Community Blog Archives – Page 2 of 3 – Asian Mental Health Collective

Tell us about the listening sessions and support groups that AMHC offers. What are these programs and how can people sign up as participants?

Ryan: The listening sessions were a one-on-one peer support initiative that have transitioned to the current professional-led community support groups. Every month we start a new 8-week group with various topics led by Asian licensed mental health professionals to provide a space to connect with and seek support from other group members. We advertise these sessions on our social media channels (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter), so look out for them to register! The team is also looking into different peer counseling models to ensure we keep to professional guidelines, so we could still have something one-on-one in future that is similar to our listening sessions.

Amanda: Previously, AMHC used to offer one-on-one support to anyone requesting a listening session. However, in order to reach more folks, it was transitioned to a support group style. People can sign up as participants by checking on AMHC’s FB page, IG stories, or Twitter to find the link to join support groups. Currently the one I am helping to facilitate is open to all, so don’t hesitate to sign up!

What is your role on the listeners team? What have you learned from your experience?

Ryan: I help to coordinate the support groups and have had the chance to be a cofacilitator with Dr. Sean Cheng for one of the very first groups we started. As a trainee in the mental health field, the experience prompted me to think about and refine my own facilitating style, as well as how to moderate conversations that members bring up. I also learned that there is power and comfort in community.

Amanda: My role on the listeners team now is being a co-facilitator to assist Dr. Smith, a licensed clinical psychologist, moderate the support group. I have learned how to pay greater attention to bodily cues, facial expressions, tone of voice, and many other aspects because as a facilitator, it is important to notice how others are reacting to vulnerable, possibly triggering experiences being shared.

What’s the most rewarding part about volunteering for these support programs?

Ryan: It would be hearing from group members how thankful they feel to have these spaces where they can share, feel validated and not have to explain themselves as other members typically have common experiences as Asian/Asian Americans. This tells me that we’re doing something right and folks are benefitting from these groups!

Amanda: The most rewarding part about volunteering for these support programs is meeting people from all walks of life. It reminds me that outside of the bubble of my life, there are others with similar and different experiences than me. I continue to develop a more open, unassuming mind.

In honor of Asian/API Heritage Month and Mental Health Awareness Month, AMHC hosted a special WAVES virtual roundtable discussion featuring members of the Asian community whose stories often go unheard.  The event also included a mindfulness break, a panel discussion on self care, community support, professional support, and an opportunity for participants to have intimate conversations around supporting their mental health.

“What we learn when we gather in spaces like this, is that not only are we not alone, but we are cared for and there is power in sharing our stories that we’ve been carrying as unwanted baggage. Once we open up our experiences and share them and explore their contents, we create a new story because we see how strong those experiences have actually made us.” – Ryan Alexander Holmes, Actor

AMHC provides many resources and programs to support Asians in every stage of their mental health journeys. One of these programs is WAVES, a series of events such as roundtables, guest speaker panels, and other meetups that foster connection and awareness of mental health in the Asian community. The main goal of WAVES is to create a sense of community and a safe space for the Asian community to discuss their mental health.

Learn more about WAVES from two of our amazing team members, Christian De Luna and Vivian Duong.

Q. How did WAVES get its start? What does WAVES do?

Christian: WAVES was co-founded in New York City in Summer 2018 by Eric Pai and myself. We wanted to create an informal space where folks could come talk about any topic—all without the inherent stigma that mental health entails. We envisioned a community where folks could walk into a room and know that everyone else “knows” and has been through their own journeys and struggles.

Vivian: WAVES was founded by Christian de Luna and Eric Pai. We hold community events to discuss our collective Asian experience and its impact on mental health.

Q. What do you love the most about working on the WAVES team at AMHC?

Christian: There are so many people who want to help our community. It’s been amazing to see the volunteerism put forth by all members of our team. I’ve met so many great folks (digitally for many), but I feel like I’ve known them forever at this point.

Vivian: What I love about WAVES is that we aim to bring the community together to have crucial, collective conversations on mental well-being. It’s fun — being able to connect, learn, and explore different perspectives from folks of different backgrounds. No mental health journey is entirely the same.

Q. What have you learned about Asian mental health as a WAVES member?

Christian: Asian is a monolithic term used to describe a broad swatch of cultures and ethnicities. There are so many nuances that each Asian person brings to the table based on their identities and upbringings, all factoring into their individual mental health. Mental health is not a one-size fits all matter, and being able to make the space more contextual and personable is really exciting work. I can’t wait to see where the road leads from here.

Vivian: Mental health is not linear. It is not always consistent. Some days, the tides are high, other days, they are low. Sometimes, they can be sporadic and chaotic like a raging storm. Maintaining your mental health isn’t always easy. However, you do not need to go through the mental health WAVES alone.

“Where do you come from?” This is the question Nina Jusuf regularly opens her sexual assault trainings with. Jusuf frames her training as a conversation, first delving into the history and culture of the individual, to truly understand the background and upbringing of the group she is training. She then continues by starting a conversation about sexual health and one’s sexuality, breaking down the barriers and stigma that comes with talking about one’s body. Jusuf‘s trainings not only educate on topics around sexual assault, but also allows for exploration of one’s identity and values. With a career that spans from volunteer work to directorship, Nina Jusuf has always taken a stand to help the Asian community expand discussions about sexual assault and domestic violence.

Nina Jusuf started her career in domestic violence and sexual assault as a volunteer through a hotline. She then transitioned into working as a shelter advocate, before serving as executive director of San Francisco Women Against Rape. In 2010, Jusuf met Mira Yusef, the executive director of Monsoon Asians and Pacific Islanders in Solidarity, and the two combined their efforts to form National Organization for Asian and Pacific Islanders Ending Sexual Violence (NAPIESV). Now, NAPIESV provides training and technical assistance regarding sexual assault issues for organizations serving the Asian community all across the world.

During our interview, Jusuf continually emphasized the importance of the intersectionality between one’s sexuality and their culture, immigration status, as well as economic status. Regarding the Asian community, culture and tradition play a big role in one’s views towards sexuality and sexual assault. Topics of sexuality and assault are taboo and there are many values about “saving face” ingrained into many of their upbringings . There may also not be specific words or terms in certain cultures that describe the sexual violence that occured.

