The recent discovery of my autism has forced me to reckon with long-held beliefs about success, identity, and worth that were ingrained in me by my cultural upbringing. Raised in a Jain Indian American family, my experience was shaped by deeply rooted expectations of academic and professional excellence. These ideals were intertwined with casteism, colonial legacies, and an all-encompassing careerism that valued outward achievements above all else. This led me to deny my neurodivergence, suppressing a core aspect of my identity in order to conform to societal standards. The result was a life marked by masking and mental health struggles, all in pursuit of meeting externally imposed ideals.
The Role of Immigration Law and Casteism in South Asian Careerism
Careerism in South Asian American communities—especially among Indian Americans—is not just a reflection of cultural values. It is shaped by the historical and social frameworks that include caste hierarchies and immigration law.
Immigration Law and Economic Pressure
Many South Asian immigrants face a system in which maintaining legal status often depends on professional success in high-status, high-income fields like medicine, engineering, or technology. This is especially true for those on H-1B work visas, where failure to meet these expectations can lead to the loss of legal residency status. This precarious situation creates a constant pressure to perform and conform to a model minority stereotype that emphasizes success without acknowledging the personal cost, particularly regarding mental health and identity.
The reality for many families is that this pressure doesn’t end with the first generation. Children of immigrants are expected to continue the legacy of professional success as a means of securing their family's stability and honor. Failure to adhere to this path can be seen as a personal and familial failure, with mental health challenges often dismissed or downplayed. The U.S. immigration system, in its demand for economic success as a condition for residency, reinforces these rigid expectations and exacerbates mental health risks, such as anxiety and depression.
Casteism and Professional Hierarchies
Casteism also shapes professional aspirations and careerism. Upper-caste families often bring with them deeply entrenched beliefs that success is expected and necessary to maintain social standing. This caste-linked emphasis on respectability becomes a primary driver of career choices, pushing individuals into high-status fields that are seen as an extension of caste privilege.
Lower-caste individuals, by contrast, often face systemic discrimination both in their home countries and within the diaspora. They may have less access to educational and financial resources, further widening the gap in opportunities. In immigrant communities, caste discrimination persists, contributing to professional stratification where upper-caste individuals dominate leadership positions while others face greater barriers to moving up.
In such an environment, neurodivergence—especially autism—can be seen as an obstacle to achieving these goals, an impediment that must be hidden or overcome. Admitting to challenges related to neurodivergence is often viewed as a weakness or a failure to meet the family’s expectations, reinforcing a culture of denial and suppression.
The Toll of Internalized Ableism
Growing up in this environment, I internalized the belief that any struggle was simply an excuse for not meeting expectations. Careerism—the idea that personal worth is tied to professional success—was ingrained in me from a young age. I believed that to succeed, I needed to suppress my autistic traits and conform to neurotypical standards of productivity and performance. When I faced difficulties, whether sensory overload, social anxiety, or burnout, I blamed myself for not working hard enough, unaware that these struggles were directly related to my neurodivergence.
The mental health toll of this internalized ableism was significant. The aggregate statistics do not show South Asian Americans as unusually distressed—Asian American adults report mental illness at rates below the US average. What they show is a population that does not present for care: Asian American adults use mental health services at 6.4%, against 17.6% of white adults, and South Asian Americans have the lowest utilization rate of any group. The distress that does surface is concentrated in the young: South Asian American women aged 15 to 24 carry higher rates of suicidal ideation and attempts than their peers.
For me, the consequences of this denial were severe. I spent years masking my autism, leading to chronic stress, anxiety, and depression. Trapped in a cycle of self-blame and shame, I struggled to live up to expectations that were impossible for me to meet while maintaining my mental and emotional well-being.
Generational Divides: My Father’s Reaction
When I began to accept my autism, I noticed similar patterns in my father’s behavior. He exhibited many of the same traits that I now recognize as neurodivergent. However, when a family member suggested that he might be autistic, his response was one of anger and denial. "So what if I am? I’m dealing with it," he said. This reaction reflected the cultural and generational pressures he had internalized over a lifetime. For him, success meant silently enduring challenges, suppressing traits that did not align with traditional ideals of masculinity, competence, and success. Admitting to neurodivergence, or even mental health struggles, would be seen as an admission of weakness, something he had been conditioned to avoid at all costs.
His response highlighted the generational divide between us. While I had begun unmasking and embracing my neurodivergence, he remained firmly entrenched in a belief system that demanded silent endurance and conformity.
Redefining Success and Challenging the Excuse Mentality
The idea that autism—or any form of neurodivergence—is an excuse is deeply damaging. It perpetuates the belief that neurodivergent individuals are less capable or less deserving of success. For me, rejecting this belief meant redefining success on my own terms. Instead of focusing solely on performance and productivity, I began to prioritize well-being, authenticity, and balance. Embracing my neurodivergence became a central part of this process.
This shift has not been easy. Letting go of the deeply ingrained careerist mindset I was raised with took time and effort, but it was essential for my mental health. By acknowledging my autism, I was able to seek the accommodations I needed to thrive. Setting boundaries around work, unmasking in social situations, and creating a life that aligns with my needs allowed me to reconnect with my authentic self and find fulfillment beyond external validation.
The SAMHIN network provides neurodivergent-affirming care that doesn't require patients to choose between their diagnosis and their community's approval. That's a start. But the deeper shift happens inside families — wherever the cost of silence is already visible.