The Hidden Cost of Immigration: Paying the Price of Colonialism With Our Wellbeing

The grief is multilayered. While friends and family back home celebrate traditions in vibrant color, we grapple with the slow erosion of our identities.

Immigration is often celebrated as a triumph—proof of resilience and success. But behind the proud photos and brave faces lies a quieter, heavier truth: immigration costs mental health. The financial strain, visa uncertainties, cultural dislocation, and relentless pressure to perform happiness for others create a perfect storm of chronic stress. Anxiety hums in the background like a tune you can’t turn off. Loneliness settles in, not as a guest but as a permanent resident.

What’s rarely acknowledged is that immigration, in all its forms, is forced. Whether by economic necessity, political instability, or the lingering shadows of colonialism, the choice to leave is often no choice at all. Our parents, grandparents, or we ourselves step away from our homelands in search of a "better life." But why must this better life always be elsewhere? Because what was once ours—land, resources, sovereignty—was looted. Now, our countries of origin are labeled "developing," and we, the displaced, are called "immigrants." The colonial project isn’t over; it’s just evolved. We’re still paying its price, this time with our wellbeing.

The grief is multilayered. While friends and family back home celebrate traditions in vibrant color, we grapple with the slow erosion of our identities. The rituals that once grounded us feel distant, and the new culture we’re expected to navigate remains stubbornly unfamiliar. We’re told to assimilate but never quite belong. The cost? A fractured sense of self, isolation dressed as independence, and exhaustion masquerading as strength.

It’s time to name this struggle—not as failure, but as the direct consequence of historical theft. Healing begins when we stop romanticizing immigration and start honoring its wounds. You’re not just building a new life; you’re carrying the weight of centuries. That deserves more than silence. It deserves space to grieve, to rage, and to acknowledge what was taken—including the right to rest.

Immigration, Colonialism