“Part of the culture is not to report assault or bring shame to the family,” Jusuf added. From a young age, most children are taught to respect and listen to their elders, a virtue also known as filial piety. Jusuf says that this filial piety may have some ties to Asians and the prevalence of sexual violence. A seemingly innocent demand like, “Come sit on my lap” from an adult in the family could have future consequences if children are not typically able to say no and have not learned the concept of consent. Although there are aspects of “saving face” and “not reporting” in other cultures, internalization of these cultural values is also a reason it is more prominent in Asian culture. Current sexual violence discourse is not inclusive enough for the Asian community. Being able to understand the subtleties of Asian culture and tying that in to helping sexual assault victims is NAPIESV’s main objective.

An important aspect of NAPIESV training, is the emphasis on cultural diversity and tailoring the conversation and approach to match the individual’s background. NAPIESV collaborates with many organizations to further the cultural aspect of treatment. An example of this is how the New Mexico Asian Family Center approaches the start of a conversation about sexual assault by having a “rest circle” or “tea time” gathering. This allowed for a sense of familiarity and comfort, especially before a conversation that could contain uncomfortable topics and potential triggers. Jusuf also described an example of a grief exercise, where she pointed out that “the Chinese believe grief is stored in our lungs, which results in our chest feeling heavy.” During her exercise, she would bring in Chinese beliefs and exercises, like tai chi, to adapt for the individuals in that demographic. Jusuf mentioned that one’s body manifests our emotions in other physical symptoms and she tries to find ways to release those emotions.

Jusuf ended the interview by speaking about ways to create a supportive community for survivors. She highlighted the significance of “collective strength” and creating a safe space not only to share about sexual violence, but to share life experience and a sense of community. “The first step is to listen,” Jusuf explained. The main goal for sexual violence survivors is healing and to be able to describe what happened to them. Healing has no particular timeline and being able to adapt to each person’s healing journey is crucial. “Be comfortable with sitting in silence and being patient with them. Become a friend and walk with them in their healing journey,” Jusuf said.

LINKS TO ORGS:

https://napiesv.org/our-story/

https://sfwar.org/

https://monsooniowa.org/

https://nmafc.org/home/

** We would like to extend our gratitude to Ms. Nina Jusuf for participating in this interview and allowing our organization to highlight the amazing work NAPIESV is doing for the Asian community.

Volunteer Spotlight

This month, we’re highlighting Subtle Asian Mental Health (SAMH)—the amazing Facebook community that gave AMHC its start! With more than 58,000 members and growing every day, SAMH reaches members of the Asian Diaspora across the globe and connects them to mental health resources and a large community of support. The SAMH moderation team is volunteer led by Asians with diverse mental health interests and backgrounds.

Meet Our Moderation Team: Austin Saephan and Lillian Nguyen

What do you love about the SAMH community?

Austin Saephan: One thing I really love about the SAMH community is how passionate the community is about mental health and all that relates to it. Whether they are having thoughtful discussions or sharing wholesome memes, the community continues to collectively support and share each of their stories with one another. Reading through and interacting with each submitted post, I can feel the passion and sincerity of each member. All in all, I continue to learn and feel inspired everyday by the SAMH community.

Lillian Nguyen: I love that there is always a member who is there to give support when someone is in need, especially during times like this when the community has helped each other with emotions of loss, frustration, and anger. There are plenty of resources available to members, whether it’s through the collective or events offered by members of the community.

What have you learned about mental health by being a moderator?

Austin Saephan: During my time as a moderator, I have found myself continually amazed by how diverse yet similar mental health is across everyone’s own lived experiences. While most members do identify as Asian, each member still embodies their own unique backgrounds filled with their beliefs, opinions, and thoughts. Despite the community’s spiritual, political, and even geographical differences, there are still so many common threads across each individual’s mental health story.

Lillian Nguyen: When members discuss their similar experiences of trauma, I have learned that mental health can manifest differently at various timeframes . Mental health is something difficult to work through, yet there is humor found in the shared experiences through memes.

Why is Asian mental health important to you?

Austin Saephan: As an Iu-Mien American, Asian mental health is a very personal passion of mine. Living through and recovering from my own mental health concerns, I recognize the intersection between being Asian and the stigma behind mental health. My own culture and familial ties ultimately shaped my path to understand and eventually heal my own mental health. Using my lived experiences, I hope to continue to work towards as well as empower other like-minded folks to destigmatize Asian mental health for all.

Lillian Nguyen: Asian mental health is important to me because there is a lack of resources for the Asian community in terms of getting information on mental health and finding providers. There is a generation gap in the understanding of what mental health is and how to help. In the Asian community it is seen as a stigma, but this shouldn’t be the case. I want mental health to be seen as an illness that shouldn’t be hidden or something to power through.

By: Tina Tran and Lisa Cheng

The month of March brings AMHC to highlight standout volunteers in our community, Alex San Diego and Elisha-Rio Apilado, and their lived experiences as women and with imposter syndrome.

What is your experience with “imposter syndrome”? As a woman, how do you feel like your identity impacts your experience?

ALEX SAN DIEGO:

I first sought out help for imposter syndrome right before I started grad school, but I think I’ve suffered from it for a long time. I used to think I had imposter syndrome simply because of the environment I was in — grad school, working on a marketing team with zero marketing/business-related education combined with the usual symptoms of anxiety and depression — mainly low self-esteem and overthinking. I then started reading about the relationship between imposter syndrome and being an Asian woman, and learned that “when you experience systemic oppression or are directly or indirectly told your whole life that you are less-than or undeserving of success and you begin to achieve things in a way that goes against a long-standing narrative in the mind, imposter syndrome will occur.” So now, whenever I start to doubt myself, I remind myself of all the work I’ve done to get to where I am and that this sneaking voice in my head is actually the voice of the oppressive systems around me.

ELISHA-RIO APILADO:

Imposter syndrome hit me in my early 20s, fresh out of college. I received my Bachelor in Fine Arts and was headed into the advertising world. I saw what other graphic designers and illustrators created in my field and constantly doubted that my work would be any good to make it onto a billboard or a TV spot. But this also pushed me to work harder and fine-tune my skills. The doubt that came with having some symptoms of “imposter syndrome” eventually became the fuel to the fire. I had to keep working hard, not to prove to others, but to prove that I could be the best version of “good enough” that only I saw myself as, not what others tried to do.

