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

In my previous blog post on generational diaspora, I mentioned I was visiting my mother’s homeland, China, for the first time in over a decade! It took me a few weeks to sit with this journey before writing about it.

This trip involved much more emotional processing than rational processing. Feeling our emotions in this way can be challenging, and from my experience in the therapy room, it often only comes after we’ve built enough trauma-informed language and awareness.

What’s the difference? Rational processing is structured and analytical, focused on collecting information and making critical deductions about what happened. Feeling processing, however, is experiential—it’s about listening to and working with what comes up, viscerally. It’s when we start noticing signs that have been there all along: sensations in our breath, a gnawing in our gut, the energy we pick up, and a pull toward creating new, supportive cycles for our body.

Feeling lost? I was—and probably still am. Words didn't come easily to describe this deeply sensory experience. Here are some emerging themes as I sat on the images I created from my trip:

Chapter 1: The play.

The impacts of historical imperial violence are complex, and when passed down through ancestral lineage, it lands differently from person-to-person in different points in their lives…yet they feel familiar. 

As a Chinese person born outside of China, I found it challenging to fully embody the audience's cultural resistance. This surprised me, considering I feel deeply in other spaces. It prompted me to reflect on what I may have internalized from the West—and how numb I must've felt during the play. This numbness might hint at open wounds, unprocessed grief, and the overwhelming sensation of feeling too much without a concrete anchor for my intersecting identities.

To all the children of immigrants navigating multiple cultures and facing relational tensions due to generational cultural gaps—how are you all holding up?

Everything is political - including my identity.

Identity conflicts have felt especially confusing throughout the trip. The harbouring of internalized sinophobia stemming from Western political narratives about China feels practically acceptable in today’s world (& with elections in the atmosphere). Unfortunately and to no surprise, I encountered a lack of engagement and curiosity about my trip from some friends. 

These encounters have prompted me to reflect deeply on my own journey with internalized sinophobia. Internalized racism functions as a product of unresolved trauma—a cycle of harm and violence rooted in politically engineered oppression.

The layers of kin-based harm and wounds of what could’ve been.

So I found out from my trip that my partner’s extended family members love each other, like sincerely. It's like the kind of love bell hooks talked about in her book, all about love. The kind of love with all 7 components: care, affection, recognition, respect, commitment, and trust, honesty and open communication. They've got a 75-person WeChat group, more than half of the group located in the city dine together every weekend and near 90-year-olds would keep the vibrant energy by playing mahjong into the early hours. They welcomed us with open arms, unconditional warmth and support. 

A few days later, I visited my mother’s side in a different province after 20 years and I was struck by anxiety and generational cycles playing out before me. I gave myself permission to bawl, allowing space to grapple with parts of myself that felt wronged by the stark contrasts in family dynamics and kinship.

It began to dawn on me that the heart of emotional processing wasn’t just about healing; it is about connection. 

Connection and care for the younger versions of myself, connection to parts of my culture and identity I want to keep discovering, and connection to kin who, in their imperfect ways, still attempt to show up for each other.

Be sure to sign up to our newsletter, Creative Ponders, where we share tidbits from our therapists, art prompts + new updates on offerings, delivered directly to your inbox!

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

I’ll be out of the office this month as I embark on a trip to my mother's motherland, China. While I’d love to call it my own motherland, it doesn’t quite feel like that yet.

The definition of "motherland" is "the country of one's birth or origin, often with an emotional or cultural connection." For me, the emotional bond isn’t as deep as I wish it were, and I often wonder if my experiences could be called diasporic, since I wasn’t born there, nor do I speak in their exact tonality, regional dialect, or use their proverbs and slang. I have a feeling this trip will give me an opportunity to explore and hopefully build that connection to my generational diaspora.

If someone were to ask me, "What does generational diaspora feel like?"

