Having conversations with AI about your parents and family dynamic

My esthetician told me the other day that she has a client who uses AI for literally everything in his life. He told her he even uses it for therapy. “Why do I need to pay a therapist when I can chat with Claude or ChatGPT about all my problems?” he asked her. He insisted that ChatGPT gave him not only good, accurate answers, but even prompted him with questions back that really made him think.

“I was like, ‘dude, this is where I draw the line,'” she said she said to him. “You cannot use AI for therapy! It’s just not the same thing!”

I told her I didn’t necessarily think that AI should be used as a replacement for therapy, per se, but I do think that it can help untangle a lot of thoughts, experiences, and opinions you may have, and then synthesize all of those things and make some sense out of it for you to move forward. In fact, I actually did this regarding my parents the other day. I described my dad’s personality, upbringing, and general history, gave specific examples of (what I perceive to be) atrocious things he’s said and done to my brother and me, and this is what it responded with (much later down the line):

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I would think about your father’s story as having two layers.

The older layer is probably his long-established personality:

early neglect → radical self-sufficiency → difficulty depending on people → poor emotional communication → criticism instead of teaching → anger when others violate his expectations → retreat into solitude → limited emotional intimacy.

And now there may be a newer late-life layer affecting organization, discarding, motivation, or executive functioning.

One of the saddest consequences of this type of upbringing is that a child can become extraordinarily competent at surviving while never learning the skills required for intimacy. Your father may genuinely have believed that providing materially and leaving his children to become independent was adequate parenting because his own benchmark for parental care was so extraordinarily low.

He could look at his childhood—poverty, infestation, working parents, almost no supervision—and conclude:

“My children had food, a decent home, and opportunities I didn’t have. I did well.”

Meanwhile, you could grow up in the same household thinking:

“Why didn’t my father teach me anything, talk to me, encourage me, or want to know me?”

Both perceptions can coexist. His history explains how he could have such a limited conception of fatherhood; it doesn’t erase what you and your brother missed.

And that may be the most useful framework for understanding him: he gave you more material security than he received, but emotionally he may have transmitted much of the deprivation he grew up with.

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I read this, and I realized this is the same conclusion I came to in my mid-twenties to make sense of my dad. I always knew he loved us and was concerned about us; he just had zero idea how to show us he loved us. He is just so terrible with words. He was emotionally illiterate, yet he obviously provided for us and never let us be without food, clothing, supplies, and shelter. Ed and I always knew we grew up with a million times more than what our dad grew up with. About a year before Ed died, I tried to explain this to him. I even told him that our dad wanted to make sure to save extra money to provide for Ed… because our dad wasn’t confident that he would be financially self sufficient after his future passing. Ed was shocked and didn’t believe me; he was always hurting with our dad because he got the worst of our dad. Our dad was purely brutal with him every chance he got. And Ed couldn’t handle it and just concluded that he was an awful person who never should have been a dad. But I said to him at the time that our dad has no idea we think what we think of him … because from his perspective, he thinks, “My kids have more material stuff than I ever dreamt of growing up; I did a good job as a father. What more could they want?” Ed could not wrap his head around this and said that was insane.

Frankly, I have a hard time understanding that pretty much every single time I have a difficult or annoying interaction with my dad, or every time I overhear him say something that I think is just unnecessarily harsh or bitchy. All the context and personal history matters, but sometimes I just wonder: does simple human decency need to be taught? I understand all of this academically, but to have to deal with it every time we’re together is just painful, exhausting, and not even remotely enjoyable.

Therapy nor conversations with AI about tough topics like this will “solve” any problems you have. But I do think it’s good to be able to allow AI to summarize all these experiences, emotions, histories, etc., in a way that allows you to make sense of it all… and potentially help you make peace with how you move forward with these tough relationships.

Entering the fog – literally and figuratively

We woke up at the eye-burning hour of 3am today to take the 6am flight to San Francisco this morning. Miraculously, I got upgraded last minute from Business to First Class, which has only ever happened once in my entire life — four years ago, in August 2022. This was when Kaia was a wee eight months old and on a plane for the very first time. We can forever and a day say that her very first flight was a transcontinental, first-class flight from JFO to SFO. I pumped milk on that flight, and she had to go between First where I was and Business where Chris was.

