What Not to Wear

The time is 5:07 pm, we have exactly 23 minutes to get the kids dressed, walk out the door, and arrive at my older son’s school PTA international night. I volunteered to provide an Indian dish for the Asia table at the food festival portion of the evening. Just an hour earlier I had been making a sloppy mess in the kitchen while experimenting with ingredients. I eventually turned that mess into my version of Mango Lassi to contribute to the event, and I’m still unsure if those lassis were edible since none of us actually stepped up to be taste tester at home.

As for attire, I figured I would show up to international night in my weekend uniform of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, I mean, weren’t we representing India, the birthplace of yoga, after all?!? I realized this wouldn’t fly at all when my 5 year-old son announced he had different plans for the entire family- he asked us all to go upstairs and change into clothes from India. We obliged him with a smile on our face and pride in our hearts. My son insisted both brothers wear kurtas and "Indian-looking" bindis (the trendy decorative bindis were not good enough for my traditionalist son). I changed into a green sparkly kurta top with black stretch pants, and my mother who was visiting for the weekend, changed into a beautiful silk sari. Even my Irish-American husband dug out his kurta from our wedding 9 years ago and looked very festive for a PTA event! My son questioned his 75 year-old grandfather about why he did not have anything from India, I assured my son that his Tata was our family's greatest representation from India, plus we were now late, so we must run!

It wasn't until later that evening that I began to process my thoughts and feelings about my son's experience. Was he proud of our family background? Was he excited to dress differently than his friends? Did he feel comfortable just being himself? That same little boy with an Indian-American-Hindu mom and an Irish-American-Catholic dad?! Was my child, MY child displaying a sense of acceptance and belonging in our community?! 

I looked around international night and saw beautiful smiling children wearing traditional clothes from Asia, Africa, Europe, Latin America, and even a single proud boy dressed in traditional male attire from the Middle East. The tables were longer than I had imagined, packed with delicious and hearty dishes representing all seven continents (Antarctica's table served water, of course!). My experimental lassis went unnoticed in this sea of tasty dishes, and perhaps that was a blessing!

One thing I realized as I joyfully observed the children eating and playing with their classroom buddies, is that it was not only my child developing a healthy sense of belonging and acceptance in this community, but the entire school community was sharing in the valuable experience of true connection and mutual respect for differences. This idea excited me as a mom, warmed my heart as a therapist, and moved my soul as a human. A human who often felt like she was living on the other side of belonging. The therapist in me knew I had some memories, thoughts, and feelings of my own to explore. 

My son’s International night took me back to my own preschool graduation in the early 1980's. It was an exciting morning in a rural town in Northern New Jersey. I was adorned in a pink frilly dress and excited to graduate my local Montessori school. Similar to my own parenting story, my parents were likely more preoccupied with our impending tardiness than their appearance. But I had a different agenda- I took one look at my mother dressed up in a beautiful silk sari and asked her to please change into American clothes, immediately! I couldn’t bear the thought of my friends and their parents staring at my mom or worse, me! I couldn’t fathom the idea of drawing attention to our different clothes, skin color, and languages spoken. I couldn’t stand believing that my friends would find out my dirty little secret- that I was, in fact, very different from them! And worse, what my 5 year old mind believed- perhaps unworthy of their acceptance and friendship. My poor sweet mom, always eager to please, obligingly ran to her room and changed into a cotton skirt and buttoned-down blouse, and ran us out the door to preschool graduation. We sat through the school event as I breathed a sigh of relief that for just this once, I successfully avoided my painful emotions at school. 

This experience of confusion, worry, and sometimes embarrassment is common to many children who grow up outside of their parent's native country. We even have a label for my experience- I am referred to as an "ABCD" American Born Confused Desi (Desi is another word for South Asian person). Being an ABCD is an endearing term, often used to make light of the confusing emotions children experience growing up in a culture so entirely different than that of your parents. Humor and creative writing are amazing ways to heal and connect over this experience- Aziz Ansari and Mindy Kaling are some of my favorite heroes, they have embraced their identity and made their family miscommunications and dating mishaps to be the topic of their popular and hilarious comedies. I certainly believe in the power of laughter and creative expression, but all jokes aside, I wonder if we need to feel more empowered and educated on how to handle the intense emotional experience of what many immigrants and their children grow up and later describe as anxiety and shame?

I tell the story of my preschool graduation now knowing as a therapist that the true name for those emotions I experienced are anxiety and shame in reaction to the fear of not belonging or feeling accepted in my community. In our current state of global affairs and human rights concerns, I feel called on to share stories, stories of shame, overwhelming anxiety, and this severed sense of belonging. Stories of times where people did not feel accepted, did not feel good enough, did not feel safe in their own skin. Stories of what I now recognize, as a therapist, is in fact an emotional trauma, which is a clinical term for a highly distressful experience. But not just those stories, but also the stories of hope, resilience, and the strength to persevere in stressful times, to heal our minds, bodies, hearts, and our souls. How we find a sense of belonging and maybe even a sense of purpose, somewhere and somehow. Because now is a time for connection and courage, not isolation and fear. I believe that these are the stories that now need to be told. And heard.