‘Beef’ & The Danger Of Believing “Western Therapy Doesn’t Work On Eastern Minds”

Content warning: This article discusses suicide. It also contains light spoilers for the series.

A road rage incident in a Los Angeles parking lot spirals two lives wildly and violently out of control in Beef, a Netflix series from A24 starring Ali Wong and Steven Yeun. The show is groundbreaking in its tackling of mental health issues in “regular” people who deny they have any such problems. This is familiar territory for me. After surviving famine and war over generations, my family immigrated from China and Korea to the U.S. — and, like many others in immigrant communities, they had a hard time accepting mental health as anything requiring help. Beef hones in at this sensitive spot of denial, telling an extreme yet relatable story of two Asian American characters whose lives are about to implode — and laying bare the insidious danger of the commonly held belief that, as one character puts it, “Western therapy doesn’t work on Eastern minds.”

Wong delivers a jaw-dropping performance as Amy Lau, a high-pressured mom and founder of a multi-million-dollar designer houseplant business who is just trying to keep it together. I recognized in myself Amy’s exhausting, unsustainable need for overachievement; her need to keep up the optics of perfection to ward off self-doubt. Yeun’s performance as Danny Cho, a broke handyman for whom everything is going wrong, is just as engrossing — and also a mirror of sorts for me. Danny’s upbringing working in a motel, dogged by the hopeless feeling that nothing will ever change, doesn’t feel far removed from my own childhood working in a family-owned Chinese takeout restaurant.

Amy’s and Danny’s paths cross at a moment when they need each other the most, though they don’t know it. The first episode gets so dark that I had to stop watching — please consider this a trigger warning for suicide. But the fate of these characters haunted me. I had to know what happens. What I found when I returned (after many days) is that this rage that Amy and Danny ignite in one another — and their thirst for revenge — gives each character a reason to live.

I’ve been in therapy on and off for over 20 years and understand firsthand how difficult it can be to own your struggles and make yourself vulnerable in treatment. I also know it works.

Like chess moves, each character escalates their vengeance plays with the expressed goal of destroying what little the other has. Amy catfishes Danny’s oblivious younger brother Paul (Young Mazino), ensnaring him in the mess, while Danny eventually befriends Amy’s husband George (Joseph Lee) using a fake name.

“Western therapy doesn’t work on Eastern minds,” Danny first says to George when they’re hanging out, and the line is repeated later in the show. He denies having depression and would never own up to having attempted suicide. To my dismay, the zinger of a line, intended as a deflection, seems to have struck a chord with many in the Asian American community.

I’m an Asian American mental health advocate living with bipolar disorder and my share of past traumas. For years, I’ve been sharing my story to fight stigma, to encourage those in my community who, like Danny, never gave mental health treatment and therapy a chance. Instead, I see the cycle of intergenerational trauma, pain, and suffering continue. I’ve been in therapy on and off for over 20 years and understand firsthand how difficult it can be to own your struggles and make yourself vulnerable in treatment. I also know it works. Danny, like many others in marginalized communities where therapy and mental health care are especially taboo, never makes it to the first step of realizing he has a problem that can be addressed.

Amy, too, is forced to face her mental health struggles because of problems in her marriage and her role as a mother. She goes to marriage counseling to appease George, under the guise of wanting to deal with her anger issues, but lies in her sessions, saying only what she thinks her husband and the therapist Dr. Lin (Kayla Blake) want to hear. Amy denies having depression, says George, but it is revealed through the series that she struggles with an inescapable heaviness, family trauma, and psychosis that has followed her since childhood.

“When we're stressed, we revert to the pathways we created as children,” Dr. Lin tells her. “But acknowledging this is just the first step. In order to create new neural pathways, we have to uncover what lies underneath our awareness." This is the standout line of the show for me, a line that resonates deeply. Therapy isn’t about blaming our parents or our culture. It is about examining the pain, so we can heal and be better to ourselves and those we love, including our children. And yes, it can work for anyone, from any community.

With the treatment I’ve received over years, I am now capable of blocking negative thoughts from taking over. I react to stressful situations differently. Life is no longer lived in survival mode. I developed much healthier coping mechanisms. It’s not that therapy doesn’t work on Asians — it’s that therapy doesn’t work if you don’t give it a chance or if you’re too afraid to be honest (as many of us are). This holds true for anyone, regardless of race, ethnicity, or cultural background.

Still, Beef is a trailblazing, one-of-a-kind, and powerful work of art and commentary on Asian American mental health; on the meaning of sacrifice and obligation.

The World Health Organization reports that 1 in 4 people worldwide live with a mental health condition. While statistics like this help put in perspective how common these struggles are, they don’t go far enough. Statistics like this continue to perpetuate the idea that there is an “us versus them” when it comes to mental health. Namely, those who have a mental illness and those who don’t. The marginalization of those who struggle is where harmful stigma and discrimination can germinate. Mental health stigma is not only unfair, but it can also keep those who need it in denial and, ultimately, from accessing help.

There are few statistics that attempt to measure how many people worldwide live with a physical health condition because such a number would be meaningless. Every human will have a physical health condition at some point in their life. There is no “those who get sick and those who don’t” when it comes to physical health. We’re all in the same boat. I wish the same was true for how we all think about mental health — including those who believe that therapy is something reserved for white people. I’m fighting for the day when no one will feel shame or stigma for seeking help.

So while Beef shines much-needed light on Asian American mental health, there is real danger in the phrase “Western therapy doesn’t work on Eastern minds” becoming the main takeaway from the series. This could undermine the work of so many Asian American therapists who have dedicated their careers to helping people heal — including my own Dr. Sally Chung and Dr. Lo, who have lent excellent, culturally knowledgeable care and wisdom in my journey to break harmful cycles and to thrive both as an individual, a partner, and a parent. With them, I never have to explain or defend my culture or my loved ones. They already understand, so we can get to work.

Jenny T. Wang, Ph.D., and her book, Permission to Come Home: Reclaiming Mental Health as Asian Americans, the podcast Asians Do Therapy by therapist Yin J. Li, and all of the mental health providers who have formed the Asian Mental Health Collective to normalize and destigmatize mental health care in the Asian community, also come to mind.

There is much to unpack in Beef, including the breaking controversy over the vile past statements of actor and artist David Choe, who plays a supporting character and is the title card artist. (If Choe did what he said on the 2014 podcast, he deserves to be in jail.) I have always struggled to separate the art from the artist — and wish Choe was not involved in the series.

Still, Beef is a trailblazing, one-of-a-kind, and powerful work of art and commentary on Asian American mental health; on the meaning of sacrifice and obligation. It is clear how much of themselves creator Lee Sung Jin, Ali Wong, Steve Yeun, and the writers put into this work. As a mental health advocate, I can’t help but still hope that the show’s commentary on the necessity for Asian American mental health care reaches those who need it most.

If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, call or text 988 to contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, which provides free 24/7 support. You can also reach out to the Trans Lifeline at 1-877-565-8860, the Trevor Lifeline at 1-866-488-7386, or to your local suicide crisis center.

If you or someone you know is seeking help for mental health concerns, visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) website, or call 1-800-950-NAMI (6264). For confidential treatment referrals, visit the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) website, or call the National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357). In an emergency, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988, or call 911.