After we got our one checked roller bag and got into a Lyft, off we went on the freeway north to San Francisco. And as we got onto 280, all I could see was a massive layer of grey fog descend upon the skies. We were about to enter the damn fog and pathetic 60s F weather — right in August, a SUMMER MONTH. It doesn’t matter how many times I come to San Francisco, but the sight of this has never failed to annoy me to no end.

We arrived at my parents’ place. We had a usual early lunch together of takeout dim sum and some jook/congee my mom made. My mom barely said anything at the table other than to try to get Kaia to eat more food. My dad barely said much unless I asked him questions, and he promptly left the table, with his plate still there, after he finished eating. When my mom asked him why he was leaving the table, he simply responded, “I’m done eating.” That was fun.

From what I can see so far in the house, not a whole lot has changed in the last year. There’s still endless clutter and things they should not own. It’s dust galore in most places, and likely even more cob webs on the walls and ceilings. But I did notice that two shelves in the living room were completely cleared. It annoyed me a little to realize quite quickly that the contents of those shelves were previously my and Ed’s VHS and CD/DVD collections. I suppose it’s easy to declutter stuff when it’s not yours versus yours, isn’t it?

I spent about two hours after lunch vacuuming the floors and cob webs from the walls and ceilings. I also dusted the dining room surfaces and the shelves in my old bedroom where we are sleeping. I filled the bathroom sink with water and used a damp sponge to remove the heavily caked on layer of dust that was on the bedroom surfaces. When I had finally finished reaching all the surfaces I could, the water had turned completely black.

I want my parents to live independently for as long as possible, but when I look at this house deteriorate year after year, with many areas completely not maintained at all, I wonder how much longer they will feasibly continue living here. It’s not like they live in complete filth: the bathrooms and kitchen are clean. The stove is safe. I don’t think anyone has cleaner, brighter, more mildew-free bathroom tiles than my parents do. The walkways are relatively clear and you can get through doorways easily. The beds and sofas are clean and clear, able to be slept in and sat on just fine. I have offered to get them a cleaner, but of course they were adamantly against it. And to be frank, you must remove the clutter before a hired house cleaner could really do much to be worth the added expense.

A once-a-year clean that I do for them isn’t going to make a huge difference because another year will pass until the same level of cleaning happens. But I feel better doing this for them because I can clearly see they are both much more tired than before. My dad is walking with a little hunch. He gets tired more quickly and has even admitted it after being on a ladder for over 1.5 hours today to fix the kitchen overhead light that went out this morning (to be honest, I was pretty impressed he was agile enough to get up and down that six-foot ladder!). My mom is slower to move around and even process things that I say to her.

It’s sad to watch your parents get more frail and elderly right in front of your eyes.

Requests from mom before coming home

We’re flying back to San Francisco this Saturday and will be staying with my parents over two weekends, with some hotel time and a drive further north in between. Usually before I go back, I gather some basic things as gifts for my parents and my aunt. Per my mom’s request, I’ve also made banana bread — a full loaf — and brought it back for her repeatedly because she loves it so much. But this time around, I did not plan well with banana buying, as I don’t usually buy bananas every week. Bananas are an occasional buy for us, usually when I am planning to make pancakes for Kaia, or if I want to make a specific cocoa-powder/tahini or peanut butter/banana protein smoothie for myself. I have only 1 frozen banana left in my freezer, and it’s better to use fresh bananas (and at least 3-4) for a good banana bread. So this year, I won’t be making it and bringing it home.

My mom asked me on the phone today if I could make it for her. I told her I was doubtful it would happen because I don’t have any more bananas, and if I did buy new ones, I’d have to wait for them to ripen. Given I have just two more full days here, this is not realistic at all. So I said that if she had bananas at home and all the right ingredients, I could make it when I am home with her. She seemed to be satisfied by my suggestion as an alternative.