As a woman, especially at that time, a young woman of color in such a male-dominated field, I would be talked down to, not allowed much say in brainstorm meetings, or cut off. Often, being an Asian American woman is seen as submissive and non-confrontational. It took me a while to build up the confidence and strength to stand up for myself and speak up.

Growing up as a Filipina-American, I was always told to follow the rules and never question any authority figure or older person. However, I realized I am just as qualified to be a part of the industry as any other person regardless of our racial identity or age. I needed to see them as my peers and teammates, not people I had to follow directions from.

Have you ever overlooked your goals and your successes because you felt like you didn’t deserve them?

ALEX SAN DIEGO:

Absolutely. In my first full-time job in marketing, I accepted a salary much lower than what I actually deserved because I felt lucky just to be offered the position.

Even now, when I’m completely aware of imposter syndrome and what causes it, there are times where I worry that people will “find out” I’m not everything that they “think” I am.

ELISHA-RIO APILADO:

I think the only time I felt this way was when I was in high school, and unfortunately, being belittled by an immediate family member. Being the only child in my family born in the States with much more opportunities, my share of school and work successes were dismissed and deemed unimportant by some family members.

Unfortunately, family can become a factor in the way you view yourself as an individual. Individualistic and collectivistic values are still something I constantly find myself battling to this day, in my 30s. It took me a close group of friends and some time isolating myself from toxic family relationships to recognize my worth, and the hard work I put into my accomplishments were, in fact, things that I deserved for myself.

What would you say to someone who is experiencing imposter syndrome?

ALEX SAN DIEGO:

Your failures don’t make you who you are. Your successes do not make you who you are.

What makes you who you are is how you treat yourself plus how you treat the world and people around you.

When your feelings of being an “imposter” start to cave in, focus on the facts not how you feel.

The facts are, that despite the odds that were against you, you were able to become the person you are today. You made it this far.

That’s more valuable than any degree, job, or award out there. Don’t diminish yourself and take up space. Be proud of what it took for you to get to wherever you are today.

ELISHA:

I would say that it is a part of the journey. It’s that uncomfortable part of life we all go through, but we always get through in the end. It’s also something that can come in and out of your life and hit you the most when things are going sour, or life is just not being fair to you. However, you have to remember your inner strength and develop the coping skills to bring you back up from the deep waters. This could involve finding a tribe of friends who are the best support system for you or finding quotes online that resonate with you and provide a reminder for you to keep going.

The art piece I created started off with a metaphor I always hear around the Filipino community:

Bamboo grass is stronger than trees, they say. During a storm, trees can be pulled out of the ground due to strong gusts of wind because they are stiff. While bamboo grass goes with the flow of wind that keeps them grounded. This is a story of resilience. Filipinos tend to be resilient and strong even in times of calamities. Filipinos are able to remain standing even after a huge storm, just like bamboo grass.

I wanted to use this metaphor but twist it similar to the way bamboo gets broken down, frayed, gnawed at, and exhausted. I identify strongly with my Filipino roots, but it took a while to get here because of how I was forced to assimilate to the American culture. Reflecting on my life thus far had me thinking of all the times I was oppressed, discriminated against, and bullied for being a woman of color and especially being Asian.

This bamboo grass symbolizes my experience of oppression. It tries to stand tall and resilient like how our parents raised us, but it has been bandaged, with pieces falling off, and leaves dying. The colors have faded, and the sticks are slowly fading from bright green to brown because of exhaustion from carrying weight, anger, frustration, and sadness from the hatred by others just because it looks different. My symbols for female, Philippines, and United States are on the sides, frayed and falling apart. These have been the prominent labels of my identity I’ve received a lot of grief over. But although this bamboo is falling apart and losing color, it is still standing tall – representing my will to continue fighting and standing up for myself in hostile environments.

About the Authors

Tina was born and raised in Anaheim, California along with her brother and 4 dogs. She graduated from UC Riverside in 2020 and am currently working as a medical assistant. She is an aspiring physician assistant and hopes to serve low-income populations in need. A fun fact about her is she was also crowned Miss Vietnam of Southern California in 2020. She is proud to have grown up around strong, independent women who have inspired her to work hard towards my goals.

Lisa is a first generation Chinese-American based out of Chicago, Illinois. At AMHC, Lisa serves as the Director of Human Resources. Inspired by community organizers, Lisa is especially passionate about addressing structural and systemic change. She is dedicated to addressing mental health in a grassroots, community-first manner. Lisa’s personal mission is “to do good,” and this led her to study for her Master’s of Social Work at the University of Chicago. As someone who sees a therapist every week, Lisa aims to help destigmatize mental health in the Asian community by normalizing therapy and conversations about mental health

By: Tina Tran and Lisa Cheng

The month of March brings us to highlight important Asian women in our community Asian women activists, Asian women advocates, and last but certainly not least, Asian women social workers. The Asian Mental Health Collective is honored to feature Jacklyn Tyson, Catt Phan, and Cookie Duong.

Jaclyn Tyson, Social Worker:

What is your current role? What populations do you serve?:

I am a clinician for a non-profit that specializes in supporting victims of trauma. I work with victims of crime: domestic violence, sexual assault/rape, child abuse, and homicide.

Why did you choose social work as your career?:

I chose social work because I knew that I wanted to help marginalized communities, help individuals heal, and do my part in systems change.

What is one thing you want others to know about social work as a profession?:

Social workers are found in many different organizations of the community. We work within systems to make lasting change.

How has your role as an Asian woman shaped the way you navigate through the world?:

My role as an Asian woman has allowed me to understand oppression as a person of color, and it has given me the empathy to understand how other minority cultures may feel. It has also allowed me to experience the stigma behind mental health, which was the reason I went into the field. I want to de-stigmatize mental health, not only in the Asian community but in all communities of color. In my experience, it was difficult to open up about my own experience due to the expectations put upon me, and I want to be an example to others.

Cookie Duong, Activist:

Could you explain what cause your activism is centered around?

