The Pressures of Being A 2nd Generation Immigrant
Anonymous
As a child of immigrant parents, I'm sure my parents' story is no different from my peers'.
At 18, my dad immigrated to the US from halfway across the world. When attending graduate school, my dad told me how someone put a sticky note on the door to his dorm, saying, "Go back to where you came from n****."
My mom, knowing very little English, came to the United States from India in her early 20s to attend college. She would tell me how she used to cry on her college campus because she didn't know the language, didn't know the food, and missed her family.
I always try to weed out more stories from this tough period of my parent's life, but every time, my mom is quick to shut down these conversations, saying that these stories are too painful and that she doesn't want to remember these memories. But throughout the conversations I had with her, my mom consistently ended them by stating that she got to the place she is in now by working hard. It seems like a mantra among all immigrant parents.
On New Year's Eve, my mom and I got into a heated argument. It ended with my mom saying that her family would be disappointed in her for not carrying her family’s success over to me. As soon as I heard this, it was as if the wind was knocked out of me. The rest of the day, I could think only about the argument I had with my mom.
My parents had it extremely tough when they immigrated to the US. And because of this, it felt even tougher for me to live up to the sacrifices they made. I realized that if there was any chance of me disappointing them, or if my name and "disappointed" were even used in the same sentence, I would reel over, with my palms sweating profusely and my mind running in circles. It was difficult to function while battling feelings of unworthiness, insecurity, and feelings that I didn't deserve the love, time, and effort my parents showered me with.
Thinking about this sent me into a spiral of self-doubt and anxiety and led me to question why I did everything I did. Was the motivation behind everything I've done me submitting to my internalized pressure to live up to my parents' sacrifices? Was I making all of my decisions with my parents in mind? Was it to climb this hill, which was the insurmountable level of pressure I felt? Was this "pressure" I felt all made up in my head?
Have I ever done anything for myself?
Is anything I do even meaningful anymore? Is that why I haven't been able to tell my parents about my mental health? Because my parents didn't immigrate halfway across the world to have a child facing mental illness?
Is that why? Is that why? Is that why?
Paralyzed, I was stuck in a loop of questioning. Questioning my identity; questioning my life; questioning my personality and individuality. Questioning if this is why I couldn't tell my parents about my mental health and other problems I had.
It's hard to cope with the feelings of unworthiness and feelings that my mental health makes me less worthy of my parents' sacrifices. I now know that this isn't true, but knowing sometimes isn't enough. It's difficult to actuate the changes you want to make to yourself, mental health especially.
In the past year, my mental health issues have become a lot worse. Feelings of anxiety, dread, and unworthiness continue to run a marathon in my head. Then came unorthodox coping methods to combat the overwhelming pressure which still looms over me; a pressure which makes me pause to catch my breath all too often. Self-inflicted workaholism and the feeling that I don't deserve certain things are frequent, so it's challenging to finish the race - which is high school - with both feet tied together.
Entering my junior year of high school, the talk of college has become more common in my house. Though my parents want me to attend a top school, they want me to focus on trying my best. Despite this positive nurturing, thoughts of how my parents struggled to establish themselves in the US come flooding through my mind, and I immediately feel guilty for relaxing. It's frustrating navigating my feelings because they are all self-imposed - the only person I can get angry at is, well, myself.
The constant workaholism has begun to affect my relationship with my family and friends. I find it difficult to enjoy outings as much because that's time spent not working; on the other hand, it's difficult to say no to such proposed outings because of the endless criticism I receive from my family because I'm always "working". Intrinsic motivation fuels me, but to what extent is it beginning to hurt me?
My coping methods progressively became more and more dangerous. I started making reckless decisions to feel like I had any semblance of control over my life and to feel like I was in control of my thoughts, actions, and goals.
I lost a good friend during this time, distanced myself with my family, and my mental health continued to worsen. To be honest, I'm not sure what my plan for the future is except to labor every day of my life until my parents tell me the five words every 2nd Gen immigrant child wants to hear: