Open Letter

Dear Mom and Dad, 

Growing up you always had this vision or path that you wanted me to follow that sometimes I couldn’t keep up with. Repeatedly, I was reminded that I had to do well in school, succeed in sports, and balance that with all the extra curriculars I had, but what happens if I couldn’t? Throughout highschool I struggled with trying to keep up with that perfect daughter you had in mind, but I always found myself falling short. I can recollect the numerous times you would remind me to do well on tests and get into a good college, but I never believed I could achieve those things. I beat myself up about all my failures to the point where the person I hated most was myself. I would ask myself that if I couldn’t even get close to reaching the high expectations you had, then why am I even here? I kept those feelings of resent bottled up from you guys because I didn’t even know how I could bring it up. There were times when we would be together and I would debate on whether to bring up how I was feeling, but I would always choose not to. I couldn’t even imagine myself talking about that with you, I mean, how could I tell you that your own daughter was depressed. I remember crying on my bed, feeling so defeated and defenseless and out of reach from you guys. I felt that you guys couldn’t be able to truly understand how I felt to even help the situation at all. I am everything but perfect, and that is something I didn’t want to admit to you because I felt it would disappoint you. Sorry I couldn’t be the perfect daughter, whatever that means. 

The first time I told you, mom, we were sitting on my bed and you asked me why I was crying. I remember telling you it was nothing, but I so badly wanted to jump into your arms and spill out everything that I was feeling, but it didn’t end up that way. After telling you I would have rather been dead then alive, you merely replied with, “Well just… don’t feel sad.” You warned me that if I go see a doctor that they would make me take pills for it. At that point I remember feeling completely alone and lost like I had no one else to talk to, even though I know that wasn’t your intention. I told you that what I’m feeling can’t be fixed that easily, that suicidal thoughts aren’t an emotion, but you continue to tell me to ignore what I’m feeling like it doesn’t exist. After that moment you never asked about those feelings again.

Coming from a highschool that had a population that was 90% Asian, I am familiar to the fact that there is a stigma around mental health in the Asian community. What I noticed about my classmates was that a lot of them felt the same way about their parents, struggling to conform to their high expectations, but had to deal with it in silence. Regularly, I observed my classmates beating themselves up about classes and sports that they didn’t even choose to do. Everyone knew that this was a common problem but since it was common, we felt that it was okay. Feelings of depression and failure were so normalized at my school that students would joke about how they want to “kill themself” if they did poorly. Mental health wasn’t really talked about at school either, and even if it was the students felt too embarrassed to talk about it openly. This environment of ignorance towards mental health continued for over half of my time at high school until sadly enough, one of my classmates took her own life. 

After this happened, I noticed that the school and my classmates began realizing the importance of discussing mental health. Mental health is becoming a more controversial topic, especially in Asian communities of my generation. A student run mental health panel at my school formed and staff at my school ensured that there were programs that could help the students who need it. I still had the same suicidal thoughts, but I began to feel less alone. I started reaching out to my close friends, telling them for the first time how I felt. Eventually, you found out again, but this time it was the school who told you. I was so terrified when my counselor told me that she was required to tell my parents about how I was feeling because I thought you guys would be angry. I felt ashamed. I didn’t want you guys to think that you couldn’t even help your own daughter. 

I was then scheduled to meet weekly with the school’s therapist. I didn’t believe that talking to a therapist would help at all, but I’m so glad that I was wrong. Eventually I was able to work on myself and my suicidal thoughts subsided.  

Later in the year we talked about those feelings again, but this time it was different. This time you understood that it was okay. This time you told me that failure is okay. This time you told me that I can talk to you. 

Looking back, I don’t believe that our situation could have gone any better. We were able to come out of it stronger because all of us were willing to change. Today, I am able to talk to you guys about more than I could have imagined and I feel comfortable talking to you about how I felt in the past. 

Love, 

Your Daughter