容，面有难色。

“我感觉我与女儿的关系已经到达了冰点，为什么她会对我那么地不尊敬，不珍惜？你觉得她是什么心态？” 这位母亲情绪激动地说。

事情的起源是她先把名下的房产转给了女儿，这样可以规避遗产税，反正只有这一个孩子，早晚也要给她的。原本的好意却弄巧成拙，女儿因此就觉得房子是属于她了，一切由她来管，房子赚来的租金也归她。当母亲需要用钱想拿点房租来周转时，女儿却认为这是母亲要问她借钱，要收利息。这个回应彻底地点燃了母亲的怒火，原本和女儿的关系就像走钢丝，摇摇欲坠，一脚踩空。

她说想改遗嘱，认为女儿这是露出了本性，对她只有利用，无法信任依靠。还没到晚年需要她照顾的时候呢，就已经如此过分。女儿也觉得委屈，既然房子给了我，房租自然也是我的，为什么母亲总要把事情搞得不清不楚。

“我到底做错了什么，她要这样对我？” 她在我面前哭成了泪人。自从口角发生后，她就无法平息，反复回想，想从和我的谈话中寻找答案。

我先不急于回答，评论对错。顺手拿起咖啡杯，抿了一口，有些烫嘴。咖啡和她都需要降温。

“我能感受到你的失望和心寒。你本来的好意，却没有得到她相同的对待。” 我理解地回应她。

她像是被人点了穴位，哭得更厉害了。我递给她一张纸巾，多天的积压，一下子有了出口，心情随着眼泪溢出，不至于把她淹没。等她喘口气，我们再来梳理思绪，看清问题。

“关于为什么，你问过女儿吗？“我把她开始丢给我的问题反抛给她。毕竟，解铃还须系铃人。

”没有，她总是感觉不耐烦的样子，我根本没机会说。不过她后来又打电话来，问我要不要去她那里过节。我原本不想去了，但又觉得不去不合适，就又答应她了。”这位母亲有点无奈地回答。

她在我这里狂风暴雨的情绪，在女儿面前只是稍有乌云飘过，连雨点都没落下。

对于她的回答，我并不惊讶。在过去几年的来访中，我已经察觉到这是她和女儿之间的探戈。一个迈右脚进，一个缩左脚退，极有默契。每段关系中都存在这段关系里特有的舞步。通过岁月积攒的眉目传情，捕捉到相互的习性，谱出一段别人看似有若无，确是两者之间千丝万缕维系关系的一套节奏。

而我的角色有时需要帮来访者换个拍子，只要一个人的步调变了，另一方就必须重整步伐。

她感受到了自己在女儿面前的卑微，这次她决定不再缩退，而是迈步向前把该说的话都说出来。

“我想等过完节，找个好的时机和她彻底谈一次，”她声音坚决，眼神却有些飘离。头别过去，看着窗外的远方。

我从她迷茫的眼神中读出了害怕。女儿是她在美国唯一的亲人，自从离婚后，和女儿焦灼的关系就成了她的心病。她仿佛无法讨好女儿，做什么都被嫌弃。每次和女儿相处后，都伤痕累累地回来。

***

她打从心里觉得，说出自己的感受也无济于事。这个信念是从她记事起就被不断重复加注的。像是在她身上的烙印，想要挣脱，要扒一层皮。

从她幼年起，她的母亲就因常年卧病在床，没空照顾她。而父亲因为劳改，常年在外。她是家中老幺，姐姐们都已成年外嫁。她形容自己的童年是孤独的，无人问津。

成年后，她印像中第一次向家里提出要求，帮她找份好点的工作。父亲已经翻身了，明明可以帮她介绍。可父亲别过脸去，只说了句，让别人看见我们攀关系影响不好。这件事就轻描淡写地过去了，却给了她重重的一击。

她彻底心灰意冷，到了无生趣的工厂上班，每天幻想着怎么能够逃离那里。常年累月地被忽略，好不容易提起勇气的要求也被漠视。从那以后，她就缩起来了，像个刺猬，保护自己柔软的内在，不再轻易展露内心给别人看。很多感受在“没有用”的滤镜下，连她自己也渐渐地看不到了。

在恋爱关系里，她也变得敏感被动。发现可能被伤害的蛛丝马迹，她就会全身而退，完全消失。对方还摸不着头脑，她已经遍体凌伤。也因为关系没有正面沟通，她也总是留下疑问，为什么，到底为什么。

