The adage of “there’s no place like home” rings true for some people. But for me, there is no sentimental attachment or value to that statement as someone who grew up in an Asian household.
While we live in what is considered a technologically advanced world, the way Asian culture treats and interprets mental health is comparable to that of dial-up internet.
Many come home after a long day of work or school to relax and unwind before going out and repeating the same routine the following morning. I, however, can’t say I do the same.
Social interactions were very difficult for me growing up. I’ve been bullied in school since I was in the fourth grade. At home, I would enter another hostile environment where verbal and physical abuse thrived.
My father constantly told me that I was a failure and that I would amount to nothing. Although this statement is false, I heard this lie so often that I subconsciously believed it.
This prompted me to never talk to anyone. I always feared that I would be judged for my every move and thought that my opinions and beliefs held no weight during a conversation.
While others hung out with their own cliques during recess, I found myself eating lunch alone in the restroom.
With no signs of things getting better, I allowed my frustration to persuade me into thinking that it was a good idea to freeze outside on one rainy day during high school.
The idea of hypothermia was appealing since it served as a reminder to me that people can be cold-hearted and would take no action even if they saw something unfold before their eyes.
This was part of the reason why I didn’t tell my parents what I was experiencing at school, thinking that nothing would be solved even if I chose to be upfront about what I was going through. I felt conflicted because you would think that if there was anyone that would be understanding and helpful during hard times, it would be your own parents.
However, I would be scoffed at when I would tell them that I was struggling with depression. Their disregard of my pain immediately burned the bridge to what I believed would be a healthy way of coping.
This ingredient for family separation and dissociation is something that Asian families have in abundance. Asian households are notorious for tiger parenting, and my family was no exception to that.
I was constantly told to work hard so I could get into prestigious colleges like UCLA or USC.
My room served more as a place of solitary confinement rather than a place of rest.
At some point, my parents acknowledged that it was difficult to do my best academically when I’m constantly working, so I was told to take breaks.
However, these breaks weren’t fulfilling their purpose of taking pressure off my shoulders. Rather, I was on edge while playing NBA Live 10, making sure I didn’t extend past the 30 minutes a week I was allowed to play video games.
I felt like I wasn’t doing anything for myself, but rather for my parents. It seemed like everything I did needed their stamp of approval, and when I didn’t meet their expectations, I would be hit with a metal bat.
The older generations of the Asian community display their pride in ways that are demoralizing to others.
I dreaded going to social gatherings where the central talking point would be people bragging about what school their child was attending with the sole intention of making others feel inferior.
This awful habit of comparing yourself to other people is not a healthy way to live. It made me feel like a product to be advertised and a trophy in a display case, rather than someone who was just trying to fit in with the rest of society.
This behavior boxes people in emotionally and physically, creating shame as a byproduct.
I believed that my father never mentioned me to his friends because he was embarrassed that his son went to a community college.
Regardless of how much patience one has, it is only a matter of time before that patience runs out. It is important for people to have a way to relieve stress rather than keeping their frustrations inside.
The Anxiety and Depression Association of America states that Asian Americans are three times less likely than other Americans to seek mental health services. That comes as no surprise to me.
It took me about four years before I was able to make an appointment with a psychologist, as I couldn’t grasp the idea of there actually being services provided to help people instead of harming them.
While I’m still taking it one day at a time, it feels amazing to identify and address the issue.
I realized that everyone has to build a support system of their own, because people deal with certain situations differently than others.
The future of how mental health is viewed and treated is dependent upon our generation of Asian Americans putting an end to this trend.
Mental illness may have gone untreated in Asian Americans in the past, but it doesn’t mean that that’s how it should be handled in the future. We need to come together to share our experiences to spread awareness and spark change.
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