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Culture & Society

We Talk About Everything
Except How We Really Feel

Why mental health is still a taboo in many South Asian families — and what it costs us to stay silent.

June 2026  ·  A young person's perspective

Mental HealthSouth Asian CultureFamily & SocietyYouth Voices

In my house, we talk about everything. Relatives' marriages, exam results, what the neighbors said last Tuesday. But there is one conversation we never seem to have — how any of us are actually doing on the inside.

I grew up in a home full of love. I want to say that first, because this is not a story of blame. My parents worked hard, sacrificed quietly, and gave me more than they ever had. But somewhere between the chai and the chores and the constant hum of family life, there was no language for what I was feeling inside.

And for a long time, I thought that meant something was wrong with me.

A moment many of us know

I once tried to tell my mother I was feeling anxious — really anxious, the kind that keeps you awake and makes your chest feel tight. She looked at me with concern, then said: "Just pray more. And eat something. You look thin." She meant well. She just didn't have the words either.

The silence has a shape

In many South Asian homes, emotions are managed — not discussed. You are taught to be strong, to be grateful, to keep going. Feelings like sadness, anxiety, or burnout are often seen as weakness, ingratitude, or worse — something that could bring shame to the family if spoken aloud.

So we learn to go quiet. We smile at dinner. We say "I'm fine" before anyone finishes asking. We carry weight that was never meant to be carried alone — and we carry it in silence, because that is what we were shown.

Silence is not peace. Sometimes it is just pain that has learned to be polite.

Why it stays this way

This is not about bad parenting or broken families. It is about generations of people who themselves never had space to feel. Our parents were raised to survive — displacement, poverty, pressure — not to process. They passed on what they knew: endurance. Strength. Forward motion at any cost.

And then there is the community. The aunties who ask about marks and marriage but never about joy. The idea that seeing a therapist means you are "pagal" — mad. The deep fear that admitting struggle will make your family look weak to the outside world, as if emotions are a reputation risk.

What this creates is a generation of young people fluent in every language except the one for their own pain. We know how to achieve. We know how to perform wellness. But many of us reach our twenties having never once been asked: What do you actually need?

What it costs us

The cost of this silence is not always visible. It shows up as perfectionism that tips into paralysis. As relationships where we never ask for what we need. As a deep loneliness that sits right in the middle of a full house.

It shows up as young people reaching crisis point before they seek help — because they were never taught that asking for help was even an option. Because every time they felt the words rising, the atmosphere in the room said: not here, not this, not now.

We were taught to be strong for everyone else. Nobody taught us it was okay to need something for ourselves.

The conversation has to start somewhere

I am not asking for our families to become therapy sessions. I am asking for a crack in the wall. One honest question. One moment of "I see you." One dinner where someone says I have been struggling and the room does not go cold.

Change in culture moves slowly — but it always starts with one person deciding to speak differently than they were spoken to.

Small ways to break the silence

• 01
  Name your feelings to yourself first. You cannot share what you have not acknowledged.
• 02
  Find one safe person — a friend, a cousin, a teacher — and practice being honest with them.
• 03
  If family conversations feel impossible, try writing. A letter you may never send is still a truth you have told.
• 04
  Know that seeking support — a counselor, a helpline, a community — is not betraying your family. It is choosing yourself.
• 05
  If you are a parent reading this: your child does not need you to have answers. They need you to stay in the room when they speak.

We come from cultures of incredible resilience, warmth, and depth. That same culture has room to grow — to hold both strength and softness, both duty and feeling, both endurance and rest.

The silence was never ours to keep. We just inherited it. And we can choose to put it down.

You are allowed to feel things. All of them. Even in a house where no one taught you how.

Culture & Mental Health  ·  Your story matters