Needing People Isn't Being a Burden: Therapy for Adult Children of Asian Immigrants
For most of my life, there was a quiet sentence running underneath everything: if I didn't keep track of things, nobody would.
No one ever said it out loud. It was just there, like background noise, in the deadlines I held in my head and the plans I made and remade so nothing would slip through the cracks. It looked like being responsible, and in a lot of ways it was. But underneath the competence was something softer and lonelier: a belief that I was on my own, and that the safest thing I could do was need as little as possible.
If you're the adult child of Asian immigrant parents, maybe that sentence sounds familiar. Maybe yours is a little different: I can't make mistakes. I shouldn't bother anyone. I'll figure it out myself. Let's sit with it for a few minutes, and then talk about what therapy can look like when you've spent a lifetime holding things together on your own.
(If you read last week's post, "The Role I Didn't Choose", this is the next part of that conversation.)
Survival mode isn't the same as a lack of love
These patterns usually don't come from parents who didn't care. They come from families in survival mode.
My mom left her siblings in Hong Kong to follow my dad to the United States, where she knew no one. My dad traveled constantly for work, and he was the kind of person who always got back up after failure. They were building a life from scratch, and that kind of building takes everything you have. In families like that, there often isn't room to ask, "How are you feeling?" Problems get handled, not talked about.
So when we look at what we learned growing up, we can hold two things at once: real gratitude for what our parents sacrificed, and real honesty about what we missed. Honoring your roots doesn't mean pretending the hard parts didn't happen. And naming the hard parts doesn't mean you love your family any less.
The common threads
Certain threads come up again and again for adult children of immigrants. You might recognize a few.
Feelings get tucked away. Not necessarily because anyone forbade them, but because no one modeled what to do with them. Sadness, fear, and loneliness were things you handled privately, if at all. Many of us got so good at it that we can't always find our feelings when we look.
Crying feels like weakness. Tears might have been met with discomfort or silence, so we learned to swallow them, and some of us still feel a flash of shame when our eyes sting.
Needing people feels like being a burden. When the adults around you are already stretched thin, asking for help can feel like adding weight to someone who's already carrying too much. So you stop asking. You become the one who doesn't need anything.
Achievement becomes the way you belong. For many of us, doing well was the clearest way to be seen, or at least to not cause trouble, and that pressure follows us long after school ends.
The inner voice gets harsh. When mistakes didn't feel safe, many of us developed a critic inside that's always watching. It's often trying to protect us, but it rarely lets us rest.
All of this can add up to what therapists call hyper-independence: a deep, often automatic belief that you have to handle everything yourself, and that relying on others is risky. It looks like strength, and in many ways it is. You survived. But it can also leave you exhausted, lonely, and wondering why closeness feels so hard.
Why starting therapy can feel like betrayal (or failure)
If those threads sound like you, it makes a lot of sense that reaching out for therapy feels hard.
For some people, therapy feels like a betrayal, like talking about your family to a stranger is breaking an unspoken rule. Even saying "my childhood was hard sometimes" can bring up guilt.
For others, if you've always been the capable one, needing help can feel like proof that you couldn't "just do better." I know that feeling well. In early adulthood, I struggled with panic attacks and depression, mostly alone. I cried out to God and held onto scripture, and I was frustrated with myself for not being able to fix it on my own.
And when I finally did start therapy, the hardest part wasn't the scheduling or the paperwork. It was letting someone see me.
The first time I cried in therapy was hard and painful. There was pressure behind my eyes and a tightness in my throat, like it was pushing something down. My body was fighting it. But my therapist at the time could tell. She prompted me with another question (that I was probably annoyed by at the time, because I DID NOT want to cry). I didn't like talking about the painful memories, my failures, or the issues that I ignored because I didn't think they would change anyway. But she waited patiently and gave me space to wrestle with myself until the parts of me that needed to be heard spoke and let it out.
I really didn't like being "weak." Crying felt like failure. Like crisis. Like giving up. Slowly, over time, I learned to care for my emotions instead of pushing them away, and to see vulnerability as a strength rather than a danger. Now, after I cry, I feel relief and lighter, and sometimes it actually helps me get back to what's important.
