Explore a gentle art therapy prompt designed to support trauma healing, emotional processing, and self-reflection. In this video, you'll create an "altar of suffering and joy" using therapeutic art to deepen self-awareness and reconnect with your creativity.

Art as therapy prompt for trauma healing
 

Written and filmed by Linda Lin, RCC RCAT

Sometimes we find ourselves visiting the altar of suffering more often than we visit the altar of joy and curiosity, when really, we get to choose which altar to walk toward.

Both altars are important to visit. The movement, weaving in and out of the altar of suffering and joy/curiosity, is what supports trauma healing.

In this video, we touch on:

✦ joyful art materials
✦ reflective questions when making art
✦ the art as therapy experience
✦ how to process with your artwork
✦ the importance of the 'milieu'
✦ trauma healing via creative expression
✦ the ETC: Expressive Therapies Continuum

This therapeutic art prompt may help you:
• process emotions
• practice self-compassion
• reconnect with your inner world
• hold grief and curiosity
• unblock creativity without needing to figure everything out
• heal perfectionism: making marks, releasing feelings in a safer way

So go grab your sketchbook, some found art materials, sit at a place of your choice and let's make some art for your wellness!

Important note: This would make an excellent creative prompt that don’t necessarily require you to draw/paint it. Feel free to visualize this through a meditation, build a metaphor or a sculpture, make a song or poem or dance…any creative way to bring this practice into your weeks ahead!

If you're curious about art as therapy for healing but aren't ready to begin 1:1 art therapy, Rooted in Ease is a self-paced, creative online course designed by an art therapist, Linda Lin 林诗云, and co-hosted with Leah's Fieldnotes 魏若然.

Through eight workshops, you'll explore art therapy–inspired prompts, somatic mindfulness practices, and reflective conversations to begin healing your relationship with money and ease money anxiety.

Hoping you make space to unleash that creative voice of yours into the world! ☆

Linda

For those who enjoy longer-form content to pair with my newsletters and blog posts, I launched a YouTube channel where I'll be talking through topics I'm exploring and sharing in a different format.

An Ethnography of Familial Love

Written and filmed by Linda Lin, RCC RCAT

This blog post reflects on the complexities of familial love. What it takes to address and heal intergenerational wounds. What if intergenerational work isn't learning to demand more, but learning to be with each other in ways that don't always come from a place of fear or suffering?

Figure 1. Black Dragon Pool / 黑龙潭, Lijiang, Yunnan 1960s

Back in March this year, I revisited Lijiang in Yunnan province, China. It's on the edge of the country that not many folks are aware of, next to the borders of Myanmar, Laos and Vietnam. I've been holding this trip close, wondering how to share intergenerational insights I gathered from my lineage who happens to be part of a well-known indigenous clan (aka. an ethnic minority).

I come from a family where the torch passed down through the past 4-5 generations has been one of peace-keeping, by not speaking up, or taking up too much space. They specialize in secret-keeping, zipping their lips on opinions, feelings and views. Which I always found difficult to understand.

It was my second time visiting. The first time, I promised my extended family I would do my best to bring my mom and sister back with me.

My mother left Lijiang before she turned 1, fleeing with her family from danger. She never returned until this year, nearly 65 years later. My sister, too, hadn't stepped foot in China for almost 20 years. So there was an unspoken pressure and hope among the relatives who had stayed that this homecoming would be a meaningful one.

They welcomed us with open arms, with more generosity and warmth we imagined. They made me feel like I belonged to this family and this lineage, even as so much of its history, language, and traditions remained unfamiliar to me…having born and grown up overseas. I couldn't help but feel like both an insider and an outsider despite their efforts.

I arrived with fresh eyes, like an ethnographer, eager to learn about the Naxi people (纳西族), my mom's ethnic minority/indigenous clan, and the stories and conditions that shaped our family.

What I found out about my family and their responses surprised me… in ways that were more complicated than I expected.

Figure 2. Me (Linda) in a modernized traditional Naxi outfit

Intergenerational grief and history

My uncle from Lijiang brought my sister and I to a courtyard of Lai family mansion which now belongs to the government. I noticed a weighted tension with each step. He shared that my great-grandfather once worked and lived with the family, as a doctor treating villagers, prominent and affluent, before everything changed in the late 50s. 

My family was exiled to a horse shed overnight. My great-great-grandmother was severely punished to death, after being turned in by a family member whose name we don't speak. They sold furniture and rugs for pennies. My grandmother sold tea eggs on the streets and was forcefully separated from my grandfather before fleeing with her children (one of them being my mom), teaching them to hold their tongues, because speaking up could mean fatal consequences.