What's coming up for me is:
• It feels more like a journey when I visit than a vacation or a break.
• Even though I can speak the language, it's still considered foreign.
• Even though I want to feel connected to the people and my extended family, it still feels foreign.
• Missing kinship: Is there anyone here who truly gets me?
• To be honest, there’s general anxiety with every interaction: What if I feel let down by my race? What if I don’t fully understand their tonality and intentions? Do I really know the culture if I haven’t spent time here?
• Because separation from the land is such a complex struggle: Can it even be called diaspora when I was born elsewhere?

Interestingly, 'motherland' can also mean a place with significant ancestral importance, even if it’s not where you were born. In that sense, I hope to find a deeper connection to my roots during this journey.

Realistically, two weeks may not be enough to fully connect with deep ancestral wisdom or break generational cycles. However, I hope this trip will serve as a catalyst, helping me reflect on decolonization and immerse myself in processing aspects of my generational diaspora.

A creative practice I will be tapping into during my trip as someone who is processing aspects of my generational diaspora…

I recognize that, as a child of “immigrants,” my parents didn’t relocate by choice but out of necessity. Displacement and forced migration are central to how their story unfolded. I know this will show up in my body as I engage with the spaces I visit.

Whenever I have the capacity to recognize an embodied generational and historical wound coming up, I will be choosing to breathe into it as a practice. This means not trying to change it and practicing curiosity about this feeling.

When I visit places or have conversations with extended family and locals, I’ll pause and tune into how my body feels. These sensations—whether they evoke belonging, disconnection, yearning, or unease—will be important to notice.

I plan to translate these sensations into intuitive sketches, abstract drawings, or simple colour fields in my journal as a form of documentation (art as therapy if you will because I know that art is healing) in the next blog post. Weaving together the past and present will help me process my feelings around belonging and displacement.

Be sure to sign up to our newsletter, Creative Ponders, where we share tidbits from our therapists, art prompts + new updates on offerings, delivered directly to your inbox!

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

There can be a lot of complexity in our healing process. I’ve been reflecting on the question, how do I recognize I’m healing? What are markers that I am healing? Read below for some reflections from a human who thinks about healing for a living ↓

Transcript from the images above (and a few additional points because I like giving a little extra):

There can be a lot of complexity in our healing process. I’ve been reflecting on the question, how do I recognize I’m healing? What are markers that I am healing?

Here’s a case study:

I'm highly skilled at managing crises (even when no one asks), and when I feel overwhelmed, my version of spiraling or losing control manifests as hyper-independence and trying to help others regulate—sometimes to no avail.

Markers of Healing:

• Asking for help

• Being less tolerant of situations or people that overwhelm me

• Building awareness of where my disappointment and rage come from

When I'm conscious of my capacity and focus on regulating myself rather than others, I can communicate more clearly about what's bothering me and how others can support me.

Healing looks really different from person to person. Markers can feel like I’m able to release something that I was bound to or restricted by. It feels expansive, courageous, a wrecking ball and other times, subtle, uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and awkward in our bodies. 

Here are a few maybe more obvious, yet challenging, signs of healing:

• Differentiating between your present adult self and the past self who experienced those events, recognizing that what happened is no longer happening to you.

• Recognizing trauma responses for what they are instead of internalizing them as shame or disconnecting from your body and your experiences.

• Having a clearer point of reference for safety, security, and trust in relationships. You start to understand what these things look and feel like.

• Accepting that you don’t always have to be right, perfect, or efficient. “Good enough” becomes an option, and rather than striving to be the best, you choose to relax more often.

• When you no longer feel the urge to mentally craft a resignation letter every time you walk into work, and you’re actively using your extended health benefits to support your wellness.
  

And a few maybe less obvious signs of healing:

• Noticing the contradictions of thoughts that sound like internalized messages of professionalism, perfectionism, or ableism. They are probably there to try to make sure you feel accepted by others. They are protector parts and are not needed as much when you are healing creatively.

• Similar to the one above, you are making space to nurture the protective parts that have developed when you were wounding. For example instead of trying to let go/get rid of comparing your body with others, you notice that your worries of whether you can fit in and are accepted comes from internalized messages from generations of diet culture, sizeism, and patriarchy you are still struggling with. If these systems are STILL THERE, these thoughts will STILL EXIST.

