Published on May 08, 2026

Identity, Belonging, and the Things We Don’t Say

Tran as a child with her mom together on a bridge at the beach.

In recognition of AANHPI Heritage Month and Mental Health Awareness Month

There are parts of my mom’s story I only began to understand much later.

It was in the summer of 2015 when everything changed. First, my dad was hospitalized, and then my mom. What started as high blood pressure turned into something much more serious—a blood vessel in her brain ruptured. She was in a coma for three weeks.

After the coma, she was in a vegetative state. For a while, it was unclear what would come next. But when she was finally able to return to Michigan, there were signs of progress. She became more alert, more present. In many ways, she was there with us again.

Her short-term memory was affected, but she was improving, and there was hope in that.

The next ten years were not a straight line. There were small gains followed by setbacks, cycles of adjustment, and a quiet, ongoing grief that settled into daily life—especially during COVID.

It wasn’t until after she passed, in late November, that I began to reflect on her life differently.

I remembered stories shared by my older sisters and my dad. One in particular stayed with me— about an argument where my mom became so overwhelmed she tried to walk into oncoming traffic. At the time, it was told as intensity. Now, I hear it differently.

I think about the times I saw her crying. The tension in our home. The things we didn’t talk about.

Tran's parents on a trip, her dad using a binocular viewer while her mom gives him bunny ears.
My parents on a trip together, years before my mom’s health declined.
Tran's mom as a teenager, posing and leaning in a doorway.
My mom as a teenager, years before becoming a parent.

But that’s not the whole story.

My mom was also full of life. She sang. She joked. She laughed loudly. She cooked meals for us and yelled with a distinct, shrill voice I can still hear.

She was playful, competitive, and loved games. Wii tennis brought out her fierce side. Air hockey was one of the few games I could proudly say I won.

At the same time, I wonder now if my mom struggled with depression.

She was never formally diagnosed. Later, during long-term care, staff suggested she might be depressed. We tried antidepressants, but even then, the idea didn’t fully land.

Because in many Vietnamese and broader Asian families, mental health isn’t something you name. It’s something you endure.

Tran's mom wearing a t-shirt that states, Santa's favorite blonde.
My mom, proudly wearing a “Santa’s Favorite Blonde” T-shirt she scored for $2.

My parents carried a lot. They fled Viet Nam after the war. They survived violence, starvation, and piracy. They came to the United States and started over— with a new language, new systems, and often a sense of not fully belonging.

They navigated racism, discrimination, and the pressure to adapt while holding on to who they were.

Looking back, I see how displacement, survival, identity, and belonging are deeply connected.

I don’t know if getting help would have changed anything for my mom. But I do know she deserved the chance to be supported emotionally, not just physically.

I work in healthcare—on the digital and marketing side. Sometimes that feels far removed from patient care, but it isn’t.

The work we do shapes access, awareness, and whether people see themselves in the care being offered.

Mental health care is care.

Tran and family posing together at Tran's college graduation.
Left to right: my sister Ngan, my mom, me, my dad, and my sister Van.

Strength shouldn’t mean silence. Survival shouldn’t mean suffering alone. Belonging should include being able to say, “I need help,” and be met with understanding.

For Mental Health Awareness Month and AANHPI Heritage Month, I’m holding both truths— the strength of where we come from, and the responsibility to do better for where we’re going.

May 16 is my mom’s birthday. This year, we’ll gather to remember her. It’s the Year of the Horse—her zodiac sign—and it feels like a quiet, meaningful way to honor her.

Tran Nguyen

Manager, Digital Media Channels

Support for Mental Health Is Part of Whole-Person Care

Mental health care is an essential part of overall health. Whether you are navigating grief, anxiety, depression, or ongoing stress, access to compassionate and culturally responsive care matters.

Bronson’s Behavioral Health Services provide support across the lifespan, with outpatient counseling, psychiatry, and specialty services designed to meet people where they are and help them move forward.

Learn more about Bronson Behavioral Health Services