I think of myself as an accidental activist, having stumbled upon the niche, but the increasingly problematic double issue of media literacy and generational gap. Like many other immigrant groups, the Vietnamese-American community is plagued by false news due to the immutable language barrier, as well as the lack of mainstream and long-term media infrastructure. We lack our own versions of the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, CNBC, or CNN, so to speak. This vacuum has been compounded by generational trauma and the lingering effects of Cold War and Red Scare politics (most of the current Viet diaspora is made up of people who once fled the communist regime), quickly radicalizing people in the older generations and alienating their children. Back in May 2020, at the zenith of the Black Lives Matter protests, this widening generational chasm could not be more clear to me. Conversations between my father and me surrounding police brutality and the plight of Black Americans would go nowhere, so I decided, if I could not convince my own parent, maybe I could do it with somebody else’s. And that was how The Interpreter was born. It is a Vietnamese language news aggregator with more than 50 volunteers translating and editing English-language news articles from reputable sources into Vietnamese — a modest effort from the younger generation to reach back towards our own community and bring it forward. I think this project has struck a common chord with many of my peers who have also been struggling to communicate with their parents about topics like social justice, racism, or politics at large. I think that by bridging the language gap, we are doing our part to help create a dialogue for two generations shaped by such vastly different experiences. I hope to soon see a Viet diaspora that is better informed, more empathic toward one another, and wholly healed from the wounds of war.

How do you feel like your activism has been impacted by your identity as a woman?

I believe in the intersectionality of being a woman and Southeast Asian activist. Navigating the online space occupied by conservative and mostly older men, I have encountered the double whammy of ageism and sexism countless times. I have been called “brainwashed,” dismissed for my looks and my identity as a first-gen American. The pressure is even more tangible within my family. My mother strongly believes that my ambitions, my outspokenness, and my “frigidity” will drive potential partners away. I am lucky to have been raised by a father who wanted daughters instead of having settled for one. However, this mindset, unfortunately, persists to the most progressive members of my parents’ generation. The silver lining in all this is that I truly believe that my lived experience as a Southeast Asian woman in this society has made me more keenly aware of the inequity that persists between dominant groups and minorities — things like one’s grasp of the dominant language, resources available to immigrant communities, disproportionate investments, and outcomes that come in the form of congressional bills or language access. If anything, the older generation’s attitude has made me much more convinced to continue contributing to our community, serving as a role model for any Viet woman (or man) who follows my story, and setting a new tone for our community in this increasingly diverse country.

Catt Phan, Activist:

Could you explain what cause your activism is centered around?

There is a Vietnamese proverb, “uống nước nhớ nguồn,” that calls you to remember your roots and the kindness that people have shown to you. It is the foundation on which I have built my career by advocating for marginalized communities, especially low-income immigrants and Southeast Asian women. My activism is intersectional so it is difficult to attach it to only one cause. However, I am particularly passionate about dismantling white supremacy, reforming our immigration system, advocating for survivors, and uplifting BIPOC voices. I am because we are. None of us are free until all of us are free so it is imperative for us to commit ourselves to the lifelong pursuit of social justice.

How do you feel like your activism has been impacted by your identity as a woman?

Living with my grandmother and being raised by a single mom, I grew up with the knowledge that while trauma can be relentless, resilience is woven into my genetic and cultural makeup. The women I lived with were strong, passionate, gentle, and captured the attention of everyone they met. My mom and grandmother taught me how to speak, but I truly learned how to speak out to empower others during my first year of college. I was taking an introduction to sociology class and the professor was offering extra credit to those who attended a rally led by survivors of sexual violence. This changed my life. I saw these young women speaking about their pain and hurt without shame. I saw them take up space while making space for others. What ended up being an extra credit assignment led to over 100 students and me engaging in a nine-hour sit-in at the Chancellor’s office calling for the university to accept 12 demands intended to reform UCSB’s sexual violence policies. Now more than ever, I am so proud to be a Southeast Asian American woman. But for the first time, I am scared of how people will react to it. Asian women are not objects. We are not the source of temptation, hate, shame, nor resentment. We are stronger than that and we will continue to rise above the ashes as we always do.

About the Authors

By: Dorothy Vu

The night before February 12, 2021, I was working late hours when I opened up a group text message exchange between my mom and sister:

Sister: Is your house completely clean?

Mom: Not really but it’s good enough. No need to stress. I didn’t clean much…

Sister: Ok, but I can hear grandma saying you have to…

I looked at the time—it was 9:30 PM. As well-intentioned my mom always was whenever she said things like, “no need to stress,” those words would often set my anxiety into motion and “stress” me out even more. Panic and anguish bubbled up inside of me as I thought about the dirty dishes in the sink, the overflowing trash can, and all the cardboard boxes I had yet to recycle. I had less than three hours to clean my condo before midnight—to rid my home of any bad luck before the start of Tết (Lunar New Year in Vietnamese). While I hadn’t been the best at following Tết traditions in recent years, this time I was determined to do as much as I could in the absence of the one person who would always remind me to uphold these long-held beliefs growing up: my bà ngoại (maternal grandma).

On September 7, 2020, I lost my bà ngoại to a years-long battle with chronic heart failure. In her 83 years of life, she survived being held at gunpoint by Viet Cong soldiers, a near fatal car accident, two open-heart surgeries, and raising six children as a Vietnamese refugee and as a single mother in America. She was the matriarch of my big family, and a second mother to me during times when my parents were busy at work and couldn’t access after-school or summer childcare.

It was my first time losing someone I was close to, and the grief consumed me to the point where I started having frequent panic attacks. Her death reignited my fear of mortality and the resulting numbness of existential dread. It didn’t help that COVID-19 was an ongoing threat and that I was already isolated living on my own. I began to experience what the psychology articles and my therapist referred to as dissociative episodes, which specifically involved the sensations of detaching from my mind and body (depersonalization) and detaching from my surroundings (derealization). I had experienced panic attacks with some dissociation in the past, but my symptoms were usually nausea, tremors, shortness of breath, and fainting. In these new episodes, I felt high without the drugs, as if I were living in some sort of alternate reality. I was a bystander to my own actions and thoughts, unable to focus even in the moments when I was interacting with friends and family in person. Life continued to play out in front of me, but I was nonreactive to almost everything—the good and the bad. For several months, the world around me often appeared three shades dimmer.

