Keeping Up Appearances: The Silent Strain in South Asian Culture

By Anushka Phal

"The Oscar for Best Acting goes to… every South Asian family ever."

Let’s be real: no one performs like us. We serve up smiles even when we’re drowning, throw elaborate parties while secretly side-eyeing our cousins, and tell nosy aunties that “everyone’s doing great” when we just had a family meltdown over WhatsApp. From the outside, everything is perfect. But perfection, as we know, is often performance.

In South Asian culture, appearances aren’t just skin-deep — they’re soul-deep. They're stitched into the way we talk, the way we dress, the decisions we make, and even how we love. Somewhere along the way, the desire to be seen as good turned into the fear of being seen at all — unfiltered, vulnerable, human.

“What will people say?”

Those four words are the unofficial national slogan of Desi households. It’s the default response to anything remotely uncomfortable:

• “I’m seeing a therapist.” → What will people say?

• “I’m not sure I want to be a doctor anymore.” → Log kya kahenge?

• “I’m not ready for marriage.” → But your eggs— I mean, what will people say?

This obsession with perception didn’t come from nowhere. For our parents and grandparents, especially those who migrated, appearances were protection. They fought to be seen as respectable, stable, and successful — not just for pride, but for safety. Respectability was their shield in a foreign land.

But while they wore that armour for survival, we’ve inherited it as a suffocating expectation. Now we’re all walking around in emotional shapewear — held in, sucked up, buttoned tight.

The High Cost of Looking Good

Keeping up appearances often means hiding the very things that make us human. We laugh at weddings while silently grieving breakups. We overachieve in our careers to distract from feeling directionless. We only post the holiday photos, not the panic attacks from the airport bathroom.

There’s an unspoken rule: keep your pain quiet, your struggles tidy, and your image intact. The irony? Everyone’s playing the same game, pretending they’re not playing it. It’s like being in a group chat where everyone’s typing but no one’s sending the message.

Mental health, grief, sexual identity, generational trauma — these are often edited out of the family script. You might be dealing with anxiety, but to your relatives, you're just "too sensitive." You might be neurodivergent, but they’ll call it "just laziness." You might be queer, but suddenly, they’re more worried about the neighbours than your wellbeing.

And yet, behind closed doors, the cracks show. High-functioning depression. Silent marriages. Estranged siblings. Addictions hidden in prayer rooms. But as long as the Instagram Diwali post looks good — all is well, right?

Wrong.

Performance is Not Peace

I get why we do it. Sometimes pretending is easier than explaining. Especially when you’ve grown up in a culture where confrontation is seen as disrespect and emotional honesty feels like betrayal.

But over time, this constant editing of ourselves chips away at our authenticity. It creates a rift between our public selves and our private truths. We start to lose touch with who we are beneath the performance.

And it’s exhausting.

Imagine being on stage 24/7 — lights on, script memorised, audience watching. No intermission. No backstage pass. Just relentless applause for a version of you that doesn't quite exist.

This is not peace. This is performative survival.

Intergenerational Image Management

Let’s talk about the emotional inheritance many of us carry — one that’s not written in wills but passed down in whispers.

Our parents and grandparents often did the best they could with what they had. Many grew up in environments where emotions were luxuries, therapy was taboo, and reputation was everything. They were taught that honour lived in how the world saw you — not in how you saw yourself.

So they built walls. Smiled through heartbreak. Suffered quietly. And raised us to do the same.

But here's the kicker: we now live in a world that values authenticity — and we’re caught in the cultural tug-of-war between old-world silence and new-world softness.

We’re the bridge generation. The cycle breakers. And it’s hard.

It’s hard to say “I’m not okay” in a family that prides itself on stoicism. It’s hard to choose healing over hiding when you’ve been taught that appearance is everything. It’s hard to be both the keeper of tradition and the challenger of it.

But it’s also powerful.

The Power of Being Seen

What would it look like to be seen — truly seen — by our families, our communities, ourselves?

What if we stopped trying to be perfect children and started becoming whole humans?

What if keeping up appearances wasn’t about being polished but being present?

I’ve learned that vulnerability, though terrifying, is the antidote to shame. The more we tell the truth, the more space we create for others to do the same. One “me too” can shift an entire family dynamic. One honest conversation can break years of silence.

It’s not easy. But it is freeing.

Little Acts of Revolution

You don’t have to stage a dramatic rebellion. Start small.

• Say “I’m not okay” without apologising for it.

• Share your story — even if your voice trembles.

• Wear what makes you feel like you, not what makes aunty happy.

• Validate your experience even when no one else does.

• Laugh about the absurdity of it all. (Seriously, humour helps. Like the time my aunty tried to set me up with her son’s friend because I “look responsible” — whatever that means.)

Every time you choose truth over tradition, softness over stoicism, expression over suppression — you’re doing the work. You’re rewriting the script.

And maybe — just maybe — you're allowing your parents to unlearn some of the scripts they were handed, too.

Final Scene

Let’s stop handing out Oscars for pretending everything’s fine. Let’s start celebrating the mess, the healing, the humanity. Let’s be proud — not just of how good we look, but of how real we’re willing to be.

Because the real glow-up? It’s not the perfect family photo.

It’s breaking the cycle, one truth at a time.

If you’ve ever felt the pressure to perform, to polish, to shrink yourself into what’s expected — this one’s for you. You are not alone. You are not wrong. You are simply human. And that is more than enough.

Final Scene

Let’s stop handing out Oscars for pretending everything’s fine. Let’s start celebrating the mess, the healing, the humanity. Let’s be proud — not just of how good we look, but of how real we’re willing to be.

Because the real glow-up? It’s not the perfect family photo.

It’s breaking the cycle, one truth at a time.

And if this post felt a little too familiar — if you’ve been quietly carrying the weight of expectations, image, and unspoken pain — you don’t have to do it alone.

At Umeed Psychology, we hold space for the stories behind the smiles. For the cycle-breakers and tender-hearted rebels. For those navigating the space between cultures, family, and self.

✨ Whether you're unpacking intergenerational trauma, navigating identity, or simply tired of the performance — we’re here to support you.

📩 Book in for therapy at www.umeedpsychology.com
Let’s make space for your truth — unfiltered, unedited, and fully human.

Because your story deserves to be seen. And you deserve to be held in it.