I am a second-generation Korean American who grew up in the outskirts of Koreatown, Los Angeles with Korean immigrant parents who hardly knew how to speak English. I grew up in a Korean-speaking household with exhausted parents who worked graveyard shift hours as janitors, never took time off from work, and raised two children all at the same time. My cultural thresholds between two worlds often blended into a whole different flavor of experiences, some where my Korean American peers’ experiences and mine overlapped, and in other ways, didn’t. Growing up, my parents told me to lie to my friends and family members that they weren’t janitors; no, my dad was an acupuncturist, and my mom was a stay-at-home mom who both spoke English quite well. While these weren’t complete lies (the only truth was that my dad actually was an acupuncturist, but he struggled to get his acupuncture business going), all the lies really isolated them from family members, and they had very little to no friends they could trust. My parents lived a secret life that they were deeply ashamed of and dragged their kids into it. I, too, learned to be ashamed of my parents being janitors, even though their job as janitors helped raise their children and made sure that they had enough to eat and a warm place to sleep every night. I, too, isolated myself, by having trouble trusting others and believing that I had to keep such a big secret from everyone I knew.
I don’t remember my parents inviting people to our home, or truly building community with their fellow church members. My dad had our family move churches every six months or so, always having an excuse to why he wanted to move churches each time, reasons I didn’t understand. I never kept in touch with my church friends, and as I got older, I didn’t even bother making church friends with all the moving. I didn’t grow up with the idea that building community or making friends was important. My parents told me that having friends doesn’t matter in the long run, because people only want to be friends with you when everything in life goes well for you: you get good grades in school, or you have a high status job where you get paid a lot of money. I’m not making this up–they really told me this throughout my childhood. As a result, I had a hard time trusting people and truly prioritizing friendships and connections.
Fast forward to adulthood: I still struggle with isolation and loneliness—surprise! The main difference, though, is that the older I get, the more I appreciate the meaningful connections I have had in my life. Not only do I appreciate them, but I found how vital it was for my mental health to give and receive support to others. My meaningful connections actually saved my life. I used to have frequent suicidal thoughts and was quite close a couple of times on attempting suicide. I didn’t feel like anyone would care if I died. Honestly, I still struggle to believe that I matter or that I am important to others, but with years of therapy and with the right therapists, they showed me the power of connection. They threw me lifesavers when I was drowning. They yelled across the shore, “You impact me! You matter!” And before I was able to choose to believe them, my body already made the choice for me.
Having deep, meaningful connections can truly save one’s life—I experienced it firsthand. I realized when I am lonely, I become depressed and believe that I don’t matter or I have no relevance in this world. When I feel socially fulfilled, I am the happiest because I love feeling the push and pull—the dance—between me and another person, each of us leaving imprints on each other’s lives.
I realized my parents came from a place of fear, understandably so, being immigrants in a country where they don’t speak the dominant language. They were just trying to protect me and teach me what they knew to survive.
Well, I didn’t want to just survive anymore. And I still don’t.
That’s one of the main reasons I became a therapist. I want to help you find your own way towards fulfillment. I believe the right connection is the antidote to a grieving, pained, broken heart: whether you have had unresolved relationship wounds from your family members, or you’re grieving a loved one who you had a complicated relationship with, or you’re going through the end of a relationship. I’m here for you, and I look forward to us imprinting each others’ lives.