I had always skipped the 8^th page of my report card. In secondary school, I have distinct memories of actively avoiding the page of my maths results, the subject I knew I was the worst in. Though my parents would never fault me for it, it was a subject I was never particularly great at. I would anxiously sit through an hour or so of maths with my Ammi and Thatti, more concentrated on how bad I was at it, getting discouraged by my anxiety, and inability to think – though my parents constantly helped me. Years of missing school due to my complex bouts of epilepsy, left me hyperaware of my aperture of knowledge.

Ever since then, even at the age of 23 where I’m relatively healthy, happy, and free of epilepsy, my life has felt like an endless game of catch up. It’s felt like those few years of my life, consumed by MRI’s, ECG’s, paediatrician appointments, neurologist appointments, and the condition itself, has hindered me. 

When we speak about pressure in the South Asian community, many second generation kids will relay that their anxieties stem from studying, or the expectations that are placed upon them often at an early age, externally or internally. The concept of “doing well” is instilled in many young South Asian kids, and I remember, even when I was 11, putting a lot of pressure on myself to do something with my life. However, my Thatti (father’s) death in 2020, at the peak of my HSC final exams, brought about a new, more palpable sense of dread, and the fear of never doing well enough to make my parents proud.

“I’m not doing law or medicine, I chose politics, what career prospects do I have there?… what am I going to do with an arts degree, I can’t be just another kid with an arts degree.” These thoughts, as well as the never-ending fear that I would never do my Thatti proud, were always in the back of my mind. Despite their lack of validity, it’s very easy to absorb these thoughts out of fear. 

However, I am not alone in this array of emotions. Although our contexts may vary, the fear of not “doing well” enough by our elder’s standards can be apparent in every aspect of an Asian kid’s life, existing in academic, romantic, financial, economic, and overall life expectations.

According to a 2024 study by Tirani Kodippili – a University of South Australia research assistant whose research explores the settlement experiences of South Asian migrant parents and youth in Australia – conflict between parents and their children was a primary factor that affected the psychological well-being of South Asian immigrant youth. Conflicts most commonly occur between values among parents and their children and academic performance.

To further substantiate these assertions, I compiled data from a social media survey of around 700 individuals between the ages of 16-35 in December of 2024, which conveyed that a significant percentage of young people, from all across Australia from South Asian backgrounds, felt a sense of obligation towards their study due to expectations, and many shared the common stress of pleasing their elders. According to the poll, 72% of participants expressed they felt immense pressure from a young age. An individual sharing their experience anonymously expressed that; “it wasn’t forced exactly, but I also felt like I had no other choice”. This sentiment was also shared by another anonymous contributor who detailed that they would have been “better off at TAFE”, citing they attended university “for their parents”.

Though these experiences and opinions are not entirely reflective of all South Asian kids and adults, the similarities in discourse and experiences reflect a common element in our respective communities. It is always important for us to “do well”, which is fair, don’t you think? Parents only want what is best for their children, and that is reflected in their tireless sacrifices, endless commitment to their children, and their hard work. But to what extent is the pressure of doing well, worth someone’s mental health?

The pressure to “do well” can be a heavy burden, shaped by cultural expectations, societal norms, and personal fears. Yet, as I’ve grown, I’ve realised that the definition of “success” is fluid and deeply personal. For some, it may be excelling in academics or pursuing prestigious careers, while for others, it’s about finding joy, purpose, and balance in life. For me, it is spending time with my family and friends, going to new places, finding a career that helps people, and one day, becoming a mum. 

As I reflect on my journey—navigating the complexities of epilepsy, grief, and self-doubt—I’ve come to understand that my value is not measured solely by grades, career titles, or the approval of others. My Thatti’s pride wouldn’t solely hinge on my choice of degree or profession, but on the person I strive to be: kind, resilient, and true to myself.  

This perspective isn’t unique to me; it’s a sentiment shared by countless young South Asians who are redefining what it means to “do well.” By embracing our individuality and honouring our passions, we can begin to shed the weight of unrealistic expectations and create a narrative of success that resonates with who we truly are.  

To those navigating similar struggles, remember: it’s okay to feel the pressure, but often, it is not worth carrying. You are more than a report card, a degree, a job, or what someone thinks of you, irrespective of who it is. Your worth lies in the courage to keep going, even when the odds feel insurmountable—and that, in itself, is a triumph worth celebrating. 

Top image source: Supplied/Tiara De Silva