I realised my mother gets afraid too

A video my cousin sent three years ago still returns to me. In a crowded Wuhan metro station, a small figure stood between platforms, shoulders slightly folded, gripping her phone and searching anxiously in every direction.

It was my mother. In my memory she was 166 centimetres tall and always reminding me to stand straight. This was her first trip alone from our small county in Hubei to meet me at Wuhan Airport after the pandemic.

Her brow relaxed only when she saw my cousin. In that moment, she looked different from the mother I thought I knew.

I had always believed she could do anything. She was poised, bright and exacting at work, with awards filling our cupboards. At home she was the person who made problems manageable.

Whenever I made a mess and wanted to retreat, she would say, ‘It is not a big deal,’ then calmly help me find a way through. In my world, courage seemed to be her natural condition.

She had not suddenly become timid. She had spent years in the role of protector, hiding fear behind the practical work of solving things. Age, unfamiliar places and a smaller daily world had simply made visible what I had never been asked to notice.

When we travelled together later, I checked the route, carried the bags and spoke to strangers. Our roles had quietly turned. The person who once pulled me forward sometimes waited for me.

Parents are not born knowing how to be fearless. They entered life a little earlier and often learnt to look steady while carrying their own uncertainty.

Seeing my mother's vulnerability did not make her smaller. It allowed me to see her fully: not only as a capable mother, but as an ordinary woman who also deserves understanding and protection.