She also reminded me of her request for me to dust all the photo frames in the dining room. In the last few years I’ve come home, I have done this without her asking because I was always so disgusted over how thick of a layer of dust had developed due to zero cleaning they do on these surfaces. My parents keep areas like the kitchen and bathrooms clean. But when it comes to dust, vacuuming, and general clutter, they are absolutely horrendous at this and only seem to do things to make it all worse. Sometimes, I genuinely have no idea how they can live the way they do. It’s beyond frustrating for me to witness even for just the handful of days I am home each year nowadays.

Mourning for a version of a person that is gone

I was at lunch yesterday with my friend, telling her about the situation with my aunt. I told my friend that when I was little, I was obsessed with my aunt. Ultimately, my aunt is the reason that I love baking because she was the person who spent quality time in the kitchen with me. She’s the person who always proactively asked me about what I was learning in school, what I was interested in, and actually wanted to know me for me. Although my aunt is genuinely a good person and always had been, I know part of her love and interest for me was because she looked at me as the daughter she never had. She had three sons when each time, she really wanted a daughter. So I got all the cute hand sewn dresses and hand knit clothes she intended for her own. I got showered with endless girly gifts and jewelry that she would have loved for her own daughter. But once I got older, and once she came back from being away in Boston for a number of years, she was almost a different person. She officially converted to being a Jehovah’s Witness. Her main concern was the congregation and her “brothers and sisters.” And since at that time, I was a pre-teen/teen, I was changing a lot, too. At that point, I was finally seeing with greater clarity all the dysfunction in my family with eyes wide open. I also realized that at this point, she rarely wanted to acknowledge anything that was ever wrong. I could never have a deep conversation with her. Maybe it was always the case that this was impossible, but when I was in elementary school, that never would have even entered my mind given I was so young and immature. But it always made me sad that we could never have a real conversation together. It was impossible and still is impossible for us to have any meaningfully deep conversation about anything. I don’t know if she is incapable of it or if she just actively avoids it. I guess I will never know; it will always remain a mystery to me.

I told my friend all this. She paused for a while and then looked up at me and said, “Wow. Do you think that some of this frustration is because you never really allowed yourself to mourn the version of her you loved that is gone?”

I didn’t know what to say to this. I suppose I never looked at it this way. It makes sense my friend would hear it this way since she’s a deeply feeling and empathetic person. I guess my friend is partly right: my aunt and I will never have that sweet, simple relationship we had when I was a toddler, kindergartener, or elementary school-age child, where it was easy and always just about baking, having fun shopping and doing playground outings, or enjoying treats together. But as I mentioned here earlier, I am not sure she was ever capable of having a deeper, meaningful relationship with me. So this second part is not a “loss” per se, but more something I wished we could have had that we just never did and never will have.

It reminded me of what my therapist said to me when I was pregnant and due to give birth any day. She told me that I should give myself the time, permission, and grace to mourn the relationship with my mom and dad I wish I could have had, but never got to have and never will have. It’s the same with my aunt: I do wish we had a different, better, and deeper relationship than what we have now. But this will never be. And we just have to work with what we have because c’est la vie.

Unusual dreams after an annoying week

I told Chris the end of the aunt debacle. And he chuckled, saying that he anticipated I would have funny dreams last night as a result of all this. And well, he was right. Last night, I dreamt that I was at a hospital, watching at least half a dozen women all in labor and about to give birth. Somehow, I knew that all of them were purposely impregnated by the same creepy, cunning, and manipulative man. This guy’s intent was to spread as many of his sperm (and thus offspring) into the world as quickly as possible! And somehow, this man was so cunning that despite not being a doctor, he was posing as the obstetrician delivering every single one of these babies himself!

I was unclear what my relationship was to this man or any of these women. But I was watching all of this happen without any ability to effect any change whatsoever. So all I ended up feeling was angry, frustrated, and powerless. I guess that’s a good summary of how I feel with my aunt… and my family overall — most of the time.