If starting therapy feels scary, that fear isn't a sign you're doing it wrong. It's often a sign you're close to something that's been waiting a long time to be cared for.
What therapy can look like at Behold Counseling
At Behold Counseling, our therapists work from an attachment-focused lens. In plain language, that means we pay close attention to how you learned to connect, protect yourself, and survive, and we treat those patterns with respect, because they made sense in the environment where they formed.
We see emotions as a map to what you need. The anxiety that keeps you over-planning or the numbness when you're overwhelmed is often pointing toward a need for safety, rest, or connection that never had room to be spoken. Therapy is a place to slow down and follow that map together.
Much of our work is informed by Emotionally Focused Therapy (EFT), a research-based approach developed by Dr. Sue Johnson that focuses on emotions and the bonds between people. One of the ideas from her work that has meant the most to me is that secure connection doesn't make us weaker or more dependent; it's actually what makes us more able to stand on our own. For those of us who learned that needing people was dangerous, that can be a surprising and freeing thought.
Your culture is welcome here, and so is your faith, if it's part of your story; it's part of mine. And you set the pace. You don't have to share everything at once. Healing happens in relationship, including the one with your therapist, and that trust is allowed to take time.
A note for the holidays
If you're heading into family gatherings this season, it's okay to notice old roles pulling at you. It's okay to step outside, take a slow breath, and check in with what you're feeling. And it's okay to plan ahead for what you need, whether that's a shorter visit, a friend to text afterward, or permission not to fix everything. You can love your family and still take care of yourself while you're with them.
The practical details
Behold Counseling is a group practice offering telehealth across California, so you can meet from wherever you feel most comfortable. I'm Kelley Kuit, LMFT (#139895), the owner of Behold. Our team also includes Erin Kim, AMFT, and Shannon Bruckbauer, AMFT, associate therapists who work under supervision.
Our associate therapists accept insurance and private pay, and we're happy to help you check your benefits. Our team of therapists at Behold Counseling offers a free consultation to see whether we're a good fit. You can request a consultation here or learn more on our Asian American and first-gen therapy page.
Frequently asked questions
Do I need a therapist who shares my culture? Not necessarily. What matters most is feeling understood and safe. Still, it can be a relief not to have to explain why "just set a boundary" isn't so simple. It's okay to look for that and ask about it.
What if my parents wouldn't approve of therapy? That's a common, valid worry. Therapy is confidential and isn't about blaming your parents. Many people find it helps them understand their families with more compassion. You get to decide what, if anything, you share with your family about it.
Can therapy help if I'm "functioning fine"? Yes. Many people in therapy look successful from the outside while feeling anxious, exhausted, or alone inside. You don't have to be in crisis to deserve support.
Is online therapy as effective as in-person therapy? For many people, yes. Research has generally found telehealth therapy to be effective for many concerns, and many clients find it easier to open up from their own space.
You don't have to keep track of everything alone
If that sentence, if I didn't keep track of things, nobody would, has been running underneath your life too, I hope you'll hear this: you don't have to carry it all by yourself anymore. The patterns you learned kept you going. But you're allowed to want more than survival. You're allowed to rest, to be cared for, and to let someone in.
I don't want anyone to feel as alone as I always felt.
If you're ready for a small step, our team of therapists at Behold Counseling offers a free consultation. Schedule yours here.
If you're in crisis or thinking about harming yourself, please call or text 988 to reach the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, available 24/7. If you're in immediate danger, call 911.
Our therapists work with individuals, including adult children of Asian immigrants who are learning to set down the weight of family expectations and let others in. We also see couples who want to understand each other more deeply. Sessions are by telehealth across California, and a free consultation is an easy, low-pressure first step.
Meet Erin Kim, AMFT
Erin sees both individuals and couples, and she has a heart for Asian American adults working through family pressure, perfectionism, anxiety, and the challenge of setting boundaries while still honoring the people they love. As a Korean American who grew up with immigrant, multicultural family dynamics, she knows these threads firsthand.
Like the rest of our team, Erin is trained in Emotionally Focused Therapy and works from an attachment lens, under the supervision of Kelley Kuit, LMFT. If you saw yourself in this post, she would be a gentle person to begin with. She meets with clients by telehealth anywhere in California.
