What The Missing Fremont Teen Case Has Taught Us About Shame in Asian American Teens & Young Adults and Their Mental Health

How Shame Impacts Asian American Mental Health & Relationships

15-year-old Katie Hong went missing from her Fremont home in July 2025, she left behind more than just a note. She left behind a mirror—one that reflected a quiet epidemic inside many Asian American families.

Katie wrote that she felt like a burden. A disappointment. She vanished without a trace for nearly two weeks, eventually found safe. But the emotional pain that led her to run away is familiar to many of the Asian American teens and young adults I work with in therapy every day.

What Katie expressed—fear of failure, guilt over not being enough, and the belief that her very existence caused distress—didn’t appear overnight. That kind of shame is internalized over years, in homes where emotional needs are unspoken, where worth is tied to performance, and where love, though deep, is often expressed through sacrifice rather than words.

“My Parents Gave Everything. I Can’t Let Them Down.”

One of the most common beliefs I hear from clients is this:

“My parents gave up everything for me. I don’t have the right to fail.”

And my response is always this:

“Yes, your parents chose to leave their country of origin in pursuit of a better life—but you didn’t choose to be the child of immigrants. Their sacrifice was their choice, but you did not choose to live under constant pressure.”

This distinction matters.
Because many Asian American children grow up feeling as if their very existence is a debt they can never repay. Their dreams are not their own. Their failures don’t feel personal—they feel like betrayals.

This unspoken contract—You must succeed so our suffering wasn’t in vain—places an enormous emotional burden on young people, who are often navigating multiple cultural identities while silently suppressing their own needs.

Shame Is the Root, Not Just the Symptom

Clinically, shame is a corrosive force. It is not the same as guilt.
Where guilt says “I did something bad,” shame says “I am bad.”

And it has predictable psychological consequences:

• Depression that masquerades as high achievement.

• Anxiety that looks like perfectionism.

• Loneliness in families that appear “close.”

• Emotional numbness because vulnerability feels unsafe.

• Chronic self-silencing, where a young person decides it’s better to disappear than disappoint.

These aren’t personality traits—they are survival strategies.

The Double Life of the “Good” Asian American Child

Many of the clients I work with live a double life.

Externally, they perform well. They follow the rules. They keep the family functioning.
Internally, they are disconnected, distressed, and emotionally isolated.

Why?

Because shame tells them:

• “Don’t burden your parents.”

• “You should be grateful.”

• “If you’re struggling, you’re selfish.”

Over time, this creates a split: a visible self that performs safety, and an invisible self that carries unspoken pain.

Katie Hong’s disappearance made that split visible. It was a rupture of the silence so many young people are taught to keep.

Why Silence Is Not Neutral

In many Asian households, silence is seen as respectful, peaceful—even loving. But silence around emotions, pain, or vulnerability is not neutral. It becomes emotional abandonment.

If children don’t feel safe saying:

“I’m scared.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Then they stop saying anything at all.

Instead, they shut down. They retreat. They turn to online communities and strangers who offer acceptance—sometimes with dangerous consequences.

What Healing Looks Like

Deconstructing shame is not about blaming parents. It’s about interrupting inherited patterns that no longer serve the next generation.

Here’s what healing can look like:

• Acknowledging the context of sacrifice without making it a debt.
  “Your parents worked hard. That’s real. But your job is not to erase their pain—it’s to build your own life.”

• Validating pain even in ‘privileged’ children.
  High-functioning doesn’t mean unharmed. We must stop equating success with emotional health.

• Teaching emotional fluency.
  Families can learn to name their own shame: “I grew up thinking emotions were weak. I don’t want to pass that down.”

• Creating safe emotional space.
  Parents and caregivers can say: “You don’t have to earn your worth here. I’m proud of who you are—not just what you do.”

A Call to Families, Clinicians, and Communities

Katie’s story is not an outlier. It is a reflection of the emotional silence many young Asian Americans are living inside.

We cannot protect our children from the world if they don’t feel protected in our homes. We cannot demand closeness while punishing emotional honesty. We cannot teach resilience while shaming pain.

It’s time to stop confusing shame with motivation. It’s time to start building relationships where our children feel safe to be fully human.

If this article resonates with you, we invite you to explore what healing from shame may look like for you at the Center for Asian American Trauma.

Healing is not about choosing between your heritage and your health. It’s about finding a path that honors both.

Keywords: #AsianMentalHealth; #ShameinAsianFamilies; #AsianFamilyTherapy