那些藏起来不被看见的， 和看见也会被当成没看见的感受，在她的浅意识里作祟，敲着警钟，一刻不得松懈，告诉她：你的感受不重要。渐渐地，缩写成：你不重要。

她能做的只有妥协，讨好对方，迎合别人的需求，才能维系关系。而让她去控诉自己的需求，存在极大的危险。只有她可以给出去的东西才有价值，金钱、时间、对别人的帮助、给女儿的房产等。 在自己给对方提供的真金白银里被需要，不会被替代，这样才安全。

后来的婚姻，也是寻求心中的那份安全，她选择了一个自己不怎么爱的人。但随着时间的推移，婚姻里带给她的也只剩隐忍和失望。

她的这套亲密关系中的舞蹈，在女儿没出生之前就熟练了。女儿也只是后来对号入座，帮她换了个舞伴罢了。

***

不同的是，这段血亲她无法逃脱。走到世界天涯海角，只要女儿一通电话，这位母亲都会燃起希望，爱意满溢。联系着她们的脐带永远都割不断，硬要拽断便是伤筋动骨，把两人都挖空，在核心处留下一个这辈子都填不满的黑洞。

“也许没有最好的时机，只有说，还是不说的差别。” 我有些为她着急，明明爱着对方的两个人，互相伤害，令我觉得惋惜。

我相信每个孩子出生都是爱父母的，必须爱才能活下去。父母的世界很大，还有选择，而孩子幼年的世界很小，只有父母。

我从母亲的描述里，可以捕捉到女儿对她爱的影子，或者说是爱过的痕迹。比如她每次远行前女儿对她的叮嘱，女儿对她不学英文不运动恨铁不成钢的态度，和她们之间的拉扯。这些看似强硬的话语，包含着内心脆弱的渴望。如果真是冷漠不爱的话，是断了线的风筝，只有孤寂。

在和母亲相处的波澜中，女儿同样挣扎。心理医生这个角色对女儿来说并不陌生，她在自己的心理医生那里找到了净土，一切感受被允许，被看见。她能感同身受母亲藏在外壳下，内心那没被满足过的关爱像一口深井，同样需要有人拉她一把。所以是女儿找到我，把母亲强推来。这可能也是母亲鲜少有的被人重视的体验。

到底是什么激怒了女儿对她的不满，加剧了她们之间的矛盾，我只能猜测和想象。和一个“无需求”的人绑在一起的感觉，那会是另一种抓狂。就像你使劲力气尖叫，对方也听不见，叫不醒。封印了自己感受需求的人，也会屏蔽别人的。当孩子的需求已经不再是吃饱穿暖之后，就很难从母亲那里得到足够的情感养分了。

有几次，女儿对她说，她被送到英国的寄宿学校很不适应。感觉自己被抛弃了，在那里受到了同学的排挤，长途电话向母亲寻求安慰·。但几次后，有一天母亲告诉她，别再打来了，女儿反复说的事，她也帮不上忙，她受不了这样的浪费时间。

还有几次，在她被家暴后，派女儿去和父亲交涉。女儿认为母亲不顾她的感受，让她充当了不合理的角色。等母亲再次面对父亲的时候，又是一副和颜悦色。女儿非常愤怒，愤怒母亲的软弱， 也愤怒她不去保护女儿和自己。

以往的这些种种都是冰冻三尺，埋在女儿心里，成为积怨，让母亲感到寒气逼人。

她们两人像活在平行空间。母亲曾经在她童年里经历的，以另一种方式，变相地给了女儿。母亲曾经经历过的冷落，又变成了对女儿的忽视，不是因为上一代人经历过的资源匮乏，而是因为这一代人对情感需求的意识才刚刚启蒙。

我想象着她俩每次吵完架，分别坐在两个不同心理医生的诊间里，倾诉着心情。以自己的角度看共同发生的事情，试图控诉自己的感受，又试图理解对方，疗愈创伤。而我们这两位医生有时更像是翻译，从对方的描述中，试图拼凑她们情感交流的暗流涌动，帮她们翻译出一套合理的解释。那些互相没说出口的话，借由心理医生的嘴解读出来，喂给她们，暂时滋养着内心的疑问和困惑。

”我们关系中的冲突可以毁灭，也可以修复。表达感受是为了自己，也是给对方一个机会。” 我鼓励她。只有勇于冒险向前，才能开阔新的安全地带。

只要心里还有几分温暖，不想看着这个关系冻僵、死去，就还想用那余温去融化关系里的冰冷。

“好，我知道怎么做了。我决定为拯救和女儿的关系披上战袍，勇敢一次。” 她收起了眼泪。“下次来之前，我会和她说的。” 眼神里的稚气再次闪烁， 和我露出了会心的一笑。

几周以后…（未完待续）

On Monday morning, there is a chill in the air plunging the temperature into the depths of winter. I brewed a hot cup of coffee to warm up and began my day of seeing patients. As soon as I sit down, my patient sitting across from me urgently starts to recount her recent experiences with her daughter. She is a mother in her early sixties, petite and lively, with a childlike innocence in her eyes. But today, her usual smile was gone, replaced by a troubled expression.

