Big Feels and Band-Aids: Navigating Mental Health as a First Generation Filipino

There are a lot of “big feelings” in our house. My partner and I have a six-year-old and an eight-year-old, and for them, the big feelings often come in the form of tears or yelling or even toppled chairs. Not long ago, my mom—who is a Filipino immigrant to the US—was visiting us when she found herself in the wake of our six-year-old’s big feelings. When the tantrum finally ended, she turned to me and said, in a tone that was as unapologetic as it was sincere, “When you were little, I didn’t have a band-aid for your feelings.”

My mom did not—or could not—tolerate big feelings, and this was something she had never verbalized before.  She didn’t have to. Growing up in a Filipino household, where the culture values harmony and group cohesion, a survival skill that I attained was discerning unspoken emotions and intentions. My mom’s intentions in that statement were clear to me. She was acknowledging that what she was witnessing in our parenting was something she did not have access to, that the way she showed care and took care of me and my sister looked different, and that she was here at 77 years old learning and trying something new as Lola (grandmother in Tagalog). On the surface, for some, that statement might come off as cold. For me, it represented care, love, sadness, exhaustion, regret, forgiveness, healing and so many other emotions that go unsaid often in the exchanges between me and my mom.

May is Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month. It is also Mental Health Awareness Month. When I consider these two things together, I cannot help but wonder if the contributions of AAPI individuals like my mom came at the cost of her ability to address her own mental health.

The AAPI community have the lowest help-seeking rate of any ethnic/racial group according to the National Alliance on Mental Health. There are many reasons for this, including the Model Minority Myth, a deceptive stereotype that depicts Asian Americans as a monolith, all of whom excel academically, conform to social norms, and therefore can achieve more socioeconomic success than other minority groups. Combine this structural myth with familial pressures to succeed and it is no wonder that there is a stigma for Asian Americans when it comes to seeking mental health support.

Since organizations like Stop AAPI Hate have provided platforms where the AAPI community could share their experiences with race-based hate and discrimination, my mom has slowly revealed more to me about her experiences as an immigrant. Once, when she was working as an accountant, a co-worker asked her why she worked so hard. She responded, “Because if I don’t, they will never hire another Asian woman.” As a child of an immigrant, I know that generations to come will be counting on me, the representation of me and the intersections of identity that I embody.

I also know that I am living in a time where I have a lot of mental health privilege: I have access, via health insurance, and am also fortunate to be able to communicate (if I so choose) in an online culture where destigmatizing mental health is “trending.” I have the resources to learn how to not only tolerate my kid’s big feelings, but also to process and acknowledge the big feelings that I myself have today.  

My mom might not have had a band-aid for my feelings, but she and my dad always provided comfort through food: arroz caldo when I was unwell and nilaga and lumpia for celebrations. And when I went through that phase when I rejected Filipino food in order to assimilate, they were right there with the Stouffers French Bread Pizza and Soft Batch cookies too. Today, I laugh at myself when my initial attempt at comforting my kids is to feed them. And yet I know that this impulse is a sign of deep generational care. I can also help them practice naming and regulating their emotions. I can sit next to them and let them know I can tolerate all the hard feelings they are unable to tolerate without having to say a word. I can just be there, and eventually offer a snack too.

The distance my mom traveled to provide me with access to self-care and mental health is wider than anything a band-aid could ever cover, and for this, I am profoundly grateful.

Jenny Basa, Director, IDEA