I Healed Myself So My Daughter Could Be Free

By Connie Yvengthisane

Article courtesy Legacies of War.

In the dusty heat of the 1980s, inside the Ubon Refugee Camp in Thailand, I grew up behind barbed wire and bamboo huts. My life was shaped by the echoes of the American Secret War and the daily struggle to survive. I never had the chance to go to school. Each day was spent helping my family – fetching water, cooking rice over wood fires, caring for siblings, and waiting in long lines for rationed supplies. Often, I went to bed worried.

I never knew the freedom of adolescence.

There were no dances, no birthday parties, no dreams of college. My teenage years were stolen by displacement. My only ambition was survival. I missed out on what many would call a childhood. There were no books to read, no sports to play, and certainly no prom nights to dream about. My early life was marked by scarcity, silence, and sacrifice.

Now, decades later, my daughter, born in the United States in 2007, lives a life that must seem like a dream to the girl her mother once was. She cruises down suburban streets in a shiny black Toyota Camry, music blasting, wind in her hair. She plays on the high school volleyball team, cheered on by teammates and friends. Her calendar is full of social events, buzzing group chats, and weekend hangouts. She went to prom in a shimmering Cinderella dress – nails done, makeup flawless – dancing the night away with her best friends.

And now, she’s moved to California, having been accepted to Stanford University – one of the most prestigious schools in the world. Her world is wide open, full of choices, opportunity, and promise.

The contrast between her and me is vast – not just in material things, but in the very architecture of our lives. I grew up under tarps and trauma. She grew up beneath skylights and dreams.

But if you look closely at human life, you’ll see we are all trapped in different ways. I was once trapped behind barbed wire. My daughter’s generation is often trapped behind the anxiety of social media and the moral confusion of a world losing its values. The trauma and the sense of suffocation may look different, but the weight feels the same – whether it comes from a refugee camp, an elite institution, or the relentless expectations of society.

What truly matters is not where you are, but how you learn to set your mind free.

I spent years doing that work – freeing myself from pain, from fear, from the past. And in doing so, I gave my daughter something no scholarship or school could offer… emotional freedom.

Because if you don’t know how to work with your mind, you’ll stay trapped – no matter where you are. Even in Silicon Valley. Even at Stanford.

But if you do know how to be free – how to find peace in your own heart – then Stanford becomes more than a prestigious place. It becomes a launching pad and a playground for an intelligent, grounded human being. A place where every resource – technology, knowledge, community, and wealth – can be used to build a life of possibility. Or even to change the world.

And I believe my daughter will thrive. She will soar through college and through life. Not just because she is bright and capable, but because I did the inner work. I broke the cycle.

I healed myself so that she could be free.

Images courtesy Connie Vengthisane.