Her offbeat humor and animated delivery have helped Atsuko Okatsuka carve a space for herself in the comedy world. But her success sprouted from a lifelong search for belonging. For most of her life, she didn’t feel like she was good enough. 

“I think I’m kind of finding that I’m more of a perfectionist than I thought,” admits the 36-year-old comedian. “I used to be like, ‘Oh, I’m so chill,’ you know? And I am. But for me, it’s always about knowing that there’s always improvement.” This perfectionism stems from her childhood—when even small mistakes, like misusing a word in English, made her feel alienated. 

While she relates to other American immigrants, her story is unique in its own right. Her mother’s schizophrenia diagnosis complicated their relationship, and when Okatsuka was 8 years old, her grandmother moved her from Japan to the United States without her father’s knowledge or permission. 

As a result, she was raised by her grandmother—an unconventional upbringing that shaped her worldview. Learning English and adapting to American schools was already difficult, but being raised by someone so much older made interacting with others even harder. “People are always like ‘Atsuko what’s wrong with you?’” She jokes in her HBO comedy special The Intruder. “Somebody 50 years older than me taught me how to socialize!”

These themes of displacement and identity often make appearances in her comedy, as she uses humor to process both the immigrant experience and her own complicated past. But even as her career began to take off, Okatsuka found herself struggling with unresolved trauma.

It wasn’t until years later, when she was invited by Ira Glass to discuss her story on This American Life, that she fully confronted the impact of being abruptly moved to the U.S. and separated from her father. The interview became a turning point. “Sometimes it takes a project for you to go, ‘Okay, I’m going to face that pain. I’m going to face that fear, and I’ll do it for the public.’” It forced her to sit with the memories, the missing pieces of her past, and the realization of just how much her father had suffered in her absence.

For Okatsuka, that process of self-discovery has been less about finding the perfect version of herself and more about eliminating the things that don’t belong. “I think the key to life is knowing who you’re not,” she says. “That is so important because you might wake up 10 years later and be like, ‘I am not a farmer, but here I am with a whole farm.’” 

She spent years trying to fit into spaces that didn’t feel right. But with time, comedy left her with the truth of who she actually is.

Okatsuka is currently on her “Full Grown Tour” – but beyond professional milestones, she says her greatest reward has been finding a sense of community by connecting with her audiences. “I started feeling like I finally belong.”

We interviewed Atsuko Okatsuka for Question Your Perception Box, a Big Think interview series created in partnership with Unlikely Collaborators. As a creative non-profit organization, they’re on a mission to help people challenge their perceptions and expand their thinking. Often that growth can start with just a single unlikely question that makes you rethink your convictions and adjust your vantage point. Watch Okatsuka’s full interview above, and visit Perception Box to see more in this series.

Words: Kaylee Frazee

ATSUKO OKATSUKA: I think the key to life is knowing who you're not.

That is so important because you might wake up 10 years later and be like, I am not a farmer. But here I am with a whole farm.

I'm Atsuko Okatsuka, and I'm a comedian.

In what aspect of your life do you feel not good enough? When is the first time you remember feeling that way?

I think I'm kind of finding that I'm more of a perfectionist than I thought. I used to be like, oh, I'm so chill. You know, and I am. But for me, it's always about knowing that there's always improvement.

I watch back every show that I do. I'm looking at my movements, seeing if I’ve started doing the joke slower or faster, or if I'm even enunciating a word differently. I'm always thinking there's room for improvement, especially with craft.

But then there's feeling not good enough as a person in general. The first time I felt that? I think I felt that multiple times in my life.

I had a unique upbringing where I wasn't just an immigrant. My mom has schizophrenia. And then my dad, who had full custody of me—my grandma lied to. My grandma kidnapped me from him. There were other things that made me feel like I was a bit of a freak.

And that kind of just repeats itself throughout life, I feel like, in different ways.

For example, when I first came to the States and was still learning English, I remember playing with these two girls. Another person came along and wanted to play with us. I said, "Yeah, you can play with we."

The two girls started laughing. "Haha, you mean 'us.'"

I remember kind of shutting down a little bit because I didn’t even know what the correct thing was. I just knew I was wrong. And I didn’t know how to fix it.

That’s kind of scary—feeling stuck.

Thinking back, maybe that's where my perfectionism comes from—wanting things to be just right, the way I present myself to people, even as a performer. I think maybe that comes from that moment.

I don’t want to feel that way again.

I think about this all the time with immigrant comedians. I’m not funny in Japanese or Mandarin. I got funny in the language I struggle with the most. The language I desperately wanted to use to connect with people.

Yeah. I think about it all the time.

Who are you still trying to please?

I am a big people pleaser. I think a lot of comedians are. But I’m a huge people pleaser.

My mom was really unpredictable growing up. So I was always like: Does this make you happy? Should I go away? Does that make you happy? Do you want me to listen to you talk? Does that make you happy? Should I talk? Does that make you happy?

Because of that, I never want people to feel disappointed, so I always say "yes."

And then, when I can’t deliver? It’s actually a bigger disappointment than if I had just said "no" in the first place. That’s something I’ve had to learn.

You can take time. Don’t answer anything based on emotion. Feel the emotion—oh, I feel bad if I say no. Oh, I feel guilty. I feel guilty if I say no.

Let that feeling pass, and then answer. You’ve already played out the guilty part. You’ve already felt it in your body. And after a few deep breaths, a little walk, it’ll be easier to say "no."

Or to respond in a way that actually serves you.

Where has pain served a purpose in your life?

My dad and I were separated for many years after my grandma brought me to the States abruptly, without telling us.

We reconnected. But we never really talked about what happened, how it made us feel. How were you feeling at the time? What were you going through? What was I going through?

We never talked about it.

Then Ira Glass from This American Life was like, "Do you want to do an episode about this possible kidnapping your grandma did?"

And I was like, yeah.

Because for me—and it's a sick thing—but sometimes it takes a project for you to go, okay, I’m gonna face that pain. I’m gonna face that fear. And I’ll do it for the public.

Confronting it was painful. It was really, really sad. There were chunks of the story missing, and I had just filled them in with my head.

[Speaker] "Right now, I'm almost about to cry a little. So basically, your grandma told me in a letter that you were really missing me. And that's when I think I knew you were in America."

It was very sad to hear how devastated my dad was, how lonely he was, how much he missed me, how he tried to see me again—things I didn’t know.

But it was also good. I think it healed a hole.

It’s sad. But it’s good.

And we can continue to love each other and really have a great relationship from now on.

What need inside yourself have you been neglecting? When did you start neglecting it and why?

I constantly struggle with trying to figure out if a need is truly my own—or if it’s a need I see other people having, so I try to copy them.

You hike? Oh, maybe I’m a hiker too. Oh, you see a therapist? Maybe I should see one.

It still goes back to trying to fit in. Feeling like I belong.

Strangely, I started feeling like I finally belonged—like I had a community—when I became more known as a comedian. I started sharing my feelings more.

My family raised me on mind tricks.

These mind tricks, you know? If you’re an immigrant or a child of immigrants, you might be able to relate.

I had been doing comedy already, but I never talked about my mom’s schizophrenia. I didn’t know how. I truly wish schizophrenia had a more approachable name.

Something like Splash Mountain.

You do all these things. You tiptoe around. You’re afraid to be the thing you actually are—because if you’re not accepted for who you actually are, then shoot.

That’s all you had.

So sometimes, you arrive at that last.

It’s weird.

I had to open myself up so much. I found comedy. I became an entertainer—just to finally feel like I belong.