New York isn’t for everyone

New York Isn’t for Everyone: A Reflection on Loneliness, Mental Health, and the Desi Experience The harsh truth about living in New York is its loneliness. It’s a city of millions, yet it often leaves you feeling like you’re utterly alone. Something changed after COVID—perhaps everything did. What was already a high-paced, demanding environment became even more isolating. And for many, especially young adults battling mental health struggles, New York can feel like an impossible place to survive, let alone thrive. This isolation hits even harder for Desi children who’ve grown up in close-knit families, used to interdependence and community. Suddenly, they’re flung into tiny apartments with strangers, distant from any support system, expected to adjust and perform. I’ve seen this reality play out too often. And I’m seeing it again now. I’ve been in touch with a young girl in New York—a friend of Maahir’s friend—who’s going through a mental health crisis. She was recently hospitalized. Her parents, living far away, are scared to look at their phones, bracing themselves for bad news they feel helpless to prevent. Her roommates tried to support her initially, but there’s only so much they can do. In New York, time is scarce, patience is shorter, and emotional bandwidth is a rare commodity. This young woman has opened up to me, and I can feel the depth of her struggle. I’ve gently encouraged her to return home to her parents, at least temporarily—to find care, rest, and safety. But she’s hesitant. She wants to prove she can manage, be independent, even as her foundation wobbles. It reminds me so much of Sana. She, too, was never truly happy in New York. The pressure, the pace, the loneliness—it chipped away at her. Before she fell ill, she had made peace with the idea of leaving. She had agreed to move to Chicago, to come closer to family, to be seen and loved more consistently. I often wonder what might have been different if she had moved sooner. But the truth is, we don't always get that kind of clarity until it's too late. Some of Sana’s friends have since left New York, recognizing the emotional toll it took on them. For many, it’s not about weakness. It’s about survival. And sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say, “I need to go home.” I feel deeply for this young woman’s parents—who, like me, want nothing more than for their child to be safe, to be well. But how do you convince an adult child to come home, especially when they’re caught in the push and pull of wanting to “make it” and the very real pain of not being okay? I pray she chooses her well-being. I pray she sees that going home doesn’t mean failure—it can mean healing. And I will keep showing up for her, gently reminding her she’s not alone. This blog is for all the parents who are watching from afar, heartbroken and helpless. And for all the young people navigating mental health struggles in cities that offer everything—but sometimes, not enough. And always, it’s for Sana. Everything I do now is for her.