IF you grew up in a typical household, especially in Asian culture, you have probably heard this phrase more times than you can count: “What will people think?”

It is a familiar refrain, often used as a warning, a means of control or a tool for silence. It comes not just from parents but from aunties, uncles and even strangers on the street – all united by a common mission: to keep you in line for the sake of appearances.

We are taught to behave in a certain way,
to dress modestly, to keep our voices low and to smile even when we are hurting – all to avoid gossip.

We learn early on that our lives are not entirely our own; they are a public performance, carefully curated for the judgement of others.

And if you dare to question or resist? You’re met with the classics:

“After everything I’ve done for you…”

“I fed you, raised you and sent you to school – and this is how you treat me?”

“You’re so ungrateful.”

“You’re embarrassing us.”

Sound familiar?

Guilt is not gratitude

Many of us grew up believing they were the same – that to be grateful meant to repay our parents not just with love but with lifelong obedience. That we were expected to carry their dreams, their fears and their emotional wounds – and silence our own.

This burden weighs heavily, especially on women. Daughters are taught to be quiet. To serve.
To sacrifice.

And slowly, bit by bit, we begin to disappear. We say yes when we mean no. We bite our tongues when we want to scream. We play small so no one will feel offended. It can be exhausting. And yet we do it – because we were told, over and over: “What will people say?”

But here’s the truth: People will always say something. Let them.

Fear in disguise

To be fair, many parents did not mean to hurt us. They were not cruel – they were simply afraid.

They grew up in a world where shame could destroy a family’s standing and where gossip had the power to ruin reputations, marriages, even livelihoods.

So they learned to survive through control, image management and silence. And, unfortunately, they passed those survival patterns down to us.

When a parent says, “What will people think?”, what they often mean is:

“I’m scared you’ll get hurt.”

“I’m afraid of what this says about me.”

“I don’t know how to handle this.”

It’s fear – disguised as love.

But fear does not build connection. It builds resentment.

A few years ago, a friend of mine – then in his late 30s – was constantly nagged and guilt-tripped after telling his mother he wanted to marry a woman of a different race.

As her only child, she insisted he marry someone from their own community.

Eventually, feeling overwhelmed and emotionally drained, he quit his job and went on a trip to clear his mind and sort through the guilt he felt towards his mother and the love he had for his girlfriend.

While overseas, he suffered a heart attack and died.

At his funeral, many of us looked at his mother – now alone – and couldn’t help but think: “If only you had let him love freely, you might have been surrounded by grandchildren today.”

Who are you living for?

We often believe we are being good daughters, sons, partners – even good citizens – by keeping the peace and not rocking the boat. But at what cost?

The cost is you – your voice, your desires, your relationships and your joy.

Even now, I see clients torn between who they are and who they were told to be. Some stay in jobs they despise. Some marry people they don’t love. Some hide their mental health struggles to avoid judgement. And some never cry – because they were taught that “strong people don’t break”.

When I ask why, the answers are almost always the same:

“What will people think?”

“What will my parents say?”

“I don’t want to hurt them.”

“I owe them.”

But the real question is: Do you want to be loved or just approved of? Do you want to be free or just tolerated?

Living honestly does not mean you hate your family; it means you are finally choosing to stop abandoning yourself.

You are allowed to make choices they won’t understand. To set boundaries they may not like. To be proud of who you have become – even if it’s not who they imagined.

You are allowed to disappoint someone in order to stay true to yourself. You do not owe anyone your silence, your suffering or your constant performance.

And if you’re a parent who feels the need to put your foot down and insist your children follow the path you have chosen for them – ponder over this excerpt from Khalil Gibran’s poem On Children:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

Nahlana T. Kreshnan is a somatic psychotherapist and life and executive coach.

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