The “family dinner” saga continues

And, it did not end with my request to not have M come over. This is what she replied with:

“Sorry, I forgot about that. Can I come with my sister (not actual sister because in the Jehovah’s Witness cultish world, every person in the congregation is a sibling) because I am staying at her house?”

This desire to invite other people to all her meals will never, ever die, even when it’s to my house. Even when the house is owned by someone else, she still wants this random extra person to come. I don’t care that this person is housing my aunt in her place; I asked for my aunt to come over to my house for dinner. Why does this have to be so hard?!

I let the text sit for a day because I was having an irritating day at work, and I really didn’t want my pissy work temperament to transfer over to my aunt. Then, I did what most seemingly logical circa-2026 people do: I told ChatGPT Pro my situation and asked it to come up with a measured, firm, direct response that wasn’t passive aggressive or mad. And this is what it came up with, which I sent:

“Hi (Auntie) – I’m really looking forward to having you over on Sunday. I planned this dinner as a family-only gathering, so I’m not able to include additional guests this time. I hope you understand, and I’d still really love for you to come.”

A day later, she sent me a text saying that she is old, needs someone with her, and since I am coming to San Francisco at the end of the month, she will see me then.

To be honest, I was expecting this. She just needs to have a JW crutch with her at all times. She’s very capable of navigating the subway at her age. It would be an early dinner, and there would still be plenty of light out by the time she left here. So, as a last ditch effort, I told her that I would pay for her Uber ride to and from my house.

She still declined.

Now, we know what this was really about.

As Kaia said when she was an early toddler learning to speak, “ALL DONE!”

A family dinner that cannot ever just be a family dinner

It doesn’t seem to matter who it is in my family, but everyone does something that truly, deeply drives me crazy. It reminds me of that Leo Tolstoy quote that you always see when it comes to families that was the first line of Anna Karenina: “All happy families are alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Dysfunction stems from a unique mix of human flaws, generational patterns, and unhealed wounds.

My aunt, my dad’s older brother’s wife, is currently in town, and she asked if we could get together while she was in New York. Of course I said yes, and several weeks ago, I asked her to come over for dinner this Sunday. She confirmed, and that was that. Well, that was not over, because out of nowhere today, she asks if instead of dinner at my place this Sunday that I go down to Manhattan Chinatown to meet her for dim sum with Chris and Kaia. I told her that wouldn’t be possible because of Kaia’s pre-scheduled extra-curricular activities. She then texts to see if Saturday dim sum would work; I replied back and said we already made plans.

I was getting more and more irritated with each response given we had already confirmed dinner at my place weeks in advance, and suddenly, she just wanted to change it. I know why she wants to change it: my aunt has this really frustrating habit of constantly inviting her random Jehovah’s Witnesses friends to almost all of our family dinners. It doesn’t matter if it’s just her son and family and me or all of the cousins and my parents, but she feels this urgent need to invite at least one to FOUR non-family people to any family meal. They are not part of our family, and they are people I will see once and completely forget about. Why does she constantly do this all the time? Even when I have explicitly asked her in the past when meeting for lunch in New York if it could just be us, lo and behold, she shows up with her New Jersey based friend I cannot stand called M, or one or two other random people I will have nothing to talk about with. M is a terrible person; she is a free loader. She makes sweeping, racist generalizations about groups of people she knows little to nothing about. And perhaps worst of all, M once explicitly said that “something was not right in the head” with Ed just years before he died. I truly wanted to punch her face in. And even after I confronted my aunt about how inappropriate and hurtful those comments were, she brushed me off, saying that M didn’t mean it that way and that I shouldn’t take it too seriously. My aunt has a true penchant for always ignoring serious issues and living a seemingly shallow life with no deep conversations ever possible. I told her I didn’t want M coming to any of our meals again. But of course, she ignored me and invited her anyway once against my wishes. We barely talked at that meal; I was PISSED. Part of the reason I wanted her to come over for dinner is to thwart any possibility of some random person showing up at my house because of her incessant “outside” invites.

So lo and behold, my aunt finally agrees over text to come for dinner at 5pm this Sunday. But the story’s not over because she has to text back: “Can I bring M with me, she wants to see Kaia.”

