The Privilege of Choices: Love or Survival?
Author’s note: My words are migrating to Substack, the home of my new publication ‘Letters From Heidi’ – a refuge for truth seekers, deep-thinkers and the homesick in search for Eternity. This is a preview of my Edition #1 Letter. To read the full letter, click here.
Dear friend,
It’s been awhile since I have written, so thank you for still being here as I officially launch my new publication, Letters From Heidi. As a subscriber, you can expect bi-monthly e-letters filled with my latest musings, life-lessons and all I’m loving lately.
The theme for Edition #1 is “The Privilege of Choices: Love or Survival?” I will begin to explain the reasons for my 2-year writing hiatus, and touch on topics such as:
- why I once feared marriage and motherhood (and what changed my mind),
- the impact of being born into first-generation immigrant hustle,
- the first-generation sacrifice of trading love for survival,
- my second-generation privilege of choices and cycle breaking,
- my daughter’s third-generation blessings of being born into a faith that promises grace and rest from ceaseless striving.
Let’s kick off from where we left off…
Can you believe my last letter was sent back in April 2022? It’s cliché, but time flies. One day you’re young and hip and the next day; skinny jeans are out, you twist your neck sleeping and drinking a second coffee after 12pm means staying BUZZED until the next season rolls around.
Ok, back to April 2022…
That week I had tested positive for COVID and was struggling to take care of my newborn. Thankfully, my parents were visiting from Sydney, so they forced me into isolation and bed rest…which really means, a sweet week of Mama Me Time; binging Netflix (K-Drama ‘Twenty Five Twenty One’), finishing a book ‘When Strivings Cease’ by Ruth Chou Simons, and publishing the reflection ‘But Why is Grace so Amazing?’
Here is an excerpt from my reflection:
“I’ve never known a life without striving. Perhaps it’s because my kingdom was built by the sweat of immigrants and refugees—fleeing homelands with bruised hearts and pockets full of dreams. With silent determination, they saved every dollar from the jobs that nobody wanted, ploughing the path for my voice to be heard.
When I reflect on my upbringing, I realise the demands to “do more” and “be better” are not a modern phenomenon. These values have always existed in my family’s psyche, forged by a cultural context of escaping poverty, guilt and shame. Over time, my family’s efforts to turn their rags into riches inspired in my bones a gospel of self-sufficiency: Only I am responsible for my happiness and salvation…so never stop striving.“
I wanted to share this again because it gives important context to the reasons behind my break from writing and publishing.
Why did I stop writing and publishing?
There are many reasons which I’ll cover over multiple letters, but let me start with a positive one: I chose to be a full-time, stay-at-home Mum.
Some of you might be thinking…well that’s anticlimactic. Isn’t this news a bit boring for a comeback post? I hope you can hold space for me as I unpack why it’s been so significant. You see, I was never the woman who grew up dreaming of marriage and children. In Christian circles, these things are often prescribed as a ‘gift’ and natural desire. Well, not for me.
I did not grow up in a Christian household. The gospel encounter I resonate with most is the story of the Adulterous Woman in John 8. The story tenderised my heart towards Jesus, and challenged all my presumptions—about God, religion, and whether Christianity would ever be “good news” to a woman like me.
I was once the serial dater who cringed at the idea of settling down. Moving quickly from one thrill to the next, I craved company without commitment. I needed exit plans. What if I get bored? What if I fall out of love? What if I can’t love my kid? Making lots of mistakes and hurting a lot of people, you could say I became well-known for all the wrong reasons.
How I learned to accept the Bible’s view of marriage and children is a long journey which I don’t have time for in this letter, but it boils down to one central truth: God is love and He demonstrates it with commitment; while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8) God’s unwavering promise to loving me at my worst has freed me from a life of self-preservation and commitment phobia. If God was to write marriage and children into my story, then regardless of whether it feels like a gift or ‘natural’ desire, I will trust God with my commitments, and choose to love.
I am nothing special, but I am living proof that God’s power is best flexed in human weakness. 2024 marks my 15th year as a Christian, 12th year of marriage (to a pastor of all people!), and 3 years as a full-time, stay-at-home Mum. Each of these life transitions have challenged my personal values with a steep learning curve, and yet I’m at a place where I’m content and at peace. What empowered these decisions?
As with all my reflections, let’s wind it back to the very beginning…
Born Into First-Generation Immigrant Hustle
I was born in December 1988—a leap year, the Year of the Dragon, and a time when the Australian interest rate hit an all-time high of 17% per annum. My parents married in January 1988, and took out a home loan to purchase their first property. They had initially planned to spend at least 3 years paying off debt and enjoying newly-wed life, blissfully kid-free. But by March, they discovered they were pregnant with me, and all hell broke loose. They felt too young to be parents, and they certainly had no time or budget for a baby.
