Millions of mothers are forced to leave their children behind to care for strangers’ kids abroad—all to secure a future for their own families. But here's where it gets controversial: while these women sacrifice their presence in their children’s lives, they often earn significantly more than they could at home, becoming the primary breadwinners. Is this a necessary evil, or is there a better way to balance economic survival and family unity?
Yoga Prasetyo is part of a generation in Southeast Asia who grew up without their mothers. For him, his mother existed only in photos taken in Singapore’s parks. 'To me, my mum was not a real person,' he recalls. Yoga’s mother wasn’t absent due to tragedy—she was one of millions of women from developing countries working as domestic helpers abroad, cleaning and caring for other families while their own children were left behind with relatives.
Since the 1970s, economic powerhouses like Singapore, Hong Kong, and Taiwan have relied on outsourced domestic labor to sustain their high levels of female workforce participation. Meanwhile, governments in the Philippines and Indonesia have historically encouraged their citizens to work abroad to boost economic development and reduce unemployment. According to a 2023 survey by the Philippines Statistics Agency, about 2 million Filipinos work overseas, primarily in Asia and the Middle East, with 64% being women in domestic labor.
Growing up without a mother’s presence is a reality for countless children like Yoga. When he was just 18 months old in 1997, his mother left Indonesia for Singapore. She didn’t know when she’d return—it would be 25 years before she came home for good. Raised by his aunt and uncle, Yoga noticed his family could afford things others couldn’t, like the bike he received in third grade. His mother stayed in touch through monthly phone calls to their neighbor’s landline and managed to visit him twice over the next decade. Even then, he struggled to call her 'mum,' instead referring to her as 'kak,' meaning older sister. Their relationship improved in middle school when she bought him a mobile phone. 'For the first time, we could chat much more freely,' he said, though he still longed for their family to be reunited. 'I’d compare myself to peers whose parents took them to school or picked them up afterward. They had the kind of family I wanted,' he admitted.
Success often comes at a lonely price. As Yoga excelled academically, ranking among the top students in his class, he felt his mother’s absence most acutely. 'There was nobody to collect my report card. I had to do it myself, and that was really sad,' he recalled. Video calls eventually gave him glimpses into her life, but it wasn’t the same as having her there.
Sacrificing motherhood for a future is a choice no woman should have to make. Rohimah, a single mother from Indonesia, left her two-year-old son in 2007 to work in Singapore. 'The first year was very tough, especially seeing children the same age as my son,' she said. Despite returning briefly, she left again when her second son was six months old. Her sons refused to talk to her on the phone and avoided her during visits. 'It’s okay they didn’t recognize me. I was supporting their daily expenses and future education,' she said, though she avoided jobs caring for children, as it reminded her of her own sons. As her children grew older, they began to understand her sacrifices. Her oldest is now in university, and she’s saving for her youngest to attend a city school.
Raising other people’s children while your own grow up without you can stir complex emotions. Agnes Sardia Tono, a single mother from the Philippines, has lived in Singapore for 23 years, caring for her employer’s four children. 'I treat them as mine,' she said, having brushed their teeth, put them to bed, and even captured their first words. Yet, she missed doing the same for her own son, now 25 and in university on a basketball scholarship. Agnes has been able to support her family financially, even during the COVID-19 pandemic, but she feels torn about whether to move with her employers to the U.S. or stay in Singapore until her son graduates. 'I’m so attached to the kids. Letting go would be hard,' she admitted.
The care debt these women foot is immense, but so are the economic benefits. In 2024, overseas workers sent over $56 billion back to the Philippines, contributing 8.7% to its GDP. Indonesian workers remitted $22.4 billion, making up 1.1% of its GDP. Yet, the emotional toll on families is undeniable. Yoga, now a research assistant and advocate for migrant workers, describes his relationship with his mother as one of 'equal companionship' rather than traditional parenting. He criticizes the lack of prospects for permanent migration and family reunification for migrant workers, calling it 'discriminatory.' He also challenges the notion that local communities should collectively care for left-behind children, arguing it perpetuates inequity.
Professor Lan Anh Hoang of the University of Melbourne points out that sending countries could demand better protections for their workers, though the Philippines is the only country to have negotiated a minimum wage for its migrants. Receiving countries may compromise to maintain their international reputation and secure a stable labor force. 'This reduces instances of workers running away or being exploited,' she said. As populations age, this labor flow may shift from childcare to eldercare in countries like South Korea and Japan. Yet, Professor Hoang emphasizes the necessity of these opportunities for rural women in developing countries. 'Without them, they wouldn’t earn nearly as much back home,' she noted.
But here’s the question that lingers: Is this system fair, or are we normalizing a form of modern-day sacrifice? What do you think? Is there a way to balance economic survival with family unity, or is this the only path forward for millions of women? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s spark a conversation that matters.