It’s like she’s deaf or suffering from amnesia that I strongly dislike this person. I simply responded back, “No, she is not invited. I have told you that I dislike her.” And I left it at that.

In the end, if she chooses not to come because of this, I truly don’t care. I’ve tried to be amenable and the “middle man” in too many of my family situations, and this is not a battle that I really feel strongly about. The level of delusion here is just beyond ridiculous. I do not want disrespectful, ignorant people in my house, and I am entitled to invite only who I want to my own house.

An annoying restaurant concept pivot to cater to the area

One of the things I love looking at every week is what new restaurants are opening up across the city. I subscribe to a few mailing lists. I keep track of Eater and Infatuation for New York City. I also get a lot of food content (predictably) via my @yvonnemeetsfood Instagram handle. As someone with a young child, I am far less interested nowadays in four-dollar-sign restaurants, potential Michelin-rated restaurants, or tasting menus (though I will say that our one tasting menu at Yingtao last year was truly incredible and finally propelled me to make my first — and so far only — order at Mala Market!). I am more interested in cuisines lesser represented, interesting fusion twists, and small independent bakeries and holes-in-the-wall. If they are a bakery, massive brownie points from me for having sourdough starter as a base, and/or milling their own grains and wheat.

So when I read about Unglo Thai opening just a few blocks from my apartment on the Upper West Side, and merely steps away from the Lincoln Center, I was in total shock. The original restaurant concept was a funky, modern Thai restaurant that featured traditional (and “elevated”) Thai barbecue. I just couldn’t believe that something that traditionally Thai, creative, or unique would be opening directly across the street from the Lincoln Center, and on the Upper West Side, of all places. I may live on the Upper West Side, but I unfortunately find myself repeating often that this area is likely one of the most boring neighborhoods in the city for food. Nothing particularly unique interesting ever opens first here. Occasionally places will open their second or third location on the Upper West Side (I am specifically looking at Salt & Straw from Portland, Oregon, or Radio Bakery, originally from Greenpoint, Brooklyn), but nothing fun and cool ever starts on the Upper West Side.

This restaurant opened about a year ago, and I saved it as a “to try” spot for a future theater night with a friend. Well, last night was a Summer for the City Festival Orchestra night, and it was also a belated birthday dinner for my good friend. So I booked this restaurant about a month ago, thinking we would have Thai BBQ. And then two days before, I checked the menu… to only find out that after a few months, they weren’t doing so well. I guess it was all a little too authentic and too true to Thai cuisine for the uppity, stick-up-your-butt old fuddy-duds of the Upper West Side / arts crowd. So they had to pivot to “elevated Thai comfort food.” I was not very happy about this, as I was very much looking forward to a Thai BBQ meal so close to home. But I figured the menu was still more interesting than your average pad thai/pad see ew/green/red/yellow curry, so I’d stick with it.

I was happy I stuck with this decision. My two favorite dishes we ordered were the kua rib fingers, described as “wok-tossed wagyu rib fingers with southern Thai “kua” curry paste.” It was rich, sticky, and super fragrant and flavorful with makrut lime leaf and lemongrass featured prominently. I also loved the pomelo salad, which had the pomelo pieces cut thick and sectioned, with a pla-ra dressing with tomatoes, shallots, culantro (yes, CU-lantro! It was so good and pungent with really thick leaves!), mint, and crispy school prawns.

Although I may have been ready for Thai barbecue on the Upper West Side, especially by the Lincoln Center, unfortunately this area was not quite ready for it. The Upper West Side has a long way to go before it becomes a destination dining neighborhood (other than for Tatiana, which I may never successfully get a reservation at because it’s so freaking competitive). I am still sad Unglo’s original concept did not survive, but I do think what they pivoted to is still delicious with real Thai flavors worth trying and even going back to for a delicious evening.

