When I told my immigrant parents I needed to see a therapist 10 years ago, they perceived it as their own failure. Why couldn't I just turn to them? Why couldn't they fix it? What does it say about them that their own daughter needed to turn to a complete stranger for help?

I fought tooth & nail to get them to understand that a therapist was the only option, especially given that I was dealing with the aftermath of a traumatic experience at the time. Eventually they gave in, but truthfully, I held on to resentment about it for many years after.

Over the decade since then (and thanks to therapy), I've been able to realize that my parents did the best they could with what they knew. They never had access to help. Simply put, mental health care didn't exist & it wasn't an option.

My parents immigrated to this new country & did everything alone. They were self-taught & self-sufficient. I know now that they weren't as much against the idea of asking for help as they were unfamiliar with the fact that it's a healthy, shameless option.

It's taken a lot of hard & long conversations to get them to understand that their moving to this country granted me the privilege of tapping into a resource they never had. And yes, sometimes they still wonder about the validity of professional mental health care.

Therapy has helped me lead a healthier, more authentic life. And in turn I've been able to reflect on & reframe my own stories that are intertwined w/ my parents'. Just as they won't know what it's like to grow up in this country, I won't know what it's like to move here, alone.