The S-Word
JDT
Shame.
Unless you’re Brene Brown, it’s a word that you’d rather not think about much less talk about.
But the dirty s-word is something we should be discussing. If we want to silence shame and all its negative effects, nothing can be done until we engage in open conversations about it.
All of us carry around some kind of shame. It’s a part of being human. But for many Asian Americans, there seems to be a little extra to it. I call it Asian shame.
Now I haven’t done any dissertations on shame, nor have I specialized in any research. But where I can talk about the subject is how I have experienced shame. Asian shame. Here’s how. For me, where Asian shame came for me was within two main areas of performance: 1) behavior and 2) academic.
I guess you could say my early childhood story was fairly common for an Asian American. My parents immigrated from Taiwan in the 1960s, not long after the Immigration Act of 1965. Both came to the States to pursue graduate degrees - in fact, it was at the university they attended in the Midwest that they met and married. I came not too long afterward and was born on the East Coast while my ba-ba (father) was doing his postdoctoral work. I was the first child born in this country from two parents who were both the oldest in their own respective families. You could say that the expectations were already set before I even left the womb.
My memories of early childhood are dim but we moved around quite a bit to support my father as he followed the career path of becoming a tenured college professor. Since the cultural norms were that he would support the family, we didn’t see him often because he was working and my mother managed the household. She was loving as you would expect a mom to be, but there were rules.
I don’t remember her rules as being overly strict - even though I’ve been told by other family members she was tough on my younger brother and me - but I do recall the messaging was clear about our behavior. You’d better act right or what will people say about your parents? “Méiyǒu jiào hǎo” was a phrase we learned - in Mandarin, it means “wasn’t taught right”. It was something we learned would be said about us - and implicating our parents - so God forbid if that happened, lest we bring shame to our family. Having grown up in areas where there weren’t many Asians around, it went a further step. What would your behavior say about Chinese people to Americans? It sure felt like a lot of weight to carry around.
It was a theme that seemed to carry on throughout my childhood. Academics and playing the violin - something I started doing at the age of three - were seemingly the most important. We didn’t dare slack off and risk not getting the highest marks possible in school. If you came home scraping by with a 90 for an A, you were questioned - why didn’t you get a 95? If you got a 95, why didn’t you get a 100? You say you tried hard? Well clearly you weren’t - try harder! Granted looking back it was probably encouragement to seek excellence in perfection, but I took it instead as never being good enough.
It also never failed that we were supposed to be reminded of our imperfection - especially because others apparently had it all together. The message could be direct at times but usually, it was delivered more in a passive-aggressive manner. Did you know that Justin’s mom told me that he won this math contest? I heard from Eileen’s dad that she won the piano competition! Stephen just aced the SAT and got into an Ivy League school, his parents are so proud! My younger brother and I would ask just what they would say about our achievements - after all, we certainly had our share of our own.
The response? We’re humble, we don’t brag about what we do. Yet at the same time, what their friends' kids accomplished seemed so exciting yet whatever we did failed to really register - because it was expected. Sometimes the newspaper photos and clippings celebrating these young people’s achievements would get posted prominently on the fridge, a daily reminder of what we could also be doing. Again, the message may have been to spur us on to competitiveness and what could be accomplished but instead to me, it seemed to illuminate how once again I was less than and never good enough.
I never realized it at the time but the shame weighed on me heavily. It didn’t appear as if I could live up to expectations, I was never good enough and the tapes that played those narratives droned on and on in my head. The anger and resentment built up inside and I wasn’t allowed to express any of it verbally, and despite the attempts to bottle it up, over time it oozed out sideways. Quiet rebellion and turning to addiction came as a result as I sought to diffuse the anger and numb the pain. It did the job but it also exacerbated the shame and began what became an endless cycle.
When I finally hit rock bottom as an adult, I was forced to confront my demons. I knew I needed help with my mental health and despite the stigmas, from American and especially Asian societies, understood this required assistance from a professional counselor. With his guidance, I addressed my issues on the surface but also dug deeper. Underneath the addictive behaviors and anger, I found a scared and wounded child. I started to reflect on the memories of my childhood and the emotions came flooding back.
When I first really began looking into the past, all I could feel was resentment. Anything I really wanted to do that was outside the expected norms of an Asian child (math/science, violin, etc.) was seemingly discouraged or dismissed. And even within those expected norms, whatever I did or accomplished never measured up to what my peers around me did, all of whom appeared to achieve more. I hated the way I was raised and felt that I had been victimized. But as I worked through things the anger lifted, the pain underneath soothed, and I was able to see things more from the lens of my parents.
What I uncovered was the truth of the matter - they raised me the best way they could and the best way they knew how. Unfortunately, that way included shame-based motivation, something I learned has been passed down for generations in Asian cultures. Setting the bar up to perfection is supposed to spur one on toward greatness and using the accomplishments of peers as a comparison is to encourage competition and one’s own excellence. After all, these tenets were what worked for my parents, and had worked for practically everyone they knew.
This form of "motivating" may very well have worked for many, and some of my peers - even my own brother to some degree - were able to reject some of the toxicity and brokenness that went with it. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t react well and instead took it as shame. Since I’ve taken on the work, it’s taken some time but I’ve been able to become secure in my identity in my faith and who I am and not in what I do, what I accomplish, or not accomplish. By openly talking about things and being willing to be vulnerable I’ve been able to help overcome my shame. It still exists inside of me in many forms, but I’m willing to embrace it and work on turning it away when I feel it having power over me.
When I first discovered Project Lotus and what it stood for, one of the first people I shared my excitement with was my counselor. One of his first questions was - have you talked to your parents about it? I recoiled at the thought and even with a lot of the healing that’s taken place the past decade or so, I was afraid about what they might think and if re-visiting the past would bring up defensiveness or bad memories. But recently I made the choice to step into my fear of shame and share my thoughts with them. They listened with open ears and we had some great conversations, ones that will certainly continue into the future.
It’s obviously far from perfect but the wounds have been healing. I know now that ultimately it’s about who I am and being secure in that and not about what I do or don’t do. But I’m reminded that it’s progress, not perfection. The most important thing for me is to continue talking about it.