Conversations about death with a 4-year-old

In the last couple months, Kaia has been asking questions that dance around death, but are not quite about death. It usually comes up in the context of bees or animals dying. She sees bugs get squashed all the time and knows that means they are dead. She sees her teachers stepping on lantern flies and their guts spraying everywhere. She has also noticed road kill a few times. In the last week or so, she’s asked about where my gonggong/popo/yeye/nainai (grandparents) are and why we cannot see them, or why she hasn’t met them. Then the anniversary of Ed’s passing came this past Wednesday, she started asking me more pressing questions about him, indicating that she’s really thinking through all this quite thoughtfully for her age.

“Why did he have to die?” she asked me.

“Well, Jiujiu got very, very sick, so sick that he just couldn’t live anymore,” I explained, in the lightest way possible. Then, I immediately dreaded that she might worry that if she catches a cold that she would then die. And… oh dear, that’s exactly where it went.

“Does that mean that if I get sick that I could die, too?” Kaia asked me with wide, worried eyes. Great. I am clearly terrible at this.

“No, baby, not at all!” I quickly tried to reassure her. “You see, we all get a little sick sometimes. Sometimes, we get a cold or a flu or a stuffy nose. But our bodies are strong, and we fight it off and we get better. Jiujiu’s situation was a lot, lot different than this. His body was sick for a very long time, and then his body couldn’t work anymore.”

She gave me her side-eyed head tilt again. Then, she buried her head and cried, “I don’t want to die!”

“Pookie, there’s no reason for you to worry about dying,” I held her close when I said this. “You are super strong and healthy, and you are going to grow up and hopefully have a long, healthy life. You have so much to do in this great life you have! Eventually, we will all die, but hopefully, that will be when we are very, very old, very far from now.”

Kaia paused. Then she looked up at me again with eyes of terror. “I don’t want mommy to die! I don’t want you to die, mama!” At this point, there were fat tears rolling down her face. It felt like I was getting worse as this was progressing.

“Oh, Pookster,” I said to her. “Mama is quite strong and healthy now. I tell you this every day, don’t I, that every day, Daddy and Mama take care of you, protect you, and love you. And so, hopefully, I will live for a very, very long time. So there’s no need to worry about mama dying now or anytime soon. I live to take care of you and protect you and love you, and you give me a reason to live and love. Do you understand? I love you.”

After a long pause, she seemed to be satisfied by this response. Phew. She snuggled closer to me and said she loved me. Then, she asked if we could build her little plane tomorrow. I said yes.

I always have to remind myself when having conversations with her that kids of her age take everything very literally. Her mind and body are growing by leaps and bounds. And the conversations will keep getting deeper and more complex. And I just need to stay ahead of it and be careful with every word I share with her. The last thing I want her to do is worry every day or night that Chris or I will die, or that she will die, or that she will be alone. She is definitely a feeling child, my feeling baby.

My right side’s baby tooth: any day now

So it appears the last time I wrote about my loose baby tooth on my right side was September 2024. That was almost two years ago, and somehow I have managed to keep it in place this whole time… Somehow. While on our Caribbean trip, I could feel the tooth getting looser and looser. I’m sure I ate a few things on my right side while abroad that loosened it even more. There was even a point when I thought I heard a tiny little crack. There’s really no more bone underneath keeping it in place anymore; it’s just hanging onto a bed of my gums.

In the two weeks we’ve been back from our summer trip, it’s gotten more and more uncomfortable to eat. Even when I am de-pitting a cherry in my mouth, it’s uncomfortable. When I gargle water in my mouth, the baby tooth rattles. And even sometimes when I spit water out, I can feel the force of the water almost pushing at the baby tooth. Oftentimes when I am eating or brushing my teeth, I will need to push the baby tooth back into “its place,” otherwise it’s really uncomfortable and weird for me. Even though I’ve looked at my mouth closed from the outside, sometimes it feels like it wants to stick out of my cheek to tell the world, “Oh hey! Look at me! I’m 40 years old and a teeny weeny baby tooth is about to fall out of my MOUTH!”

Well, at least I can say now that I’ve made it to age FORTY AND A HALF with both baby teeth still in tact. And my left baby tooth — well, it’s quite solid and not even remotely loose. So I might even get to keep it until the day I die, which makes me thrilled!