Seen But Silent

Princess Jasmine was the only south asian girl I saw on screen, and the only Disney character who even slightly resembled me. She had a long dark braid, brown skin, and lived in a palace that vaguely reminded me of the stories my parents told about India. At that age, I didn’t know the difference between being Indian, Arab, or Persian. All I knew was that she was brown, and so was I.

Cultural Confusion

As I got older, I started to realize something didn’t make sense. Jasmine was Indian, but… she also wasn’t? In one scene she would be wearing a lehenga, talking to her pet tiger named Rajah, and in the next she was dancing to Arabian Nights. She lived in a fictional city, spoke with an American accent, and had no specific cultural background. 

“Representation”

It was like Disney had pulled bits and pieces from a dozen different south asian cultures, mixed them together, and called it a day. At the time, I didn’t question it. I just took what I could get. But now I see that what felt like inclusion was really just a vague placeholder. All brown people had been grouped into one, “representing” all of us while simultaneously making everyone feel unincluded. 

Almost Seen, Never Heard

That feeling of almost being seen but not quite stayed with me. It was then that I slowly began to notice just how little people who looked like me were shown in the media. And when they did, they neatly fit into a few different categories; the comic relief, the nerdy sidekick, or someone with a heavy accent. It felt like being Indian meant being a background character in someone else’s story. 

At school, this showed up in small but consistent ways. I started feeling ashamed for bringing Indian food for lunch. I joined in when people mocked Indian accents or Bollywood movies, just because I would rather laugh with them than be laughed at. I adjusted the way I spoke. I let go of certain parts of me just to fit in more easily. 

The Hidden Mental Health Impact

Back then, I couldn’t make the connection to mental health. I didn’t recognize that the quiet discomfort I felt about my identity or the pressure to downplay my culture could be a form of anxiety. I didn’t know that a lack of representation could shape how you view yourself, or that it could slowly chip away at your self acceptance and sense of belonging. But now I understand. 

Not Just Me

I also know that I wasn’t alone. A study in the Journal of Nursing Scholarship found that racial discrimination is strongly associated with higher rates of psychological distress among Asian Americans, including symptoms of depression and anxiety. According to the Office of Minority Health, Asian Americans are 50% less likely to seek mental health care than white Americans. This wasn’t surprising when growing up in a culture where therapy was rarely talked about. If you were struggling, you were expected to keep it to yourself and work through it on your own. 

Disappointed with western media, I turned to Bollywood to fill the gaps Hollywood left. It had the music, the culture, and the language that was missing. It felt familiar in ways Western media never did. At first, it felt like home. But eventually I started noticing patterns that felt just as harmful. The actresses were almost always fair-skinned. There was a constant emphasis on thinness and traditional femininity. The same outdated gender roles kept showing up over and

over. I didn’t see myself there either. I felt like who I was didn’t fit the mold. It took time to recognize that the problem wasn’t me. 

Never Say Never

Around that time, a new show called Never Have I Ever was released on Netflix, and it felt so powerful. Watching a brown girl as the main character be funny, awkward, messy, and still be the main character was something I did not grow up seeing. Devi was allowed to be smart and stubborn and flawed. She wasn’t perfect, she was a teenager, not someone else’s stereotype. For the first time, I saw parts of myself reflected in ways that felt real. 

Representation isn’t just about being seen, it’s about being understood. It is about acknowledging that you should never have to erase parts of yourself to be valued. For South Asians, self-acceptance often begins with unlearning the stories we have been handed and finding the courage to write new ones that truly reflect who we are.

About the Author:

Eesha is part of the 2025 Rcoz High School Changemaker Program, as an intern. She is a 1st generation citizen.