Like many of those who have lost a loved one recently, my family was unable to properly mourn and comfort one another due to COVID-19 constraints. We handled the funeral arrangements through several contentious Zoom calls among four generations of our family across the globe, and the funeral itself was limited to only fifteen of us—masks on, outside, six-feet apart, with forty or so others on Zoom. Without bà ngoại, and in the midst of a pandemic, we were disconnected. At the same time, her death gave us a new reason to come together.

Throughout my childhood, bà ngoại was the one who connected everyone in my family for reunions and smaller gatherings, but also to the best hairdressers, bakers, and car mechanics in the area. For twenty years she worked in immigration law, helping countless families in the Falls Church community of Northern Virginia as they navigated life in a new country. Whenever she took me to Eden Center, a historic Vietnamese strip mall in Falls Church, we would always run into someone who knew her, and she would score us the best bargains on food and merchandise. As the heart and soul of our family, she was also the one who would host our annual Lunar New Year celebration.

Tết at bà ngoại’s house was always the same. The parents would play blackjack for hours on end while the kids alternated between playing Nintendo 64 and bầu cua cá cọp, a Vietnamese variation of a Lunar New Year’s gambling game. On the long oval dining table, bà ngoại would prepare a large spread of Vietnamese dishes, many of which she had cooked herself. Before digging into the lavish feast, we would lay out the food onto a wooden altar and pray to the spirits of our visiting ancestors through an aroma of fresh flowers and burning incense sticks.

Over the years as bà ngoại’s health declined, my mom and her siblings took turns hosting Tết, and the traditions began to disappear. Sometimes the most we ever did was order food, wear red, and pass out Li Xi (lucky money). Even bà ngoại would let most of the traditions go, but she’d never fail to call my mom and tell us to do two things: clean our houses before the start of Tết, and pray to our ancestors to ensure a prosperous year ahead. This year, however, the reminders came from my mom and sister. Tired from work and worried that I was already starting off the year with bad luck, I finally responded:

Me: Yeah I didn’t clean much either. Can I clean tomorrow morning?

Mom: No cleaning until the second day.

Me [at 12:05 AM]: I just finished cleaning…hope that’s okay.

The tradition of honoring ancestors during Tết–one that my family had long forgotten–carries an even greater weight now that my grandma is gone. My mom began building her altar the day after she passed, throwing together an assemblage of old furniture, Buddha statues, bowls, and other trinkets that bà ngoại had once owned. The first time I saw the altar in its entirety was during Thanksgiving dinner, our first holiday without her. But the moment my mom set out the food and incense, the room grew darker. I faded out. For thirty minutes I ate and responded on autopilot, ignoring the fact that I couldn’t process a word my mom was saying to me.

A few days later, I brought up this experience to my therapist. “You’re still grieving, and we’re still in a pandemic,” she said. “Allow yourself time.”

Heeding the CDC warnings about gathering during Christmas, my mom and I decided to take a break and celebrate the next holiday through Zoom. I breathed a sigh of relief as I avoided another potential trigger to my dissociative episodes. Once Lunar New Year came around, and I thought about its significance to my family, I knew I had to try again. I quarantined and got COVID-19 tested in order to spend the first day of Tết with my mom.

We were in good spirits the entire day, and although it was just the two of us, my mom and I found new ways to celebrate with others despite the physical distance. We shared photos, jokes, and well wishes in our family chat–a channel our relatives had continued to keep up with ever since bà ngoại left us. My older sister FaceTimed us from New York, showing us the delicious bao buns she had made from scratch. At night, my mom replicated our usual feast, complete with homemade bánh chưng, a glutinous rice cake filled with mung bean and pork. And she built upon the altar some more, putting together the most beautiful bright red floral arrangement that towered behind a portrait of bà ngoại in her favorite lucky red blazer. I smiled as I thought about what bà ngoại would’ve said if she were there in person–how she would’ve criticized the asparagus soup that my mom had overcooked or shaken her head at my feeble attempt to clean my condo in time.

That night as I stared at the impressive spread that lay between her portrait and me, I tensed up, bracing myself for the panic symptoms. They didn’t come. I wondered if this meant I was healing. I could see how strong my grandma’s presence was within these traditions, and how it grounded me more in the present than I had ever been in months.

I stepped up to the altar, pressed my hands together, bowed my head, and closed my eyes.

“Chúc mừng năm mới, bà ngoại.”

I wished my grandma a happy new year and said farewell to the Year of the Rat—her zodiac sign–making peace with the most challenging year of my life.

About the Author

Dorothy Vu

Dorothy is a Vietnamese American writer, digital storyteller, and mental health worrier-turned-warrior. She works as a communications specialist for a national education organization based in Washington, D.C. and is studying to get her MA in creative fiction writing at Johns Hopkins University. She is a contributor for The Mighty, where she has written about her struggles with anxiety and depression. Dorothy is passionate about lifting up the stories and experiences of communities that don’t always have the platform to share their voices. She believes words are powerful, stories matter, and hope will always win. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @doryvu.

By : Leanna Duong

As a teenager, my mom often chided me if she caught me watching Korean Dramas or giggling on the phone with my friends. “Get serious about school”, she’d say. As a solid B student, I didn’t see a problem–school was fine, I had friends, what more could I want? But every time I was criticized, I got more and more annoyed. It seemed like the only way to appease my parents and “get serious” was to eliminate joy from my life.

As I began studying harder, I unintentionally side-lined my friends. One less hour of video games was one more hour of grinding on the SAT, right? I worked twice as hard and I cut out all frivolous activities…yet I saw no improvement in my grades the following term.

Furiously, I scoured the internet for an answer – asking my only friend Google how to increase my productivity. To which I received a lame reply: “Take a 5 minute break. Perhaps go for a walk”, spat Google. How on Earth would a walk solve anything!?

Only now, after studying human cognition, do I realize how important happiness is to work performance. Taking a break here and there is hardly self-indulgent; in fact, it can actually improve psychological and physical well-being. In order to thrive, it is not enough to eliminate negative emotions such as sadness and anger, one must also give equal consideration to positive emotions.

