Add Silicon Canals to your Google News feed. 
I’ve watched this happen every year without fail. Around late January, my inbox fills with messages from friends canceling plans. “CNY prep,” they write. By early February, entire office buildings empty out. But what strikes me most isn’t the exodus itself—it’s what I observe when these same people return.
They look exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with travel or late nights. It’s a deeper fatigue, the kind that comes from holding two versions of yourself simultaneously.
The Architecture of Code-Switching
My colleague Mei is a 32-year-old product manager at a fintech startup. At work, she’s direct, often blunt in meetings, quick to challenge assumptions. She dresses sharp. She makes decisions fast. I’ve watched her shut down poor ideas without ceremony.
Last year, I ran into her three days after she returned from CNY with her family in Penang. She looked different. Not just tired—compressed somehow. When I asked how it went, she said, “Fine,” but then laughed. “I basically become a different person around my parents. Quieter. More obedient. I defer to my mother on everything, even things I wouldn’t defer on to anyone else in my life.”
This isn’t unusual. Psychologists call it code-switching, and research shows it’s cognitively demanding. Every time we shift between social contexts—between work-self and family-self—our brains are managing competing identity frameworks. We’re not just changing our behavior; we’re actively suppressing aspects of ourselves and activating others.
During CNY, this code-switching intensifies because multiple pressures collide at once.
The Performance Multiplier Effect
A startup founder I know named David told me something revealing about his CNY experience: “I’m managing impressions with my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles—each relationship requires a slightly different version of me. With my parents, I’m the successful son who’s made the right choices. With my grandparents, I’m the dutiful grandson. With my aunts, I’m the one who should be married by now.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. Family reunions aren’t singular social contexts—they’re overlapping ones. You’re not just managing one audience; you’re managing five or six simultaneously, each with different expectations of who you should be. The cognitive load isn’t additive; it’s exponential.
Research on identity performance in family systems shows that family members often maintain rigid expectations about who we “should be,” expectations that can be years or decades out of sync with reality. Your parents still see echoes of the person you were at sixteen. Your siblings still relate to you through the lens of childhood dynamics. You’re performing against ghosts.
The Authenticity Cost
My neighbor’s daughter works in investment banking in Singapore, makes a significant salary, lives alone, has built a life of genuine independence. During CNY, she goes home to her village. Within days of returning to Singapore, she told me something that stuck with me: “I realized I had spent five days not saying what I actually thought about anything.”
Not once. Not about her career, her choices, her values, her future. She’d become a supporting character in her family’s narrative rather than the protagonist of her own.
The exhaustion people feel isn’t primarily from socializing. It’s from the psychological cost of suppressing your authentic self. When you spend extended time managing a carefully curated version of yourself, you’re burning cognitive resources on constant self-monitoring and self-censorship. Studies on authenticity suggest that this kind of persistent performance is emotionally draining and can contribute to anxiety and depression if sustained too long.
The Guilt Layer
What makes CNY particularly complex is that many people feel guilty about the very exhaustion they’re experiencing. Mei put it this way: “I feel guilty that I’m not more excited to see my family. I feel guilty that I’m counting down the days until I can leave. I feel guilty that I can’t just be myself around them.”
This guilt compounds the fatigue. You’re now managing not just your performance, but your feelings about having to perform. You’re suppressing not just your authentic self, but your authentic reactions to that suppression.
It’s a loop. And loops are exhausting.
Why It Matters
Understanding this isn’t about blaming families or suggesting you should stop celebrating. It’s about recognizing what’s actually happening beneath the surface. The exhaustion isn’t a sign you don’t love your relatives. It’s a sign you’re doing substantial psychological work—code-switching, identity management, audience juggling, expectation management.
Once you name it, you can work with it. Some people I’ve spoken to build in recovery time after CNY. Others get explicit with their families about wanting to be more authentic. A few have learned to notice which contexts demand the most performance and consciously dial back the effort in lower-stakes moments.
The architecture of family dynamics is complex. We don’t simply “go home” to see relatives. We step into a carefully constructed social script that was written long before we arrived, and we’re expected to hit our marks whether the script still fits or not.
That’s not a personal failing. That’s what family reunions actually are—high-stakes performance environments where authenticity is often the last thing anyone is asking for.
And that, more than anything else, is why you’re exhausted when you leave.
