Sophie (34) is a software developer with a Japanese, Chinese, Indonesian, and Dutch background. Her mother is Japanese, and her father was Chinese-Indonesian and Dutch. She grew up in Amsterdam’s Bijlmer neighbourhood with her brother, who is two years younger, and her sister, who is one year older. Her father passed away when she was seven, leaving her mother to raise three children on her own. At home, they mainly spoke a mix of Dutch and English.
Discussing one’s mental health is still a taboo in many East and Southeast Asian communities. Many people feel immense pressure to stay strong and keep their emotions to themselves; fearing they might disappoint their family, “lose face”, or become a heavy burden to others. This often leads to mental health struggles, such as depression and suicidal thoughts; often suffering in silence.
In this series, we share the stories of people who have experienced suicidal thoughts or have lost someone to suicide. Their experiences highlight how difficult it can be to talk about these feelings and show the urgent need for more openness and understanding.
By sharing these stories, we hope to break the taboo surrounding mental health and encourage others to seek the help they need, without shame or fear.
“Growing up was incredibly difficult. At one point, my mother had a seasonal job, which meant that she often worked long hours. We were frequently separated from her and would stay with aunts and uncles. Most of our clothes were hand-me-downs, and we barely had any toys. For example, I would get one guilder a week if I helped with household chores, which was my only ‘income’ as a child. We didn’t get any pocket money or clothing allowance.
As the middle child, I often felt the least noticed. My sister got attention because she was the oldest, and my little brother because he was the only boy. We grew up in a religious environment with the Unification Church, which some people would call a cult. My mother regularly donated money to the church, even though we had financial problems at home. This created a lot of tension in our family.’’
For Sophie, it feels as if she wasn’t really raised at all. She and her siblings were often on their own, but she believes that they behaved well despite their mother’s absence. They knew they had to take care of themselves: handling household chores, cleaning, grocery shopping, and cooking. They did their homework without any help from others. Compliments were rare; they were only told when something went wrong or if they made a mistake.
“It felt more like we were roommates and didn’t really have an emotional bond. Things are different now, but back then, it was tough. My sister would often bully me because she had to share the attention with another girl in the family. She set very high standards for herself, and that pushed me to do the same. But I mostly received criticism, even from her. For example, she would read my diary and mark any spelling or grammar mistakes with a red pen.
In high school, our relationship improved a bit, but since my sister was only a year older than me, we were constantly being compared. She was more social, athletic, and adjusted more easily to her surroundings, while I struggled more with change. It felt like I was constantly competing with my sister—a competition I was always losing. You could tell which qualities were seen as good or bad. I had fewer of the ‘desirable’ qualities, and in a family where little was communicated, I was left to figure out how to handle this on my own. I felt like I had to solve everything by myself because talking about it just wasn’t an option.”
“My mother was emotionally distant. Showing emotions was seen as a sign of weakness, and we weren’t allowed to burden others with our problems. Despite her fights with my father about his health, she hid her own sadness. I would catch her crying in secret, but she never wanted to show that something was hurting her. That was the only example I had of how to deal with emotions.”
“When things became too overwhelming for my mother, she would sometimes lock us in a room and leave. My sister would say she was just going to the neighbours, but for me, it felt like she was gone for hours. We would bang on the door, begging to be let out. This made us feel like our only parent didn’t give us any space to express our emotions, make mistakes, or talk about things together. As a result, we expressed our feelings more towards the walls around us than to our mother.
My mother also had a small Japanese community within the Unification Church that she often went to. I’m not sure if she ever talked about her feelings there.
As a child, I couldn’t talk about my feelings with anyone. When I expressed my frustration I was punished, without being given any explanation for why. This was especially confusing because I did not understand what I had done wrong. And if my sister did something wrong, my mother would punish me instead of her.”
