No One Asked How We Felt: A Conversation with Daughters of Immigrant Parents

By Ruth Jean-Marie

I remember my very Haitian mother once asking me why I was so gay (read: happy) as she walked down the stairs. I don’t recall why I was in such a pleasant mood that day. A coping mechanism of disassociation lay at the forefront of my childhood.

What I do recall is the instinct to suppress my joy, but I couldn’t formulate why. I hadn’t been loud. The television was at a respectable volume. I was strategically sitting just outside of the living room so that I didn’t get any crumbs on her perfectly plastic-ed furniture.

I remember not having an answer to my mother’s question. And then I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to have an answer. Her comment meant to disrupt my happiness, and I internalized this as a disdain for my existence. This taught me that I was an imposition, that I shouldn’t let my emotions show, and that trust and vulnerability were a myth. This internal struggle would formulate my identity.

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