The Legacy of Cariño Brutal: Saying Goodbye to Mommy by Danielle A.P.

Danielle AP (she/her) shares with us an anecdote about reclaiming her body and rejecting colonial/Eurocentric ideals/practices. This is a story of decolonization and letting go.

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“Guess what mom? When I gave notice to my job that I was moving out-of-state, they offered me a part-time, telecommuting position! Same title and salary! I was really surprised!” I excitedly told my mom over dinner, the restaurant bustling with patrons.

“What’s telecommuting?” A., my younger brother, piped up.

“It’s when you get to work from home and - “ I began.

With her ams mimicking the body of a snowman, my mom quipped matter-of-factly: “Make sure you don’t become fatter since you’ll be working from home.”

I looked down at my plate of food.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry, I willed myself.

It’s 2019. I am 31 years old.

***

For the last seven years, I’ve been seeing L., an amazing, compassionate therapist, reading countless self-help books, crying to my chosen family and life partner, and connecting with my higher power and spirit guides. I’m proud of myself for how far I’ve come along in my healing.

And yet.

My mom’s words about my weight and appearance still feels like a brass knuckle to my chest. Every. Time. My mom is one of many family members who practice Cariño Brutal or “caring-brutal,” a leftover Spanish Colonial practice of enacting emotional (sometimes physical) violence toward one’s children as a way to show affection and concern. Being a first generation Filipinx in the United States, my mom used Cariño Brutal on me as her primary method of encouragement to conform to her ideal image of beauty and success: a slim, petite, white complected, straight haired AM-Girl or American Girl. A good AM-Girl goes on to work in the medical field or government and marries a nice white boy and have lots of beautiful, mestizo babies. It’s too simple to say that my mom did this because she truly believed this was a happy life. No, my mom wanted me to survive (and, hopefully, to thrive one day) in a country where white, thin beauty is sold as the key to success and to happiness. To be sure, my mom is no Am-Girl. Though she did try. Instead, my mom passed the torch to me: her first born child, her second chance. It’s been almost a decade since I began my journey to decolonize and heal the internalized fatphobia and inferiority complex instilled in me through the practice of Cariño Brutal. The toughest lesson I’m learning is that to end this cycle of generational trauma is to accept that my mom may never, ever change. That my body will always be a source of contention between us. Reclaiming my body means owning the fact I do not owe thinness to anyone. ***

After dinner, after anchoring myself through the support of my chosen family and life partner, and after the house settled down for the night- I retreated onto my yoga mat in the darkness, only a couple of tea candles providing light. I kneeled and slowly entered into Child’s Pose. As the tip of my nose touched the mat, I howled in a primal pain. A guttural cry left my chest. Mommy, mommy, mommy. Mommy, please. Please mommy. Mommy. Then I heard it - I’m here. I’m here anak. What’s the matter? It was then I knew. I’m not alone. I am loved. I said goodbye to the mother who birthed me and I sank, safely into the arms of the mother I had birthed within me.

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Dani's Contact Info:

Insta: @dani.la.paz

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Originally published in September 2019.