Is enmeshment trauma a cultural norm in South Asian families?

Until a few weeks ago, I'd never come across the term enmeshment trauma. Least of all did I suspect it might apply to me. I was raised by my Punjabi grandparents during my early years and my parents divorced in my late teens, but I never felt that I was traumatised. I now suspect I might have been wrong.

I was deep in a YouTube rabbit hole, using the solitude of enforced isolation to probe my irrational behaviours, when I came across a video by Thais Gibson on her Personal Development School channel. At first I was skeptical, the home office lighting and crackly sound didn’t inspire confidence, but the more I listened, the more I recognised.

Enmeshment trauma, I've learnt, describes a family dynamic in which personal boundaries are blurred, where, as Gibson puts it, “everybody’s identities, feelings, needs and expectations are bleeding into each other”.

But isn’t this just what families are? The simple answer is, no. In an emotionally healthy family, individual members have autonomy. In enmeshed relationships, independence is stifled. The cause, I’ve discovered, is a survival instinct.

We are born entirely dependent on our parents to stay alive. But as we grow up, if boundaries aren’t created or respected by our parents, we can be left unsure about whose needs should take priority in our lives: ours, or theirs. At such a young age we don’t have control over our response, our primal mind kicks in: "We must survive. We must please our parents.”

This reaction can be triggered by a parent with high expectations, who perhaps overlooks their child’s temperament. It can be sparked by an emotionally distressed parent, who unconsciously leans on their child as a surrogate for an adult relationship. It can also be brought on by the pressure to be compliant with a narcissistic parent. Whatever the scenario, enmeshment occurs when a child’s emotional needs are frequently made subservient to those of a caregiver.

The more I reflected on these scenarios, the more they felt familiar. I remember tearfully walking home from school, distraught that a teacher had suggested I move down to Set 2 for GCSE maths. How could I explain this to my family? How could I tell my grandad, my dada-ji, a retired maths teacher?

It’s hardly a groundbreaking observation to say that the pressure to achieve highly and within a rigid remit, regardless of actual ability or interest, is endemic in the South Asian community. And though this custom is frequently mocked, it’s often done so lovingly. After all, isn’t wanting the best for your children admirable? Absolutely. But is it a want, or a need?

Similarly, narcissism seems to be common among South Asian families. One Reddit user, posting in a support group, goes as far as to describe India as “an entire culture of narcissism”. The immortal mantra of “respect your elders” ensures that any form of protest, regardless of legitimacy, is interpreted as an attack.

Fearful of parental rage, children learn to walk on eggshells; in other words, they sacrifice their emotional needs.

This instinct to appease may well have kept prehistoric toddlers alive, but it can create serious insecurities in modern adult life. It could be as simple as the crippling anxiety of being ‘left on read’, or, more destructively, a loss of self identity in a relationship. Enmeshment trauma is the origin story of the ‘mummy’s boy’ and ‘daddy’s girl’, the ‘dutiful son’ and the ‘obedient daughter’. It’s why you might be terrified of making mistakes, it’s the reason you may struggle with intimacy or, conversely, it could be the cause of your dependence on your partner.

Many of Pink Ladoo Project’s heartbreaking #brownandlockeddown Instagram posts sound a lot like enmeshment trauma. One contributor writers, “growing up I had a lot of confidence issues because I always thought I was doing something wrong”, another, “I was never allowed out to socialise…despite living with my in-laws and husband I’ve never felt more lonely.” The forced proximity of isolation may be exacerbating enmeshment, which makes it all the more important that we make efforts to understand it and heal. 

And how do we heal? Gibson advises that the first step is to recognise that these valid feelings and behaviours are unhealthy reflexes that can be unlearnt. We are no longer helpless infants; we are free to reflect and untangle ourselves.

A cornerstone for recovery is the ability to set and express boundaries, to be attuned to our loved ones without self abandonment. 

This is of course much easier said than done, especially for those of us living with our parents or in-laws. It may require the guidance of a mental health professional. If you’re looking for help, Burnt Roti has a regularly updated list of WoC therapists in London, and Pink Ladoo Project will soon be launching a website dedicated to South Asian therapists: southasiantherapists.org

I’m not saying that all South Asian families are enmeshed, but given that many of us share similar childhood experiences, and that several of the root causes are often considered cultural norms, it might be a good place to start for those of us looking to break the cycle of emotional hardship.