Dr. Barbra Fredrickson of University of Michigan, one of the pioneers of positive psychology, asserts that positive affect broadens cognition while negative affect narrows cognition. To put this into perspective, imagine getting stranded in the forest; in a confrontation with a tiger, you would call upon the specific action tendency to make a split-second decision. Of course, it would be hard to come by any other solution besides running the hell away. But, upon removing the stressor of a wild tiger, one is allowed to be creative with how to go about evading a tiger if one stared them dead in the face, like making a trap or traveling with a bow and arrow. This example illustrates how negative affect serves to narrow and sharpen your attention while positive emotions serve to broaden your scope of thoughts and actions so that you can become a more socially integrated, creative, knowledgeable person.

Positive emotions serve many purposes; it is hardly an excuse to be self-indulgent. There are many reasons to set time aside to pay attention to your happiness. Here are just a few:

Positive emotions facilitate creativity.
The current literature shows that those who experience positive emotions are more likely to be creative, flexible in thought, and efficient in breaking down information.
In one study, participants primed with a happy video were more likely to list a greater number of things they wanted to do in that moment than those who were primed with a neutral or sad video (Fredrickson & Branigan 2004).
Therefore, being in a positive state of mind can allow more ideas to flow through your mind and make you more creative.
Tip: Try it out by listening to your favorite song or watching a funny cat video before a hard problem set. You might score higher!
Positive emotions facilitate faster recovery in anxiety-inducing situations.
Being in a positive state of mind prior to anxiety-inducing situations can lighten the physical and psychological impact.
One study showed that participants who watched a happy video prior to a stressful situation exhibited faster cardiovascular recovery than those who watched a sad or neutral film. (Fredrickson & Levenson 1998)
Tip: Maybe giggle at the Subtle Asian Mental Health meme page before opening up your final grades. It might lessen the anxiety.
Positive emotions can “undo” negative emotions.
Negative emotions can be “undone” by positive emotions, like a plus and minus sign canceling out. So when you are down, hit refresh by doing something to make you happy (Fredrickson & Levenson 1998; Fredrickson et al. 2000).
Tip: Try cheering yourself up from a bad day by doing an activity you like.

Over the years, as I have slowly incorporated this philosophy into my daily practice, I’ve noticed significant changes in my happiness and my performance. While I was a high school student under careful watch by my parents, I felt like I was not “allowed” de-stress. This caused me to bottle up two types of stress: school stress and the stress about releasing that stress. Oh boy, a double whammy!

But when I finally went to college, the changes I made to my life by introducing these techniques into my life were pivotal; I didn’t have to explain to my mother why I was scrolling Facebook on my down time; I didn’t have to quickly switch tabs if I heard footsteps near my door. I was able to set my rules about how to use my time. Given that I was a new college student, I will admit that not every decision I made was the wisest. However, through trial and error, I’ve been able to identify the activities that help me maximize my operating potential and be my happiest self at the same time.

So if you want to know the big secret to being successful, it’s that productivity isn’t entirely dependent on the amount of hours you put in–it matters what mood you are in too. I was skeptical of this at first, but like the phrase, “you’ve got to spend money to make money”. You have got to spend time to save time. Take a leap of faith. It won’t hurt to take some time out of your day to take that walk or bake that cake. In times of stress, just remember this: your work influences your mood as much as your mood influences your work.

Sources:
Fredrickson B. L. (2004). The broaden-and-build theory of positive emotions. Philosophical transactions of the Royal Society of London. Series B, Biological sciences, 359(1449), 1367–1378. https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2004.1512

Fredrickson, B. L., & Levenson, R. W. (1998). Positive Emotions Speed Recovery from the Cardiovascular Sequelae of Negative Emotions. Cognition & emotion, 12(2), 191–220. https://doi.org/10.1080/026999398379718

Fredrickson, B. L., Mancuso, R. A., Branigan, C., & Tugade, M. M. (2000). The Undoing Effect of Positive Emotions. Motivation and emotion, 24(4), 237–258. https://doi.org/10.1023/a:1010796329158

About the Author

Leanna Duong

Leanna is one year from graduating from Vanderbilt University with a B.S in Cognitive Studies. Her positive experiences as a Crisis Text Line Counselor and research assistant have inspired her to pursue a career in therapy. She seeks to find her own way of shining light on the mental health struggles that come with a hyphenated identity.

By: Janice Ho

I was 18 when I had my first drink. Compared with my friends, I was late to the party, but I quickly made up for lost time. But let me rewind a bit and explain what had primed me to fall in love with alcohol the moment we met, and how I slipped down the insidious path of alcohol addiction.

My experiences of trauma began as a young girl. Although much of my childhood felt “normal”, I now realize that my family life was somewhat chaotic and my dad’s unpredictable behavior emotionally scarring. When my parents unexpectedly separated, my life took a turn for the worst. I was entering high school and already experiencing self-worth issues and depressive episodes. Now I also felt deeply betrayed and abandoned by my dad. As my mom and sister formed their own bond over a religion I couldn’t find my place within, I lost my sense of belonging with them too. I often exploded in anger, unable to make sense of or express the hurt, loneliness, and grief that plagued me, and home life became full of continuous conflict.

We had moved out on our own––my dad renting an apartment by himself––and had to go on welfare. And so began my life of working to survive, sometimes holding two part-time jobs while trying to be a normal high school student. I dated guys who would cheat, lie, manipulate, and disrespect me with their words, having learned as a young girl that my boundaries didn’t exist and that women ultimately served the needs of men. I felt unloved and unlovable.

Fast forward to my first meeting with alcohol. Growing up in downtown Toronto, I was immersed in the drinking and drug culture with my social circle of largely Asian friends and acquaintances. If I wasn’t downing shots and beers with them at nightclubs on the weekend, I was getting wasted playing drinking games at Asian karaoke bars during the week. Finally, all of the anxiety, anger, and depression that kept me locked in an unrelenting cycle of stress was put on hold as alcohol lifted me out of my miserable existence.

Or at least that was my romanticized view of it. The somber reality was that I continually found myself in questionable sexual situations with guys I barely knew and woke up to countless mornings of head-splitting hangovers. I’d find bruises on my body from falling in my drunken stupor, and blackouts in my memory of how my night had ended, leading to the morning call of shame when I’d have to fearfully ask a friend: “Did I do anything stupid?” And yet, I continued to drink.

I now understand the rational explanation behind what then seemed like nonsensical behavior. My brain had learned repeatedly that when I drank alcohol, it would experience a rush of pleasure from the abnormally high levels of dopamine that an addictive drug releases into the brain’s reward center. Chemically, my brain was being conditioned to continue seeking out this very desirable action of drinking.