It's been difficult to feel the full weight and messages of intergenerational grief: layers of confusion, lost dreams, autonomy, erasure, anger, sadness only show up in hues. To be frank, I can't predict when or if this kind of grief will ever be completely processed in the bloodline.

Figure 3. 4 generations of Lijiang family welcoming us

I was stunned to see 80+ close and distant relatives show up to welcome my sister, my mom, and I. They showered us with warmth, their time, the best food, stories of each home and sites tied to our lineage. Although all of them holds different politics, different worldviews, different ways of healing, they centered in on familial love. There was something beautiful in that: being in the diversity together rather than needing everyone to agree to a degree first. 

Money anxiety

I noticed a pattern that most of the family members have 'superstitions' or anxiety around money, either rarely bringing it up at all, or sharing the sentiment that they shouldn't ask for more to be able to live well. That whatever they get is what probably what's best for them. 

This showed up when they asked me what the current climate living outside of China is like – asking with fascination and curiosity. I could send that they wanted to share they'd like to also go on fun trips outside of their province or country and explore but would shut the fantasy/dream down before it could be a topic of interest.

There's this confusing, guilt-like feeling showing up: wondering if their efforts toward community-building, instead of voicing/chasing their raw hopes, were what allowed me to come back to Lijiang, to go on these trips, from a foreign place of privilege, distance, culture.

Looking to heal $ wounds in a self-paced, creative, online space? Check out Rooted in Ease! (8 workshops incorporating art as therapy prompts, somatic mindfulness practices, conversations to start healing $ anxiety)

Figure 4. A foreigner's insights on Lijiang, with mention of my family clan (this book was banned for 50 years)

It's both of this and the other

I was told there were 3,000+ descendants of my family lineage still living across Yunnan province. This is proof that despite everything that hurt them, they survived the best way they knew how. Hardship and commitment was the social glue holding thousands of people together across a province. 

It's moving and sometimes hard to believe that most of the lineage stayed loyal through peacekeeping, not to share too much: of the very good and the very bad. This familial bond, by circumstances none of them could control, if I'm honest in dissecting it, is both a blessing and a curse for their relationships.

The things that help with survival can later on come at a cost. My mother have always been a private person. She learned early that endurance, ducking her head down, focusing on education/work would get her the peace and security she needed to survive. I watched her grow into her adulthood rarely advocates for herself, asks for more, or deviating from that lane.  

I asked my mom more questions than she probably expected, really challenging her…

Questions like,

“What's your view on money?”
What do you think about your family here?"

Reconnecting after being nearly 65 years apart, her responses came short, like interviewing a stranger. At first that really frustrated me. I wanted to pry like Oprah in the 90s asking questions with a sense of expectation of a certain kind of charged response or gossip.

Figure 5. A Naxi prayer burial with Dongba script, the only hieroglyphic pictograph that is still in use in the world today. (Note from Linda: this is Indigenous resistance!)

Attachment of outcome = suffering

I realized that not getting the responses I expected and wanted is a form of suffering on my end. It illuminated just how much it can take to address hard things. I see things a bit differently now. Those short answers were her genuine reflections. It made more sense once I learned that before her identity as Naxi was treated as something to hide rather than celebrate and that her childhood was a difficult period to recall and process. I can understand why she never returned to Lijiang, and it's fortunate that she eventually did this time. 

I realized being an ethnographer means to go in with reflexivity, humility (which is straightforward to practice in my role as a therapist but extremely hard when it comes to my family), experiencing the subjective nature of learning one's cultural and generational experience, making room for both their childhood view of the world and the adult one, then translating these moments into insights. This practice and its embodied values are humbling to how I'm learning about my lineage and intergenerational healing.

What if intergenerational work isn't learning to demand more, but learning to be with each other in ways that don't always come from a place of fear or suffering? 

Transparency and sharing dreams still aren't natural to me…yet. I have been conditioned growing up to hold my tongue instead of speaking of my dreams and hopes, my inner most truest thoughts, of joy and of suffering, especially if it has to do with family. What's allowed have been topics that are socially acceptable, in the family and in the dominant culture, and only after I've already processed them privately. It's a niche, calculated kind of showing up.

What if we let familial love be honest in its unpredictability, confusing, messiness, instead of needing it to be certain? 

What if we trusted in ourselves that we could create boundaries and ways of relating that support us, without leaning on the family bond to hold everything, and trusted that doing so would be okay, not unsafe?