“Now I have a good relationship with my sister. We can talk openly about our emotions. We both went through similar emotional struggles but kept them to ourselves. Only later did we realise how much we thought alike and that we had unknowingly set high standards for each other. Now, we can share everything with each other. My little brother feels like someone who wouldn’t judge me; I notice that he tries to stay strong. He’s less likely to share when things aren’t going well for him, probably because he feels the need to be strong as the man of the family.”
“I grew up with the mission of the Unification Church, where faith is passed down to your descendants. As a baby, I wore religious clothing in photos and was placed in certain settings. Every Sunday, we would wake up at three in the morning, recite the eight teachings while singing, bowing, and kneeling. We visited various churches to attend sessions, and in the summer, we had camps where we also had to stay overnight. My family is still active in the church. The Unification Church is mainly known for its annual mass weddings. It’s a ritual where all the matched couples go to a stadium in South Korea to be blessed by the ‘Messiah.’ My brother and sister participated in that as well.
I left the church when I was 13, partly because the summer camps were no longer mandatory. After the summer, you moved on to a different phase called ‘Harp,’ where teenagers could participate in international church activities. I chose not to take part in that.
It was hard to believe in a well-meaning entity when you had such harsh life circumstances. As a child, I thought: ‘Why did that same entity take my father, and why am I still being bullied?’ Life felt unfair, which strengthened my decision to leave the church. I had many arguments with my mother as religion didn’t give me answers when I sought clarity.
There was also a clear hierarchy within the religion. We didn’t belong to a ‘high’ status within the church, which meant there was less pressure on us, and I could leave the church without much difficulty. I was lucky in that regard, because I knew people who felt much more pressure to remain part of the church.”
As a child, Sophie felt rejected by her classmates and was regularly bullied. “I started having suicidal thoughts in highschool; I felt pressure to fit in, but I just couldn’t. Teachers were also stricter with me.” When Sophie expressed her frustration once, something unpleasant happened: a classmate tore up a drawing she had made. “The teacher saw this but didn’t intervene. I was told I was being dramatic. I heard that often, and I was frequently labelled both a drama queen and too quiet.” In highschool, she was called ‘stupid.’ She tried to compensate by keeping up her perfect grades, but even that wasn’t enough. Then she would be told she was too quiet and antisocial.
Sophie liked to wear Japanese-style school uniforms or goth-style clothes. “I received a lot of comments about my appearance and background. Sometimes, I counted how many comments I got in a day, and it often amounted to twelve. This led me to prefer staying in the classroom, rather than going to the canteen. I felt extremely lonely and felt I had to present myself differently to my friends. Even though I considered myself a good kid, I didn’t receive compliments, only negative feedback.” Sophie often served as a scapegoat; if her sister did something wrong, she would take the blame. “I made the connection that it didn’t matter what I did; I was always doing something wrong.”
When her father was still alive, she experienced physical abuse. “I didn’t understand why, but as a left-handed person, I was tied to a chair and forced to write with my right hand. After his death, I began to impose a kind of punishment on myself. I started punishing myself whenever I was told I had done something wrong. This led me to develop the belief that I needed to punish myself to learn anything. When I was thirteen, I began self-harming, something I still do. I feel the urge to literally punish myself physically when I’m told I’ve done something wrong because I believe I deserve it.”
“No, it was forced. I ended up in the hospital and needed an IV. My teacher was there, and when the doctor examined my wrist, they noticed clear scratches from self-harm. My teacher was informed, and I had to see the school psychologist right away. Unfortunately, the teacher didn’t do any follow ups or ask how I was doing, which I would have liked. Fellow students and teachers noticed that things weren’t going well because I was walking around with large bandages on my arms, but no one stepped in to help, not even my best friend.”
The school psychologist also handled the situation poorly. “She told me I needed to behave and dress differently to be accepted in society. So I decided to dress up with the money I had saved. That was the start of my attempts to present myself differently. Now, I’m at a point where my partner is often shocked by how different I can appear from who I truly am. Sometimes, I don’t even know who I am anymore because I’m constantly wearing a mask. I believe that my true self isn’t good enough.”
