When life is going too well, there’s always an inkling something bad is just waiting to happen at any given moment.. The paranoia never leaves my body, it lingers like a parasite. As I enter my bedroom, I reach for the light switch to shut off the lights, the darkness swarms my surroundings. In the pitch black, I sense my bed and let my body release all its weight right on top. My eyes focus on my ceiling fan spinning around as I contemplate on life. I ask myself “When will it get better?” I always remind myself that it is not my fault and my option is to try not to take it to heart. It feels as though there is a constant lump in my throat and I cannot seem to swallow it down. All the pressure is on me, with failure being my biggest fear. I must keep my parents happy, that is all that matters, that is my priority.
My entire upbringing was a constant battle of keeping my parents satisfied to keep the peace within the house — from suppressing my emotions to avoid an argument to retreating to my bedroom as a safe haven. Why do I feel this continuous despondency if my parents had it much harder than me during their childhood? Growing up with an immigrant father and a mother with the same mentality placed a weight on my shoulders. My shoulders are so hunched that I could feel my shoulder blades quiver and squeeze together. If my mental state strays in any direction too far from happiness, it is a recurring issue and deemed as ungratefulness. My mental health was never a priority. The main priorities consisted of having a better future than the life my parents provided me with. I must do everything in my power to achieve their version of the “American dream”. In other words, finish college, possibly attend graduate school, find a well-paying job, get married, and live in a wealthier neighborhood than my hometown.
It was in late June of 2021 when I was just about to graduate high school. Like many schools, I had the luxury to decorate my graduation cap. I decided to dedicate mine to my grandfather who passed away just in April and make it the theme of Colombia, for no one loved Colombia quite like him. I needed to buy the supplies for the vision I had for my graduation cap, so that afternoon, my mother and I drove to Michael’s. It would approximately be a 20-minute drive, and a conversation can take many turns in a short amount of time. We were about a block from the parking lot, when suddenly her opinion on mental health in American society came about, and the conversation took a turn for the worse.
She argued that Americans “have it so easy, yet choose to be miserable and complain about nothing” and how “Americans always choose to be unhappy and I don’t want you to start acting like that.” Frustration took over my body and I turned towards the window facing the glaring sun. I rested my elbow on the windowsill as I let out an exaggerated sigh. Big mistake. I should have just kept my mouth shut as per usual. My mother could tell that something she said was bothering me — I had to think before I spoke. I tried to get my point across, saying how in the United States, Americans tend to overwork themselves and, as a result, capitalism has Americans stuck in the grip of caring mostly about money.
However, in recent years, the topic of mental health has become less taboo and much more open for discussion. I went as far as telling her how 4 out of 6 of my best friends all see a therapist weekly. My mother kept insisting that they are just trying to find something wrong with themselves, when that is not the case. Those particular friends of mine who attend therapy were diagnosed with anxiety, depression, and other mental health struggles. She remained stubborn about how nothing is wrong with me, yet questioned why I spent a lot of the time by myself in my room. It was a hard pill to swallow. I looked at my reflection in the passenger window. We pulled into a parking spot and I saw my watery eyes becoming normal once again. I shut my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath and went about my day in Michael’s.
There was no way she was going to listen and hear me out. I look back at that argument and I understand where her mentality stems from. My mother grew up with very old-fashioned parents and has, unfortunately, gone through many more scarring tragedies and never received the therapy she should have as a child. The resources for her were out of reach due to her family’s financial situation. She has yet to acknowledge her childhood trauma and break it down to comprehend how it affects her as a person today. Another fear I think she has is the possibility that if I were to go to therapy, there is a chance I could be diagnosed, but until then we cannot see eye to eye on the matter.
Opening up about my emotions feels impossible at times, for I have no reason to be upset. I have all the essentials: food, water, shelter, clothes, present parents, and even education. My life has anything I could ever ask for, right? What more do I need? My predicament is my parents have placed their cultural differences upon the household. I realize the pressures that were put upon my mother since she is a first-generation and also on my father, who moved to the United States in his early adulthood with the “acculturation stressors such as learning a new language, coping with changes in family roles and responsibilities, protecting one’s legal status or the legal status of family members, and encountering racism or discrimination” (Perreira, Ornelas). It must have been all too much. The moments become most apparent when trying to explain the importance of mental health in America versus back in Colombia.
The persistent refusal to try to understand and to listen about how the mindsets of Americans vastly differs from Colombians. My parents are unaware of how their upbringing can take a toll on their mental health, for “studies measuring the influences of these post-migration stressors on the health of Hispanic children typically use stress inventories such as the Hispanic Stress Index and the Societal, Attitudinal, Familial, and Environmental Acculturative Stress Scale. Nearly all of these studies focus on the strong negative relationship between stressors and children’s emotional well-being” (Perreira, Ornelas). The constant lectures from my mother arguing how Americans choose to be miserable and how I just need to stop trying to pity myself and work harder, accentuate that there is no room for error. To this day, I have been raised that searching for resources such as therapy is considered a sign of weakness because I have no noticeable mental issues. It must be all in my head, right? I still have trouble understanding and coping with my emotions, for I am conditioned to feel guilty.
I come from a relatively diverse neighborhood, so there’s quite a multicultural mix of races. The majority of my friends back in high school are either first-generation or are like me, the second generation, but their parents are stuck in an old-fashioned mentality. The majority come from my friends, who are also people of color, having similar issues with the lack of support at home when it comes to their mental health. Do not get me wrong, I love my parents to death and I would never ask for a replacement, and I am not suggesting that immigrant parents are not good parents. However, immersing in a new culture is difficult to navigate, and immigrant children are often the victims and end up guiding that sense of needing to fixate (Mental Health America). Many immigrant parents seem to be having similar issues with their children that mental health is not a top priority in their households. Depending on what the ethnic background may be, the child of an immigrant could have it better or worse. Likewise, my friends of immigrant parents appear to all be struggling with the same mental issues, and we all have the goal to not continue the generational trauma, even though we are fearful that we will be like our parents. Parental socialization, specifically involving Latinx parents, can lead to mental health risks towards their children, due to the lack of progressiveness in their country of origin. Being originally from a third-world country and coming to the United States has immigrant parents struggling with adjusting to American culture and how Americans prioritize mental health much more than origin countries. In recent times, it’s being recognized that “the interaction between immigrant generation and neighborhood context helps to explain differences observed in the mental health of second-generation immigrant youth, a result that may help other communities in the USA and other countries better understand the factors that contribute to immigrant youth well-being” (NCBI). Every day is one step at a time, using a gentle approach trying to make my parents understand.
Work Cited
Kim, Su Yeong et al. “Culture's Influence on Stressors, Parental Socialization, and Developmental Processes in the Mental Health of Children of Immigrants.” Annual review of clinical psychology vol. 14 (2018): 343-370. doi:10.1146/annurev-clinpsy-050817-084925 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6589340/
Mental Health America. “To Be The Child Of An Immigrant.” hanational.org, https://mhanational.org/blog/be-child-immigrant.
Perreira, Krista M., and India J. Ornelas. “The Physical and Psychological Well-Being of Immigrant Children.”
https://rhyclearinghouse.acf.hhs.gov/sites/default/files/docs/20070-The_Physical_and_Ps ychological.pdf.