Art as therapy prompt: The altar of curiosity vs. the altar of suffering

[ I will be creating a video on making this art prompt very soon! Stay tuned! ]

(Important note: This would make an excellent creative prompt that don’t necessarily require you to draw/paint it. Feel free to visualize this through a meditation, build a metaphor or a sculpture, make a song or poem or dance…any creative way to bring this practice into your weeks ahead!)

A client of mine shared something that's stayed with me this month: that we may be visiting the altar of suffering more often than we visit the altar of joy and curiosity, when really, we get to choose which altar to walk toward. 

Choosing is available to us, again and again. Curiosity can be the new tool that carries the torch of healing generational trauma from a place of love, joy and wisdom.

I'd like to think that bringing my family together, listening to their stories they so humbly shared with me, and writing out what I am learning is how I'm beginning to break the cycle of suffering and into familial love and joy.

Let me know your thoughts if you’ve been dealing with the complexities of intergenerational family dynamics.

Until next time,

Linda

quick note: this blog post is not written by AI. The writing below features ideas and wisdom of artists, personal journalling and newsletter writing, curated to what a therapist feels the world is needing these days. 

from our newsletter, written by Linda Lin, RCC, CCC, RCAT

What does it take to feel our enough-ness these days?

Lately in therapy sessions, in conversations with friends and family, and while recording the self-directed workshop series in collab with @friendlybureau on healing money (made for children of immigrants and working-class folks), I keep sensing a common thread. That we’re all experiencing a quiet, complex grief, each in our own way.

And one symptom that festers is the feeling of being stuck on a hamster wheel of proving.

There’s this unrelenting pressure to stay urgent, distracted, productive. Proving to others, yes—but if I’m unbearably honest, we’re trying to prove to ourselves that we’re enough.

My nervous system is so often on edge, caught in a cycle of not being there for myself enough—not resting enough, not reaching out enough, not building the right kind of structure. Always chasing a version of 'enough' that was never mine to begin with. These 'enoughs' don’t align with the values I want to bring into the world, or with what truly matters to me.

But when I slow down even just a bit, I become increasingly curious:
Do we know what our enough is?

Has it been named, clarified, or felt?

If we don’t know what enough is—how can we feel the enough?

When is enough... enough?
What even is ‘enough’?

Is the ‘enough’ we’re chasing actually important to us?

The attention economy: colonization of the mind

 It’s becoming harder to tell the difference between what we actually need and what the internet insists we should do.

Like taping my mouth shut so I don’t mouth breathe at night. Or doing facial yoga because I’ve been told my smile lines are deepening.

Each effort, well-intentioned, chips away at my energy: time feels tighter to the point where I want to hide in a dark cave, just to escape from all the noise.

Because there’s no actual importance, softness, appreciation of my life energy.

And that’s not even the life I want.

What if we could see that our body is trying its best—working so hard to meet the demands of the culture we live in?

Gentle reminders for you and me

 When we disconnect from our dreams, from presence—that’s a signal that we’re drifting from our body, our vitality, our aliveness.

Starting is enough.
Connecting our mind and body to witness how we react to the instability, unsustainable practices from these uncertain times, is enough. Like paying attention to our breath, we don’t have to change anything.

I believe that our bodies know deep down what doesn't matter to us and what actually matters.

What matters could be being witnessed, cared for, getting recognition or loved by those we hold close.

Maybe what matters is being of service because that is what heals us too.

Living with meaning, with pleasure, or with living dreams!

What if our collective aliveness is already in you—beneath the noise, quietly patiently waiting for you? 

When we confront the truth that we’re not here forever, something softens.

What if you are not existing and came all the way here to be excellent, but simply to connect?
To try.
To show up just as you are.
To bring something that matters to your soul.
To reach for life.

 
And as you find your way through all the noise...
you discover that you’re still enough.

 And that enoughness doesn’t define you either.

notes by Linda Lin, RCC, CCC, RCAT

Q: “How are you doing things differently than what you were taught in grad school?”

Therapy is political.
I can’t separate therapy from social justice anymore: if one group is not free, all of us aren’t free. True freedom cannot exist in a society where some groups face oppression, discrimination, or limited rights.

Liberation-based healing
…is hard to reframe and unlearn. The language in which I initially type out from thoughts are wired from years of indoctrinated academia from psychology where it centers on people’s struggles, suffering, pain points, deeply rooted in colonization, pathologizing and problem-solving, rather than recognizing systemic oppression or honouring the wisdom and agency people already have and need from community and care.

