#Homework rage comics full#

In Chinese culture, a family’s public image is not separate from any one member’s public image. In line with filial piety, I learned not to speak about certain community matters outside the private sphere. Whether we felt anxious or depressed should have had no influence on our determination to succeed. Diligence, frugality, unity and filial piety - some of the main core values rooted in traditional Chinese culture. Because they left Taiwan to immigrate to America, it would be disrespectful of me to squander the opportunity they’ve afforded me. Since my grandparents worked hard to give my parents a good life, who then, in turn, worked hard to bring me a good life, the expected way for me to thank my entire family lineage was to be a dutiful, diligent daughter and live the blessed life they intended for me and my future offspring. My private sphere did not operate within the scope of empathy or emotional consideration but on an efficient duty-based, achievement-oriented structure. My parents were authoritarian if I wanted to avoid harsh, painful punishments, then I had no choice but to exercise performance upkeep regardless of what might be going on for me internally. When it came to low moods or anxious thoughts, how much was too much? In my household, being “too sad” to complete my daily homework assignments or to get out of bed in the mornings was unheard of.

Many of the behaviors that granted them a diagnosis didn’t seem like “abnormal” behaviors. My parents cared, but they had never heard of intangible conditions, such as mood or feelings, becoming so disabling and distressful that a person could cease to function as “normal.”Īlthough I started hearing about disorders like anxiety and depression during high school, understanding why and how my peers experienced them was difficult to grasp. Growing up as a second-generation Chinese American, my family had no language for heavy notions like anxiety, depression or traumatic stress. The concept of mental health and mental disorders was almost nonexistent in my family. This time, after our first intake session, the psychiatrist will sit me down for a second follow-up appointment and tell me: “I think you’ve been struggling with anxiety for a long time.” Twenty years later, I am sitting on a couch in a different psychiatrist’s office, wondering if after all this time, I'm back where I started. According to my parents, I had gone through a few therapy sessions until I “improved” - whatever that meant. If their friends’ children were picking up fifth grade math in the third grade, then maybe something was wrong with me. They sought an explanation for my lack of discipline and inability to absorb academic material as quickly as they had hoped. The last time I saw a psychiatrist, I was around 7 or 8 and stepped into a white woman’s office with no understanding of what psychiatrists do.Īppalled by my work ethic and grades throughout elementary school, my parents began tossing around the idea that I had ADHD. I was hopeful that she would prove more fitting than my past experiences.

I had selected her because of her Chinese background, hoping she might understand any cultural concerns around mental health I might bring up. The psychiatrist smiles and scribbles on her clipboard. If there is any semblance of neuroticism in me, it would definitely have been from one of them.

#Homework rage comics full#

An answer is ready on my lips but I hesitate there’s always a chance that I don’t know the full truth. I curl my fingers in my lap and glance up at the ceiling. “Do you have any history of mental illness in your family?”