I Wished She'd Take Homework Seriously. She Did. Too Seriously.

Just when you think life is finally turning around, it often ends up being the beginning of something else entirely.

Last night, I was sitting beside my daughter while she did her homework. At one point, she picked up her eraser to rub out a perfectly fine Chinese character she had just written. I suddenly felt caught between laughing and crying.

Since starting elementary school, she always rushed through her Mandarin homework. Her characters were a mess, scribbled without care, and her attitude was all about getting it done as fast as possible. Every time I looked at her writing, my blood pressure spiked. I could not help but mutter, "What kind of writing is that? Do it again." Her teacher often circled her mistakes and asked her to correct them, which usually led to her having a meltdown. My mood would also spiral. The only comfort I had was telling myself, "Well, at least she gets more writing practice." I honestly thought the rest of my life would be spent stuck in this never-ending cycle of homework and frustration.

Then one day, during the second semester of second grade, she suddenly announced, "I want to make my homework look really pretty." I nodded and gave her a supportive smile, though deep down I was not convinced. But to my surprise, she actually did it. Stroke by stroke, she wrote neatly and carefully. Her characters looked just like the ones proud parents share in group chats. I used to ask her, "When will you be able to write like that?" And somehow, that day actually came.

Her teacher even drew a big apple on her homework the next day to praise her. She ran home bursting with joy to show me. In that moment, I thought, "Finally, no more fighting over homework."

But just when I thought she had stopped rushing, I realized she had started something else. She could not stop writing.

Her standards for what looked "good" kept getting higher. Neat and tidy was no longer enough. She began fussing over tiny details like "this dot is too fat" or "this line is not straight enough." Even though her writing was already more precise than mine, she insisted on erasing and rewriting. Again and again. I used to be the one asking her to rewrite messy characters. Now I was the one asking her to stop. I felt like I was on the verge of a breakdown.

I do admire people with the drive and dedication to chase their goals without giving up. But I have always believed that doing your best is enough. When perfection becomes the only goal, it can drain your energy, take a toll on your health, and eat up your time for no real reason. So to be honest, I do not want my child to become a perfectionist. Or at least, not to this extreme, and definitely not at this age.

No matter how many times I told her "this already looks great" or gently reminded her not to be so hard on herself, it never seemed to sink in. Even after the teacher gave her more apples than I could count, she still could not let go. In the end, I had to make a rule: unless the character is wrong or written outside the lines, she has to finish the whole assignment first before choosing any to rewrite. She looked extremely reluctant but eventually agreed. At last, the constant tug of war over erasing and rewriting came to a temporary halt.

Sometimes when I see her stressed-out little face, I wonder if I am the one aiming too low. Is there something wrong with how I am guiding her? Or is this just part of who she is, and maybe I should let her grow into it naturally?

To be honest, I am not always sure how to feel when she gets this obsessed with every detail. Going from careless to careful should be a good thing, but the speed and intensity of that change caught me off guard. I think the real challenge is not about how good her handwriting is, but about finding the right balance in all of this.

Children are like that, but then again, so are adults. In life, we are always trying to find that sweet spot. Not too strict, not too relaxed. Teaching a child to stop pushing too hard is also a reminder to myself to ease up. Letting go of the obsession with perfection might be the only way to live more freely and comfortably.

I just hope that one day, she will understand that sometimes, being imperfect is exactly what makes something feel just right.