Re-indigenizing.
I am slowly digesting that most of what I learned in grad school about the field of psychology is deeply appropriated from Indigenous, Eastern, African ancestral practices…eg. maslow’s hierarchy of needs (Blackfoot people) (Yoga: India, commodified into a fitness trend; focusing mainly on physical postures (asanas) without the spiritual or philosophical teaching that are core to its practice; EFT (chinese acupuncture); Mindfulness based cognitive therapy: and Mindfulness-based stress reduction draw from Zen Buddhism and Vipassana meditation; ACT: eastern practices: buddhist philosophy, mindfulness and acceptance; Somatic therapies: Indigenous healing traditions- body-mind connections; peter levine even discusses spending extensive time in Africa, pulling from some areas of chinese medicine)

I think of harm and repair differently.
Rooting in anti-carceral practices and harm-reduction approaches when it comes to supporting those who need immediate care and oversurveilled groups: seeking alternatives (community-based) interventions, pod mapping, Grassroots organizations/resources, care planning collaborating with folks I work with and their loved ones are involved instead of involving authorities to reduce retraumatization and systemic harm; ongoing informed consent and advocating; support after reporting/note taking, ethical reflection through the intersectional pieces at play: critical examination of our role as the ‘mandated reporter’ within systems of power and control.

On repair.
Healing also includes addressing the harm caused to clients. Academia/grad programs don’t teach us how to repair in ways where we address the systems that affect us; where we stay in the middle with folks: to stay in connection, and birth a new cycle that isn’t violent. This is different from fixing/solving; it’s a deep embodying of the impact from institutional systems that exist, races and identities, kin based violence have harmed us.

Q: “How is being a therapist at this point in time different from what has come before?”

Saying no to ‘therapy hats’.
I’ve realized there’s no such thing as a ‘therapist hat.’ I no longer wear multiple ‘hats’ to separate my roles in and out of the therapy room. This shift has helped me show up authentically—both with my clients and my loved ones. It’s also allowed me to align with my living ethics, ensuring the work I do feels liberating rather than stifling or oppressive.

Professionalism vs. Competence is ever-changing in online therapy.
The landscape of online therapy is constantly evolving, especially when balancing professionalism and competence:

• Professionalism involves adherence to ethical guidelines, maintaining boundaries, and presenting oneself in ways that foster trust and credibility in a therapeutic context.

• Competence focuses on a therapist's ability to effectively address clients’ diverse needs, requiring ongoing professional development, recognizing limitations, and seeking supervision when necessary.

In my practice, transparency is key. I focus on supporting underrepresented groups through community care, addressing systemic issues in the therapy field like policing and mandated reporting. Guided by ethics and social justice, I try my best through a harm reduction approach to ensure therapy is effective and rooted in care and connection.

Transparency and shared identities and values in the therapy room.
Therapy isn’t neutral. Many clients value transparency to ensure their therapist’s values and identity align with their own. It’s not just about visible traits—for instance, I’m a fair-skinned, medium-sized East Asian, able-bodied, and femme-presenting individual. Beyond these, I am a first-generation immigrant, born in this city with Mandarin as my first language, neurodivergent, living with complex PTSD, vegan, and demisexual. When seeking out my own therapist, I prioritize someone who “gets it,” who doesn’t just validate but can advocate for me, and is committed to creating a better world for all of us.

Therapy lingo has become less stigmatized, but weaponized.
The normalization of therapy language in daily life is a sign of progress in reducing mental health stigma; however increased use of therapy language comes with unintended consequences like how people may misuse therapy terms to control in conflicts or undermine others, making emotionally manipulative statements sound like legitimate boundaries or justifying hurtful behaviour as “self-care.”

Weaponized therapy language can obscure personal accountability. Phrases like "that's my boundary" or "you're projecting" can shut down meaningful dialogue, potentially preventing resolution or deeper understanding and curiosity for connection and repair.

Rationalizing is not as needed bc the culture does that enough: rational processing vs. Feeling processing; going back to listening to our body and embodying values, hope, change is what I see many of us needing right now.

Recent shifts in social justice and Empathy

Over the past 5 years, we’ve witnessed climate change crises, movements like #MeToo, Black Lives Matter, the Covid-19 pandemic, and the surge in fat liberation and HAES. We’ve seen the impact of systemic issues like greed, environmental justice, and the dark history behind Indigenous communities. From Roe v. Wade to the exposure of the entertainment industry complex, these events have sparked empathy. However, true solidarity requires more than just words—it's about living ethics through actions, not just blackout posts. I hope the therapy field can move towards one that actually protects us and keeps us safe.

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