The Cultural Disparity: Growing Up Between Two Worlds (And Belonging to Neither)

I’ve been thinking a lot about cultural identity lately.

Specifically, about how some families seem to navigate it so seamlessly. You know the ones. American-Pakistani families where the kids are equally comfortable at a desi wedding and a Fourth of July barbecue. They speak Urdu at home and English with friends. They wear shalwar kameez with pride and jeans without conflict. They are both. Fully. Without apology.

And I look at them and I think: Why didn’t that happen for me?
Because I grew up Pakistani. I grew up American. But I don’t feel like I’m fully either. I feel like I’m in this weird in-between space where I’m too American for my culture and too cultural for America. And I don’t know if that’s about the culture itself or about my family dynamics or about me. But the disconnect is real. And I’m trying to understand why.

The Observation

When I look at families who navigate cultural duality well, I notice something.
The kids seem proud of their heritage, not ashamed or conflicted. They integrate both identities without it feeling forced. They’re not hiding who they are in either space. Culture feels like an addition, not a constraint.
Their parents seem to celebrate both identities instead of pitting them against each other.
And I wonder: what’s different?
Because in my experience, culture felt like something I had to perform, not something I naturally inhabited. It felt like a battle between who I was at home and who I was everywhere else.
At home: “You’re too American. You don’t understand our ways.”
At school: “You’re too different. Why do you do things that way?”
Internally: “I don’t belong anywhere.”

The Expectations
My parents—and the generations before them—expected certain things.

To maintain the cultural values, language, traditions. To marry within the culture. To prioritize family and community over individual desires. To respect elders without question. To carry the culture forward unchanged. But I was raised in the U.S. American school. American friends. American media. I absorbed American values: individualism, independence, questioning authority. The culture felt like something imposed, not offered. And the American reality I lived didn’t match the cultural expectations I was supposed to uphold. So I felt like I was failing both. Not Pakistani enough. Too Americanized. Betraying my heritage. Never quite fitting in.

The Question: Why Is It Different for Me?
Here’s what I keep coming back to: it’s not the culture itself.

Because I see other families thriving with the same culture. The culture isn’t the problem.
So what is? Family dynamics. How did my family present the culture? Was it offered as a gift or imposed as an obligation? Was there room for questions or only demands for compliance? Was I celebrated for my uniqueness or shamed for not fitting the mold?

I think the difference comes down to a few key dynamics:
Rigidity vs. flexibility. Families that thrive culture: is flexible, adaptive, evolving. Families that struggle: culture is rigid, “this is the ONLY way.”

Shame vs. pride. Families that thrive: culture is a source of pride and celebration. Families that struggle: culture is used as a weapon, a source of shame for not being “good enough.”

Integration vs. segregation. Families that thrive: both identities coexist, “you can be both.” Families that struggle: forced choice, “you’re betraying us if you’re too American.”

Autonomy vs. control. Families that thrive: individuality is honored within the cultural framework. Families that struggle: individuality is seen as rebellion, disrespect.

Communication vs. assumption. Families that thrive: open dialogue about navigating two worlds. Families that struggle: expectations are assumed, never discussed, questions are discouraged.

The Generational Piece
My parents inherited expectations too.

The generations before them expected preservation of culture unchanged. Assimilation was betrayal. The next generation would carry on traditions exactly as they were. American influence was a threat to be resisted. So, my parents inherited the pressure to “not lose” the culture. The fear that their children would become “too American.” The belief that culture was fragile and needed protecting. The guilt of leaving the homeland.

And I inherited the weight of those expectations. The impossible task of being “enough” of both. The lack of roadmap for hyphenated identity. The shame when I didn’t fit the mold.
Immigration is loss. Leaving homeland, family, the familiar. That loss creates fear—of losing more. Language, culture, identity. That fear creates control over the next generation, to preserve what’s left. But control doesn’t equal connection.
And that’s where the disconnect happened for me.

The Grief
I grieve not feeling fully rooted in my culture. Not feeling fully American either. The ease that others seem to have. The belonging I crave but can’t find. I also grieve the parts of my culture that are beautiful and I do want to connect with. The language I wish I spoke fluently. The traditions that feel meaningful but distant. The ancestral wisdom that feels just out of reach. The belonging in my cultural community that I don’t fully have. The complexity is this: I’m not rejecting my culture. I’m not ashamed of it.
I’m just… disconnected. And I don’t know if that’s fixable or if it just is.

The Conversion
So, what am I learning?

The disconnect isn’t a failure—it’s data. It tells me something about how culture was transmitted. About family dynamics. About what I need to heal. I don’t have to force belonging. Maybe I’m not meant to feel 100% either identity. Maybe the in-between is my identity. Maybe being hyphenated means living in the hyphen. I can honor my culture without performing it. I can appreciate parts of it without adopting all of it. I can pass down what resonates and release what doesn’t. I can create my own version of cultural identity.

The disconnect might be protecting something. Maybe distancing myself from the culture was self-preservation. Maybe it was my intuition saying, “this doesn’t fit me.” Maybe it was rebellion against control, not rejection of heritage.
I get to decide what to carry forward. What parts of my culture do I want to connect with? What feels authentic vs. obligatory? What do I want my daughter to inherit? What stops with me?

The Truth I’m Holding
-Maybe the disconnect isn’t something to fix.
-Maybe it’s something to understand.
-Maybe I’m not supposed to feel fully Pakistani or fully American.
-Maybe I’m supposed to feel fully me—and that me is made up of both, neither, and something entirely new.

I own the hyphen. I embrace the complexity.
And I trust that the fire inside me doesn’t need to fit neatly into one box.
Because I was never meant to.

Listen to the full episode where I dive deeper into:
        • The families who navigate cultural duality seamlessly (and why mine didn’t)
        • The expectations vs. the reality of growing up between two worlds
        • Family dynamics that create connection or disconnect
        • Generational trauma, immigration, and the fear of losing culture
        • The grief of the in-between
        • Why the disconnect isn’t failure—it’s complexity
[SPOTIFY] [APPLE PODCASTS] [YOUTUBE]

Your Turn:
If you grew up between two cultures, do you feel like you belong to both, neither, or something in between? What created connection or disconnect for you?

Drop it in the comments. Let’s talk about the in-between.

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        •       Episode 20: Marriage & Conversion
        •       Episode 24: Your Intuition Is the Holy Trinity