Pretenders

The Art of Pretending: When Saving Face Comes at a Cost

Growing up in a Chinese Malaysian family, I learnt from a young age that pretending was often seen as the right thing to do. Pretending did not mean lying. It meant protecting harmony.

It meant smiling when you were hurting, saying you were fine when you were struggling, and making sure others never saw the difficulties happening behind closed doors. We learnt to be polite even when we felt uncomfortable. We politely declined food the first time because accepting it immediately could be seen as impolite. We smiled out of respect, even when we disagreed. These behaviours were not taught to deceive others but to preserve relationships and show consideration.

Saving face

One of the strongest values underpinning this was the idea of saving face. In many Chinese families, family honour was something to be protected. Personal struggles were often viewed as family matters that should remain within the household. You did not "air your dirty laundry" in public because doing so might bring shame not only to yourself but also to your parents and extended family.

I remember one Lunar New Year that taught me this lesson in a way I never forgot.My father had given us generous red packets, and as children, we were excited to save the money. Later, he quietly asked us to redistribute what we had received to other children. By the end of the celebrations, the money we had hoped to keep was gone. As a child, I didn't understand why.As an adult, I realised it wasn't about the money at all. It was about generosity, maintaining appearances, and ensuring that others experienced abundance, even if our own family had to quietly make sacrifices.

Kindness, generosity, humility and hospitality.

The same principle appeared in many other parts of life. If guests came to our home, they were offered the very best food, even if it meant giving away what little we had. Looking after others always came before looking after ourselves. These values taught kindness, generosity, humility and hospitality. They are qualities I still deeply appreciate today.

Every cultural strength also has its shadow.

When preserving harmony takes precedence over expressing pain, suffering often becomes invisible.

Many people learn to carry their burdens quietly rather than ask for help. Difficulties are shared only with a very small circle of trusted people, and sometimes only when the situation has become overwhelming. Seeking help can feel like admitting failure, not just personally but on behalf of the family.

This is something I have witnessed repeatedly through my work in mental health.I have spoken at universities, including AUT and the University of Auckland, about my own experiences of depression, anxiety and the gambling harm my father experienced. After one presentation, an Asian student approached me and thanked me simply for speaking honestly.

What struck me was not what she said but why she said it. For perhaps the first time, she had heard another Asian openly talk about mental distress without shame. It made me realise how uncommon those conversations still are in many of our communities.

In many Western societies, sharing personal adversity is often viewed as courage. People are encouraged to tell their stories because doing so demonstrates resilience, authenticity and hope.

For many of us raised in collectivistic cultures, however, revealing personal or family struggles can feel very different. It can feel as though we are exposing not only ourselves but everyone connected to us.

So we learn to pretend.

We pretend we are coping.
We pretend everything is under control.
We pretend because we do not want to burden others.
We pretend because we do not want to disappoint our parents.
We pretend because we fear gossip that may follow our families for years.

Eventually, pretending becomes so familiar that we no longer realise we are doing it.

Physical symptoms, exhaustion, anxiety

Even after migrating to countries like New Zealand, many of these patterns remain. Distress may not always be expressed openly. Instead, it may appear through physical symptoms, exhaustion, anxiety or quiet withdrawal. From the outside, everything appears fine. Behind closed doors, however, many people are struggling alone.

This can also contribute to the perception that some Asian communities experience fewer mental health challenges than they actually do. The reality is often not that there is less suffering, but that suffering is hidden.

Perhaps the greatest challenge for younger generations is living between two worlds.

Many grow up with Western ideas that encourage openness, independence and self-expression, while also wanting to honour parents whose values were shaped by duty, sacrifice and collective responsibility. Navigating these two worlds is not about choosing one culture over the other. It is about learning how to honour both.

Today, I no longer see vulnerability as bringing shame to my family.I see it as breaking a silence that many before me were never given permission to break.The values I grew up with—respect, generosity, humility and caring for others—are still part of who I am. They deserve to be preserved. But I also believe we can preserve those values while making room for honesty.

Perhaps true strength is not pretending that everything is okay.

Perhaps true strength lies in trusting that we can tell the truth about our struggles and still be worthy of love, respect, and belonging.

For those working with people from collectivist cultural backgrounds, this understanding matters. If someone appears reluctant to talk about their experiences, emotional pain or personal struggles, it should not be assumed that they are unwilling to engage or unwilling to seek help. Their silence may be shaped by deeply held cultural values, including saving face, protecting family honour, avoiding burdening others or maintaining harmony. For many, these are not conscious decisions but behaviours learnt over a lifetime.

Rather than asking, "Why won't they talk?", we might instead ask, "What cultural values are influencing how they communicate?"

Understanding this creates space for a different approach. Instead of expecting immediate openness, we can build trust gradually, reassure people that their stories will remain confidential, and explain why sharing their experiences can be an important part of support and recovery within the New Zealand context.

This is not about asking people to abandon their cultural values or choosing one culture over another. It is about creating a third space where both can coexist—where respect for family, harmony and cultural identity can sit alongside honesty, vulnerability and help-seeking.

Cross-cultural communication is not about deciding which way is right.

It is about recognising that behaviours which may appear confusing, distant or even dishonest through one cultural lens may, through another, be expressions of respect, responsibility and care. Sometimes, the first step is not asking someone to speak. Sometimes, it is creating a space where they finally feel safe enough to do so.

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