Walking the Line

I come from a very loving family, and from what I can remember, I had a great childhood. But, as I entered my teenage years and began searching for who I was and my place in the world, I realized how difficult it became to establish my own identity outside the confines of my family. The role I was expected to play as a child of Indian immigrants, not only as a girl, but also in an extremely religious household, began to weigh on me heavily as I was simultaneously experiencing adolescence as an American teenager. Like the typical Indian household, there were expectations of excelling at school, sports, and extracurriculars, and going to a good college to find a prestigious job. At the same time, I had to be a "good daughter" - never drawing attention to myself, never talking back, and always being in service to others - while increasingly wanting the freedom that many of my closest friends had to date, have an active social life, and "follow their dreams". 

Those expectations bubbled into feelings of anxiety, inadequacy, and suffocation, and it became hard to live under my parents' roof. College was the long-awaited escape I sought for years, but because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I spent two of those years back at home. While my parents were undergoing the stress of losing jobs and uncertainty the pandemic brought, I was often caught in the crossfire of their unhealthy relationship, one that many immigrant parents have. I was mistreated because I just happened to be there. Yet, in spite of all of this, the strongest feeling I had was guilt. As an immigrant child, I wasn't allowed to feel resentment or hatred towards my parents' treatment and expectations of me. I was supposed to be grateful for all the sacrifices they made to immigrate and build the life we had, one without the poverty they experienced growing up. I wasn't supposed to have my own goals, I was supposed to do whatever my parents wanted because they already had done so much for me. In spite of their behavior, I also knew deep down that my parents loved me, and knowing that many people had parents who didn't, did I really have anything to feel bad about? 

I have been living on my own for the last several years, and although I now have the freedom I so desperately desired as a teenager, those feelings of guilt and inadequacy haven't totally gone away. Like many first-generation Asian Americans, I am still traversing what it means to be a dutiful and loving daughter, while being my own person and building the life I want for myself. With space and time, I have begun to feel less resentful of my parents, but I now understand the role that they continue to play in my self-doubt. I move through life not being completely understood by family, but also not being completely understood by my closest friends. I now walk a line of embracing where I come from, while validating my struggles of belonging and acceptance that still troubles me today.