“I’m currently in treatment because I recently experienced a burnout and the suicidal thoughts and self-harm worsened. For a while I was doing better, I thought that the mask I was putting on was good enough for society. I was no longer seen as a ‘loser’. That seemed to work well, until I received a negative evaluation at work, even though I was trying to present a perfect image. After that, my world collapsed. I started having nightmares, and mentally I fell apart to the point where I couldn’t work anymore. My self-image completely shattered after that conversation. At home, we were taught that working hard pays off. But now, I realise that it doesn’t. It broke the compass that determined how I should behave.”
“My partner and I have been together for eleven years now. He knows everything about me and my self-harm, but it’s hard for him. He is often so happy and has good intentions, but his happiness sometimes makes me feel worse because I don’t feel the same way. He tells me every day, multiple times, that I’m the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. It hurts him that I can’t believe or feel that. I know he means it, but my feelings remain disconnected from that. He doesn’t know what he can do to help me feel beautiful and good enough because I was raised with the idea that I’m not.“
“I have a lot of discipline, but that can also be my downfall. I’ve tried so many different things to pull myself out of this dark period; it feels like a huge burden. I feel like I have to prove to others that I’m constantly working hard to overcome my burnout. I set certain goals for myself that I feel I must achieve, and when I don’t, I feel like a failure. It’s difficult to pinpoint what works and doesn’t work for me right now because things aren’t going well. However, the emotional support I receive from my partner does give me the motivation to keep living.“
Sophie is currently going through a turbulent and chaotic treatment process, which means she isn’t receiving the help she needs. Ten years ago, she was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. During group therapy with others who had the same diagnosis, therapists discovered that she often asked unique questions and offered different perspectives. She says, “I often ask the wrong questions and make unusual comments.” As a result she was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.
In her search for understanding and guidance, and because of her ASD diagnosis, Sophie also hired life coaches with the aim to better navigate uncertainties in social situations. Recently, however, that diagnosis was rescinded. “Now, after ten years, I am no longer considered autistic, even though I’ve always identified that way. It was my only anchor. I still believe I have some form of autism; it explains so much about why I have a very different perspective. Specialists themselves were confused. An autism specialist said I don’t have autism, so I’m being referred to another department. Now, I’m being sent back to the personality disorders department. The back-and-forth of diagnoses makes me emotionally weaker and brings back suicidal thoughts.”
“I want the heaviness I feel to go away. It’s important for me to feel socially accepted by the people I care about and at my work. I want to experience inner validation, feel that I am good enough, but I can’t find that connection. I struggle to look at myself in the mirror. Every day, I’m confronted with nightmares that reinforce my sense of worthlessness and make me think that I deserve suicide. I want to find a way out.“
“I really want to say, ‘You are valuable as a person, just as you are. You are already valuable, even if you may not feel it. Why should you have to meet conditions to exist in this world? You are good enough for me.’ But how can I say that to someone else if I don’t believe in my own worth? I often speak positive words to others, but deep down, I wish someone would say that to me too. Right now, I still have to actively convince myself of my value. If I say it often enough to others, I hope that one day I can believe it myself.
I continue to go to my psychologist weekly and consistently take my antidepressants to improve my well-being. I follow their advice and tips in the hope that this will help me feel better. Even though I haven’t found the right approach yet, I keep persevering for my partner and the people around me.”
Do you need more information about mental health? MIND Korrelatie offers advice, support, and information to people with (early) psychological complaints and their loved ones. Do you or someone you know have suicidal thoughts? Stichting 113 Zelfmoordpreventie is the national organization for suicide prevention. Call 0800-0113 for free or chat with them.
Do you need help or information about cultural adoption? InterCountry Adoptee Voices can assist you.
Rui Jun Luong (1996), raised in Friesland, has faced discrimination and racism. As a multidisciplinary designer, photographer, videographer, creator of Guess Who: Asian Edition, and founder of Asian Raisins, she works to raise awareness of injustice, racism, and discrimination. Through the creation of this platform, she hopes to prevent others from experiencing what she went through.
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