“I feel like my relationship with my daughter has hit rock bottom. Why is she so disrespectful and unappreciative of me? What do you think is going through her mind?” the mother said, her emotions running high.

The issue began when she transferred her property to her daughter to avoid inheritance tax, reasoning that, as her only child, it would eventually belong to her anyway. However, this well-intentioned act backfired. The daughter now considered the house as her own entirely, taking charge of everything, including the rental income. When the mother needed some money and sought to use the rental income for cash flow, the daughter viewed it as her mother borrowing money from her and insisted on charging interest. This response utterly enraged the mother, straining their already precarious relationship to the breaking point.

She mentioned wanting to amend her will, feeling that her daughter had revealed her true nature—using her for financial gain—and could not be trusted. “I’m not even in my later years needing her care, and she’s already proven to be so unreliable.” The daughter, on the other hand, felt wronged: “Since the house was given to me, the rent naturally is mine. Why does my mother always make things so unclear for me to know what she means?”

“What did I do wrong for her to treat me this way?” the mother wept bitterly before me. Since the argument, she had been unable to calm down, ruminating over the argument endlessly and now seeking answers in our conversation.

I didn’t rush to answer or judge. I picked up my coffee cup and took a sip; it was scalding. Both the coffee and she needed to cool down.

“I can feel your disappointment and heartache. Your good intentions weren’t reciprocated by her,” I responded empathetically.

She seemed to be struck by a nerve and cried even harder. I handed her a tissue. The pent-up emotions of many days found an outlet, flowing out with her tears, releasing like a bloated balloon. Once she caught her breath again, we could sort through her thoughts and see the problem clearly.

“Have you asked your daughter why?” I turned her initial question back to her. After all, the one who ties the knot could untie it.

“No, she always seems impatient. I never have the chance to speak. But she later called, asking if I wanted to spend the holidays at her place. I originally didn’t want to go but felt it would be inappropriate not to, so I agreed,” the mother replied, somewhat helplessly.

The emotional storm she unleashed in my office was merely a passing cloud before her daughter, without even a drop of rain falling.

I wasn’t surprised by her response. Over the past few years of her visits, I’d noticed this dance between her and her daughter. One steps forward with the right foot, the other retreats with the left, in perfect sync. Every relationship has its unique choreography. Through years of accumulated tacit understanding, they’ve developed a rhythm that, to outsiders, seems tenuous but is intricately woven between them.

My role sometimes involves helping clients change their rhythm; when one person’s pace changes, the other must adjust accordingly.

She felt meek before her daughter. This time, she decided not to retreat but to step forward and say what needed to be said.

“I want to find a good time after the holiday to have a thorough talk with her,” she said firmly, though her gaze drifted, looking out the window into the distance.

From her bewildered eyes, I sensed fear. Her daughter was her only relative in the United States. Since her divorce, the strained relationship with her daughter had become a chronic ailment of her heart. She felt she couldn’t please her daughter; whatever she did was met with disdain. Each interaction left her emotionally battered.

***

Deep down, she felt that expressing her feelings would be futile. This belief had been reinforced as long as she could remember, like a brand on her, and breaking free would require shedding a layer of skin.

From her childhood, her mother was bedridden and unable to care for her, while her father was often away due to labor reform during the Cultural Revolution. As the youngest child, with her sisters married and living elsewhere, she described her childhood as lonely and neglected.

As an adult, the first time she recalled asking her family for help was for a better job placement. Her father, having rehabilitated, could have assisted but turned away, saying that it would look bad if others saw them pulling strings. This matter was brushed aside, but it dealt her a heavy blow.

She became utterly disheartened, working in a factory devoid of interest. She fantasized daily about escaping. Years of neglect, coupled with her rare plea for help being dismissed, led her to withdraw, like a hedgehog protecting its soft interior, no longer revealing her inner self easily.

In romantic relationships, she became sensitive and passive. At the slightest hint of potential hurt, she would withdraw completely, disappearing without explanation. Her partner, left bewildered, wouldn’t even know what had gone wrong, while she was already nursing invisible wounds. And because there was never direct communication, she was always left with questions—why? Why did this happen?

