Belonging as a Second-Generation Korean American
Belonging is an essential yet nuanced theme woven throughout Korean American experiences. In therapy, we often explore how belonging manifests in our lives, where we feel accepted and loved, where we find ourselves compromising, and how we navigate our values within the complexity of our identity.
This is part one of a series in which I’ll write about the unspoken struggles many Korean Americans face—quiet, everyday realities that often go unnamed. My hope is that these reflections offer validation and give voice to what has been unacknowledged.
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“What high school did you go to?”
“Do you know so-and-so?”
After spending much of my life in an LA/OC Korean American bubble, I’ve realized just how niche, but deeply connected, our community can be. The conversation often takes off like a rocket because we’re usually separated by just one or two degrees of separation. I feel that ease when I can speak Konglish, a mix of Korean and English, without having to explain myself. We just get each other.
And yet, despite the familiarity, there are struggles we rarely name, even within our own circles.
Exclusivity as survival
Many of us were raised with Korean pride running through our veins, but we also felt alienated or judged within our own community. Part of this comes from the deeply homogeneous nature of Korean culture, where conformity is a matter of survival. Korea, after all, was once called “The Hermit Kingdom” for its long-standing isolationist stance—one rooted in a history of repeated invasions and colonization. That instinct to protect ourselves by staying inward, exclusive, and guarded has trickled down through generations. Many of our parents arrived during the largest wave of Korean immigration—the third wave—following the 1965 Immigration Act's opening of the doors. In a new and unfamiliar country, they clung to each other, building tight-knit communities in cities like LA, New York, and Chicago just to survive.
The Pressure to Mask
Along with a homogenous cultural identity comes the stigma of being different. In a Confucian-influenced, hierarchical society, taking up space can be seen as disruptive or selfish, disturbing social harmony. Hence, in Korean American spaces, masking—hiding parts of ourselves to fit in—can become second nature. This pressure can be even more intense when layered with intersecting identities: being queer, non-religious, neurodivergent, disabled, or otherwise outside the norm in a culture that rarely talks openly about difference.
The cultural value of noonchi (눈치)—an intuitive awareness of others’ feelings and expectations—teaches us to read the room and adapt ourselves accordingly.
For many of us, that creates a confusing internal tug-of-war: the pressure to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good versus the desire to live authentically and express who we are.
Not Korean Enough, Not American Enough
Second-generation Korean Americans often carry the emotional weight of a hyphenated identity. We grow up navigating the conflicting feelings of not being Korean enough and not being American enough. When we visit Korea, we often stick out like a sore thumb as Americans because our Western appearances and mannerisms do not fit Korean beauty standards or social norms. In America, we feel othered because we do not fit the standards of white normativity. We have a marginalized identity in a country whose systems weren’t built with people like us in mind. This creates a complex identity where we do not fit neatly into either Korean or American categories. So, many of us find ourselves carving out a sense of belonging on our own terms.
As you read this, I wonder what belonging has felt like in your own story. You might pause and ask yourself:
Where do I breathe easier, without needing to explain or edit myself?
Where do I feel the pressure to become smaller or someone else entirely?
What stories about identity did I grow up carrying, and which ones no longer fit?
Let these questions linger. Write them down, or simply hold them close. Often, clarity begins with noticing how our bodies soften in certain spaces and tense up in others, as well as the ways we long for connection yet fear being misunderstood. Belonging is not only about who welcomes us in, but about how we slowly learn to welcome ourselves.
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Exploring cultural and immigrant identity is a crucial step toward developing an authentic sense of self. In therapy, especially within the context of Asian mental health, this often means looking back into our generational roots in order to move forward. Understanding where we come from helps us live more fully as who we are. Let us support you on your journey to being unashamedly you by following the steps below:
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Other Services Offered at Therapy on Fig
At Therapy on Fig, we provide therapy services tailored to the unique needs of teens, adults, and couples. We offer Teen Therapy, Neurodivergent Affirming Therapy, Therapy for Empaths, Trauma Therapy, Grief and Loss Therapy, and Couples Therapy. We also address related issues such as anxiety, perfectionism, burnout, self-esteem, and relationship issues. Whether you're seeking support for a specific issue or looking to strengthen your relationship overall, our therapists are here to help. Reach out today to learn more about our services and to begin your path to healing, agency, and peace.
Rachel Kwon is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (LMFT #144798). She integrates Internal Family Systems (IFS), Brainspotting, and CBT techniques to help her clients access healing from the inside out. Her work makes space for her clients' pain, resilience, and the unspoken wounds and generational gifts they carry forward. Reach out to learn more about our experienced therapists.