However, with repeated drinking, the euphoric and relaxing effects of alcohol would diminish, and I’d have to drink larger amounts of booze just to get the same effect (tolerance). Meanwhile, my brain, in response to the unnatural and chaotic effects alcohol was subjecting it to, would attempt to bring itself back to a balanced state (homeostasis) by producing the exact opposite effects (withdrawal). As alcohol produced pleasure and relaxation, in its absence I would experience intense anxiety, insomnia, and the inability to feel pleasure, compelling my brain to reach for the only thing that would alleviate those painful feelings (craving): alcohol. This is the cycle of addiction that I had unwittingly forfeited all control to.

Back then, I didn’t know how addiction operated on a biopsychosocial level. I simply blamed myself for being fucked up and unable to make better decisions. Even now, it’s hard to know if anyone else was struggling with addiction because nobody ever talked about it. Feeling the stares of judgment thrown my way when I drank solidified in my mind that I alone had a problem. I didn’t want to keep drinking to escape my life, but I couldn’t seem to find a sense of peace anywhere else but with the bottle. Feeling disgraceful and shamed, I made countless promises to myself and others that I would never drink again––and failed every time.

When I was in my early 20s, I would endure a verbally and emotionally abusive relationship that further reinforced both my descent into addiction and the belief that I was unworthy of having anything better for my life. After our break-up, I started to drink whiskey at home alone every night to stave off my debilitating insomnia and the immense rage and helplessness I felt at the abuses my now-ex-boyfriend had inflicted upon me.

In my mid-20s, I reached my rock bottom. I didn’t know then how life would get better from there––I just knew I couldn’t live this way forever. Many of the environmental and social factors that had contributed to my propensity to drink gradually began to change. I distanced myself from my peers who were heavily immersed in the drinking and drug scene. I started dating a guy who for the first time brought stability to a relationship. I also worked hard to get accepted into a Master’s program that was my ticket out of the vicious cycle of dead-end jobs and financial insecurity I had been trapped in for years. My countless all-nighters in the library paid off: I received my acceptance letter to the Master of Criminology program at the University of Toronto in 2008.

That year changed everything for me. It felt––as it always had––that I had to work twice as hard as my peers to succeed, but I graduated at the top of my class. Graduating during the recession in 2009 felt like another setback, but I said yes to any work or volunteer opportunity that came my way and gradually moved up in my career. I gained access to some much-needed therapy through work benefits, and finally moved into an apartment that I could truly call home after years of constant moving and couch-surfing since leaving my family home at 19. My relationship with my family had improved over the years, and with newfound calmness and financial stability in my life, I was also able to find healing in returning to music, my childhood passion, and in simply resting my weary body and soul.

As my 30s continued, I ended what had been a beautifully grounding eight-year relationship with my boyfriend, and moved on from a rewarding eight-year career working in the criminal justice field. Both were no longer the right things for my life, nor was living in my home city. My heart longed to live more in nature. After years of going backcountry camping, I had learned that being surrounded by the trees, water, and earth was what brought me the most peace, and when I could feel like the carefree self I was never able to be. As my life became more than just about surviving, I was able to imagine and actualize these new possibilities for myself. I moved to a friend’s farm and herded sheep for eight months, and went solo traveling to the hills of Tuscany and hiking trails of Vancouver. I loved deeply in my next relationship, and after we parted I spent a few months in Central America living out another dream of mine––traveling abroad to experience life in other cultures––before COVID-19 took center stage in all of our lives.

But while much of my life had turned around, I hadn’t fully divorced myself from alcohol. I had never completely stopped drinking. I had never given my brain a chance to fully detox and heal. While it seemed that I could now better “control” my drinking because I was no longer getting wasted at clubs or drinking myself to sleep every night, I would time and time again return to using alcohol to self-medicate or drink more than I had intended to. Yet, everyone around me was still also doing it––albeit in a more sophisticated, grown-up way––and I was mostly able to pass off my drinking as unproblematic, including to myself.

As we entered self-isolation time, I felt nervous about how I might emerge in the post-COVID world after spending months alone with my trusted companion, alcohol. One night––on April 11––after days of trying to exercise the willpower to drink in moderation, I drank glass after glass until two in the morning, sobbing in my stress and loneliness. The next morning, I awoke hungover and emotionally wrecked. I knew then it was time to finally take a pause and examine the truth of my current relationship with alcohol.

I am now 97 days alcohol free, at the time of writing. I’m not entirely sure what the future will hold for my journey, but I have committed to not having another drink unless it is an intentional decision that is honest to myself. It has been empowering to better understand how alcohol has deeply impacted my brain and how I can begin to change my subconscious beliefs about drinking. And it’s also been challenging to face the painful feelings that have surfaced in my raw, sober state. There’s no hiding anymore from any of it.

But as my 38th birthday has come and gone, I reflect back on the tumultuous yet resilient life I have lived thus far. To know there is at least another 38 years left compels me to do whatever is needed to live out that time with more self-love and freedom from my traumas and self-destructive patterns. I have great hope as I hold on to the life experiences that tell me the seemingly impossible is more than achievable and to the unshakable belief that I am worth fighting for.

To learn more about alcohol/drug addiction or to get support:
This Naked Mind Podcast: https://thisnakedmind.com/category/podcast/

This Naked Mind Community: https://www.thisnakedmindcommunity.com/

Judith Grisel on the neuroscience of addiction: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOkh9XC-dSg

Sober Curious Podcast: http://www.rubywarrington.com/podcasts/

Hip Sobriety: https://www.hipsobriety.com/

Are You Really an ‘Alcoholic?’” (IGNTD Podcast): http://igntd.libsyn.com/are-you-really-an-alcoholic

Alcoholics Anonymous (AA): https://aa-intergroup.org/oiaa/meetings/?types=Secular

About the Author

Janice Ho

Janice Ho is a Korean-Canadian who was born and raised in Toronto, Ontario. She is currently a freelancer working in marketing and communications, copy editing, and qualitative research. Janice also hosts The Soul’s Work Podcast in which she shares about her current exploration of her relationship with alcohol, and other lessons learned from her self-development and healing journey. You can also connect with her on Instagram @janicehoimages or through her website www.janicehocreative.com.