The feelings she hid away and the feelings that were dismissed, lingered in her subconscious like an ever-present voice. It never let her rest, constantly whispering: Your feelings don’t matter. Over time, it condensed into an even harsher belief: You don’t matter.

The only way she knew how to maintain relationships was through compromise, appeasement, and catering to others’ needs. Expressing her own was dangerous. Only what she could give had value—money, time, favors for others, the property transferred to her daughter, etc. In the tangible assets she offered, she found a sense of security—proof that she was needed, irreplaceable.

Her later marriage was also a search for that same security. She chose a man she didn’t particularly love, but as the years went by, all that was left in the marriage was endurance and disappointment.

She had mastered this dance of intimacy long before her daughter was born. The only thing that changed was the partner.

***

The difference this time was that this blood tie was inescapable. No matter how far she ran, to the ends of the earth, a single phone call from her daughter could reignite her hopes, a mother’s love overflowing. The umbilical cord between them could never truly be severed. To force it apart would leave both of them hollowed out, with a void at their core that could never be filled.

“Maybe there’s no such thing as the ‘right’ moment—only the choice to speak or to remain silent.” I felt for her. Two people who loved each other, yet kept hurting one another—it was heartbreaking.

I believe every child is born loving their parents. They have to love them to survive. Parents have a whole world beyond their child, but for the child, in those early years, the parents are the world.

From this mother’s words, I could still glimpse traces of her daughter’s love—or at least, the remnants of love once given. The way she reminded her mother to take care of herself before trips, the frustration over her mother’s refusal to learn English or exercise, even in their back and forth arguments, beneath the harsh words lay a fragile longing.

Her daughter struggled too, caught in the turbulence of their relationship. Therapy wasn’t foreign to her—she had found solace in her own therapist’s couch, and where her feelings were acknowledged, where she was seen. She understood, perhaps more than anyone, that her mother’s guarded exterior concealed a deep, unmet need for love. And so, it was initially the daughter who found me, who pushed her mother into my office for treatment. Perhaps this was one of the few times the mother had ever felt taken care of by her daughter.

What, exactly, had triggered the daughter’s resentment? What had intensified the conflict between them? I could only guess. Being tethered to someone who has no needs—that in itself is maddening. It’s like screaming with all your strength, only to find that the other person can’t hear you and won’t wake up. Someone who suppresses their own needs inevitably blocks out others’ as well. Once a child’s needs extend beyond food and shelter, it becomes painfully difficult to receive the emotional nourishment they crave from a parent.

There were moments—many of them. Times when the daughter confided that she had struggled in her British boarding school, feeling abandoned, bullied, desperate for comfort. She had called her mother over and over, until one day, her mother told her, stop calling. I can’t help you. I can’t keep wasting time on this.

Other times, after suffering domestic violence, the mother sent her daughter to confront the father in her place. The daughter felt used, forced into an unfair role. And then, when the mother later faced the father herself, she put on a pleasant smile, as if nothing had happened. The daughter was furious—furious at her mother’s weakness, furious that she wouldn’t protect herself or her child.

All these moments accumulated over the years, layers of ice settling in the daughter’s heart, forming a cold, unspoken distance that the mother could feel but not fully understand.

They lived in parallel worlds. What the mother had endured in her own childhood, she had, in some distorted way, passed down to her daughter. The neglect the mother suffered became neglect for her daughter, not because of a lack of resources like the last generation suffered, but because of a lack of recognition for the emotional needs that this generation is just beginning to understand.

I imagined them, after every argument, sitting in separate therapists’ offices, each telling their version of the same story—pleading their case, searching for understanding, trying to heal. And we, their therapists, became their translators, piecing together the undercurrents of their emotions, attempting to make sense of it all. The words left unsaid, we spoke for them, hoping, however briefly, to soothe their confusion and pain.

“Conflict in a relationship can destroy, but it can also repair,” I told her. “Expressing your feelings isn’t just for you—it gives the other person a chance too.” Only by daring to take that step forward can new ground for safety be created.

As long as there’s still warmth in your heart for her, as long as you don’t want to watch the relationship freeze and die, then you have to try—let that remaining warmth thaw the ice.

“Alright. I know what I need to do. I’m going to fight for the relationship with my daughter. I’ll be brave this time.” She wiped away her tears. “Before our next session, I’ll talk to her.”

There was a flicker of something childlike in her eyes, a glimpse of hope. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.

A few weeks later…(to be continued)