While my parents have so treasured becoming grandparents, becoming first-time parents back in 1988 was just not something they were ready for. It forced them to collectively take on four jobs to cover bills, while my maternal grandmother (Por Por) quit hers to raise me full-time.
By the time school started, and with the help from extended relatives, my parents managed to afford us a spacious two-storey home in Sydney’s prestigious North Shore. Mounted on a high hill and clothed with Victorian-style interiors, this house felt regal, but living there made me feel trapped between stuffy walls void of love, friendship and play. I missed my Por Por’s home—dressed with retro wallpaper and charmingly mismatched furniture—and longed for school holidays where I could see my safe person again.
While my parents worked incredibly hard to gift me the Australian Dream, growing up around non-stop hustle made me feel like a burden to the adults around me. As the eldest child and without a consistent carer to depend on, I learned to minimise my needs and became hyper-independent. Everyone’s busy and tired—just suck it up and move on. Of course I learned to survive, but boy was it lonely sometimes.
As a child, I also hustled—with rigid rule following, extensive chore lists, and striving to be the A+ Trophy Kid that my father could be proud of. It didn’t last long. As a teenager, I recklessly forged my path of rebellion against people and values holding me back from doing what I wanted. I was hungry for freedom without boundaries, and concluded that becoming a wife and mother was not the answer.
First-Generation Sacrifice: Trading Love For Survival
God has used motherhood to teach me so many things. What I once despised has become an asset—to my faith, character, and the way I see the world. As a mother, I can now empathise with my parents’ choices and the tough love I received. Parenting is high-pressure work—and they had to do it under much harder circumstances. They had to build a new life from scratch—without the foundations of language, qualifications, generational money, faith or community support. As first-generation immigrants, it often meant making decisions that traded love for survival…so that I would never have to.
My parents may not have much advice for raising babies, but their humility in sharing their mistakes and regrets, has been so valuable to me. Their love for grandparenting has pulled my heart in all sorts of directions—grief that my Tiny Years was traded for survival, but also joy that my daughter has given them a second chance to make up for lost time.
Learning from them has enabled me to make informed decisions for my future, and to put important things into perspective. While my mum was forced to return to the workforce when I was only 4 weeks old, I now realise that my ability to even choose to be with my child is a privilege and gift from God—a choice I can make in faith.
Second-Generation Privilege: Choices
I want to preface everything I say next with this: I am not against mums working outside of the home. Many godly and loving mothers who I know and admire have not made the same decisions as me. In writing this, my heart especially aches for the widowed, single mums, coparenting mums, and DV survivors who don’t have the privilege of choices. The reasons for being a working Mum are varied and valid. My decision is not prescriptive—but a personal one fitting to my values and family circumstances.
Now back to my decision.
In my thinking around work and parenting, I revisited my reflections from the book ‘When Strivings Cease’ and questioned why I felt so uncomfortable with the idea of sacrificing work for parenting? Why do I get such a kick out of checking off ‘to-do’ lists and feeling productive? Why do I read the gospel encounter of Mary and Martha, and feel Martha’s second-hand irritation towards the ‘lazy’ and ‘unproductive’ Mary?
In my reflection Goodnight Chinatown, I shared why I once believed that “sleep was for the privileged”:
“On Public Holidays when our country would flock to the beach or stay home for a ‘Barbie’ (BBQ), Chinatown would crack its whip and work even harder. Nothing – not even Christmas Day – could break the laneway’s industrious spirit to earn a simple wage.
Having grown up in a family who earned their wages in Chinatown, I grew up believing that sleep was for the privileged. Although I was born in Australia, my parents and grandparents came by boats and planes, after fleeing from soldiers through shark-infested waters. They had spent their lives running from homelessness and hunger, so much so that even when they arrived in Australia, they felt the need to keep on running. Perhaps they couldn’t fathom an existence where rest and work were simultaneously possible.”
I suspect many of us are drawn to the hustle, because growing up, this was the only thing that was modelled to us. Staying in the hustle is the means to happiness, freedom, safety and control. I grew up knowing my parents were excellent employees, but there was simply no time for love and friendship. I witnessed grit, self-reliance and resilience, but I was denied Sabbath rest, faith and play. This is why it feels wasteful, even lazy, to give up career goals and income to parent full-time.
END OF PREVIEW
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