By: Jenny Park

I believe that when you are going through depressive episodes, it’s important to look at your situation objectively. But, that’s also the hardest part. Falling into a negative spiral is unfortunately too easy. Everyone has different mental capacities when coping with bad moods, and there is no right or wrong way to handle a difficult situation. In this somewhat personal blog, I will be sharing one of the ways that I found to be most helpful: asking myself questions. Not just any potentially destructive questions, but healthy questions. I often joke with my friends that I have befriended a self-created alter ego named Yeti, who is the one that stays grounded when my real ego acts up. Funnily enough, that silly habit comes in handy.

*I am not a professional and this is based on my personal experience, so please read it with a liberated heart*

The Questions I’ve Learned to Ask Myself

1) “What happened in my environment that affected my mood?”

When I’m feeling down, I become hypersensitive to everything. I get irritated by the tiniest inconvenience and tend to take unintentional offense at people’s actions. My mood used to change drastically by the second and for the longest time, I didn’t know why, which was unsettling. Then, I arrived at the thought that maybe an environmental/external influence triggered something inside me that changed my mood. If I was getting coffee and the barista came off a little rude because she was busy, that somehow ruined my mood. Quite irrational and ridiculous, I know. But, I learned to recognize the alleged cause and effect in these situations. This helped me take a step back and process my surroundings rather than keeping myself in that moody loophole. Identifying specific external mood triggers and being conscious of my internal mood change have helped me keep my emotions organized.

2) “What does this mood mean to me?”

This could also be rephrased as “What is this particular mood telling me about myself?” This is a tough one. Let’s take the barista example I previously mentioned. Although the barista did nothing wrong, in my mind, my “damaged” mood was her fault. This tells me that I am emotionally dependent on how others treat me, to a certain extent, and that dependability could intensify when I’m not feeling that great about myself. Just like that, I learned a new fact about myself. I didn’t quite like this new fact when I realized it, however, this realization also opened the door to accepting it. Once I’m comfortable with this new fact, I could then challenge it.

3) “What can I do from now on?”

I’ve often found myself digging my own grave because I focused on how my past actions didn’t lead to a satisfactory reality – why didn’t I do this yesterday? Why did I waste time when I could’ve done something better? Etc. Well, the past is the past, and there’s always should’ve, could’ve, would’ve’s. Start thinking of what you think you should be doing from now on and go for it. During this process, you slowly start to learn what methods work for you and what doesn’t, so you’ll have a more reasonable expectation for yourself throughout the future.

4) “What meaning can I introduce into my life?”

Living in today’s society, it’s easy to feel empty. One common thought that recurs in my mind when I’m not feeling my best is “What is the meaning of my life?” It doesn’t encourage me to find an answer to the question, rather I immediately feel awful. It quickly shifts to the self-hate track and I always find myself questioning my worth – something that no one should question. Life is what you make of it; you are the pilot of this journey. Instead, we can tweak that and ask “What meaning can I introduce into my life?” Asking this question helps you identify the values, beliefs and behaviors that you want to keep pursuing in the long run. What I really like about this question is that there could be so many answers. It’s non-binary and fluid. And the best part about it is that you get to create it on your own and claim it.

5) “Is this self-pity or victimization?”

I often drown myself in thinking that I am deprived of empathic affection. Wanting attention, I sometimes play Cinderella and make everybody else in my life the mean step-mom and sisters. Whether it’s emotional oversharing in 9 out of 10 conversations I have in a week, or finding solutions to my current problems from my past trauma, I found myself blaming my low self-esteem on my less than ideal childhood to validate my skewed rationale. Then, I would think “only if my dad hadn’t abandoned me” or “if only my mom had validated my feelings growing up, I wouldn’t have hated myself so much.” Maybe that’s true, but even if it is, what can I do about it? I can’t travel back in time and change my life events. Our past shapes who we are, but it doesn’t have to define us. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of self-pity moments, but it became a habit and I got tired of voluntarily playing the victim when I didn’t have to. Put yourself in different roles – sometimes be the bad guy, sometimes be an outsider, sometimes be a cameo, sometimes be a protagonist. It broadens your perspective on how you look at your life.

6) “What should I try that I haven’t tried?”

I do a lot of research to find subtle non-clinical ways that could help me (you don’t have to do exactly what Buzzfeed or Refinery29 tells you). Staying close to nature, for example. I try to go for a walk near my neighborhood where there’s water and trees. I try to stay close to friends who understand my feelings. I force myself to share my immature emotions when I just want to bottle up. I try to keep an active voice and say things when I want to say it and drop the passivity. There are subtle things you can do that, depending on how you look at them, could be immensely helpful.

7) “If I saw someone feeling the way I am feeling right now, what would I tell that person?”

I think as Asians we are naturally quite empathetic and altruistic. We tend to think of others before ourselves and while that’s a wonderful quality more people should appreciate, it’s easy to leave yourself out of that same care. Think of whatever comment or advice you would want to give and say that exact same thing to yourself. Plug your name in it too (wow, cringe). Tell yourself that because you need that for yourself. It feels cringey at first, but self-empowerment is a great virtue.

Overall, the message I’m trying to communicate in this blog is “know yourself.” Learn how you respond in certain situations and keep yourself cognitively checked in to how you are processing your thoughts/emotions. It’s complicated and honestly a life-long homework that never gets easier. But, it makes you grow. It prevents your mental illness from overpowering you.

If you are going through a rough patch and you’ve gotten yourself out of a negative thought, you should be genuinely proud of yourself. If you couldn’t, that’s still very okay. The attempt is a continuous effort. No need to feel like your mental illness is slowing you down. If any of you are Marvel fans, remember that even the Avengers fought 14,000,605 battles and won only 1, but that one victory became more meaningful because they made it that way. Perspective isn’t everything, but definitely something we shouldn’t ignore. Be your own advocate. Be a kind friend to yourself. Be selfish sometimes.

About the Author

Jenny Park

Jenny is originally from Korea, raised partially as a military “BRAT” (Born Raised And Trained). She is currently based in Huntsville, Alabama working as a Camp Counselor at a local space educational center. Jenny is passionate about bringing mental health issues to the table and supporting communities of color.