The Hidden Trauma of Growing Up in an Immigrant Household.
I remember the first time my parents took me to what they called a “fancy” restaurant. They were so proud; we were dressed up. It was supposed to be special, but the waitstaff treated us horribly. They ignored our table, sighed at every question, and looked at my parents like they didn’t belong.
I was confused. I didn’t fully understand why, but I could see my parents’ faces shift. They were hurt. Embarrassed. Still, I smiled. I told them I was having fun. Because even though I was uncomfortable, even though I felt a quiet shame I couldn’t name yet, I knew they had worked hard to bring me there. And it felt like my job to make it all feel worth it.
That’s the thing about growing up in an immigrant household, there’s no space for discomfort. No space for anger, sadness, or confusion. Not when your parents are sacrificing everything just to give you a “better life.”
Its not something that is outright said, its something you observe from the adults around you. You watched them be the strong ones, to hustle at the expense of their emotional well-being.
So, you learn to swallow your feelings. You smile when it hurts. You take on the unspoken role of translator, fixer, emotional regulator, and you do it quietly. Because to need anything more feels like betrayal.
The Pressure to Succeed (and Never Fail)
There’s an invisible rule most first-gen kids learn early on: you don’t get to mess this up.
Your parents sacrificed too much. Gave up too much. Left too much behind.
So you better get good grades. Be respectful. Make them proud.
“We didn’t come here for you to waste this opportunity.”
That kind of pressure doesn’t just motivate, it crushes. It turns success into survival. It makes failure feel like a personal insult to the people who love you most. And it creates a version of success that’s performative, not fulfilling. It kept you from exploring your wants and needs, and truly experience the joys of being a child. Of falling knowing someone is there to catch you, of knowing that messing up was just an opportunity to learn.
Growing up in an immigrant household meant survival came first, and childhood second.
The Emotional Role Reversal
It starts small: translating at the doctor’s office, explaining bills, filling out school paperwork.
Then it becomes something deeper, managing your parents’ emotions when they’re struggling, anxious, or overwhelmed.
You become the peacekeeper, the problem solver, the one who expected perfection of themselves because that would alleviate your parent’s burden.
All while still trying to figure out who you are.
This is called parentification, and it’s a trauma that’s often invisible because it’s so normalized in immigrant households.
The Silence Around Struggle
You’re told you have no reason to complain. You have food, a roof, a family.
“When I was your age, I was working in the fields.”
“You don’t know real struggle.”
You’re made to feel that wanting anything more is wrong, selfish.
“Que mas quieres?”
When you are working so hard to adjust to a new country, pay bills, raise children, there is no room for emotions.
And so, you learn that your pain doesn’t count. That sadness is ungrateful. That asking for help makes you soft.
Mental health becomes a luxury. Vulnerability feels unsafe. You learn to tough it out, push through, carry on. After all, nothing compares to the struggles they went through…
The Cultural Split
At home, you’re expected to speak, behave, and think a certain way. You don’t deviate from the status quo because that standard? Its what’s kept your family alive and well for generations; its how we’ve survived.
Outside, you have to adapt to a world that doesn’t understand your culture, your family, or your name.
You learn to code-switch. You learn to adapt to whatever it is others need from you. You downplay parts of yourself to fit in.
You straddle the line between two opposing worlds, and sometimes, it feels like you belong fully to neither.
What Healing Looks Like
Healing as a first-gen child of immigrants starts with acknowledging what you carried.
You didn’t just grow up; you held everything together for the sake of everyone else.
And now?
You’re allowed to grieve the childhood you didn’t have.
You’re allowed to rest without guilt.
You’re allowed to put down the emotional labor.
Healing looks like reparenting yourself. Like allowing yourself those impulsive wants just for the sake of fun.
Like realizing you don’t have to earn love through achievement. That even when you are not needed, you are still wanted.
Like honoring your family’s sacrifice without sacrificing yourself in the process.
You Are Not Ungrateful. You Are Human.
You don’t owe anyone your silence to prove your loyalty.
You can love your family deeply and still need space to breathe, grow, and heal.
If you're a first-gen child of immigrants still trying to untangle what you carried, therapy can help.
You’re not broken. You were just never given room to feel what hurt.