• Learning from the points above, you are noticing that if you are wanting single solutions for single issues, it doesn’t work. 

• In relationships, instead of usual avoidant responses in your relationships, you might start experimenting with other types of responses, then see yourself shifting how you respond altogether. These changes don’t always look like healing, but your voice becomes clearer, and you have a growing awareness of different perspectives and more space to reflect.

• You are no longer needing to heal your grief and wounds. That movement and growth in healing doesn’t always look like ‘recovery’ or getting to a new destination at all. Sometimes it looks more like awareness, understanding/forgivingness/holding space, grieving, weaving in and out and playing with familiar patterns with non-familiar ones. 

• You are recognizing when we are dysregulated, it isn’t about the present moment, and the goal isn't just to calm your nervous system. It’s about finding relief and reclaiming your sense of agency and power. It's about rediscovering who you truly are: deserving, capable, and powerful.

• You are choosing to experience and embody joy, creativity, connection as a way to liberate ourselves from the dumpster fire of this world.
  

TLDR;

How can we recognize markers of healing? (some main elements)

…when you’re able to claim your sense of agency and power

…when you can see more perspectives, a slow expansion from tunnel vision

…when you can differentiate what is present from an emotional flashback from the past

…healing can look like shifting from self-protection to self-awareness and a non-linear view on healing altogether

Be sure to sign up to our newsletter, Creative Ponders, where we share tidbits from our therapists, art prompts + new updates on offerings, delivered directly to your inbox!

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

Maybe you can tell by now that 'dreamy nostalgia' is a core element of our therapy practice's identity. Lately, I've been exploring playfulness and cuteness not just as a look or an aesthetic, but as forms of resistance, rebellion, love, and radicalism.

Below are some reflections I put together!

The power of cute has not been explored enough.

In my search, I found it to be so odd that most articles that researched on cuteness were critiques of cuteness: infantilization, magical thinking, fetishization, being in denial as an adult, or packaged as simpler times.

Note: to be fair, I only searched the internet in the english language...

When I think about cuteness, it aligns with the most resilient parts of my current adult self and the purest parts of the younger versions of myself.

Cuteness is a point where I get to come closer to my personal interests without shame and embarrassment, liberating parts of me without oppressive restrictions like age-limit, how to dress or act or what’s appropriate or legit/professional.

Here are 4 thoughts on cuteness as resistance that can light us up:

1. cuteness as camoflauge:

when talking about serious topics like historical trauma, racism, or transphobia...

cuteness aids in politicizing conversations and reflections in a digestable, resonating and nostalgic way.

Cuteness helps us critique, question, reflect how we've been socialized, while mixing in elements of play.

2. cuteness is kitsch:

Kitsch is a German word for ‘worthless trashy art’, critiquing the quality of the art

Cuteness is our mark on decolonizing what art can be instead of art ‘should be’. It challenges the traditional ‘fine’ arts, dismantle and unarm systemic rules.

Cuteness helps folks tap in the power of making ‘bad art’.

Who knew that a sense of playfulness and absurdity can help realign my creative practice for pleasure and expression as a fundamental human right.

3. in postmodernism:

Cuteness helps me dream of a reality that makes sense.

Because a world that’s a dumpster fire isn’t cute and not going to cut it.

It helps me sustain optimism and conduct small acts of resistance through orienting to the playful parts of life and imagination.

4. Cuteness as relief

Cuteness charges our energy in the realm of healing.

Cuteness inspires us to connect with the softness, gentleness, kindness, loveliness which embodies safe moments so we don’t disconnect from the heaviness of everyday struggles.

It's probably why corporate workers love cute animal videos and memes to get through the day.

Resources that inspired my research:

• Cute affectivism: radical uses of the cuteness affect among activists and artists by Ingeborg Hasselgren

• @umeboi's tiktoks and reflections on kitsch in contemporary art and cuteness