When I told my immigrant parents I needed to see a therapist 10 years ago, they perceived it as their own failure. Why couldn& #39;t I just turn to them? Why couldn& #39;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& #39;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& #39;t exist & it wasn& #39;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& #39;t as much against the idea of asking for help as they were unfamiliar with the fact that it& #39;s a healthy, shameless option.

It& #39;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& #39;ve been able to reflect on & reframe my own stories that are intertwined w/ my parents& #39;. Just as they won& #39;t know what it& #39;s like to grow up in this country, I won& #39;t know what it& #39;s like to move here, alone.