How Grieving Can Make Us Well

By Naomi K. Lu

I

am the grandchild of three Chinese and Taiwanese immigrants to the United States. Each one held their own stories of profound loss and trauma throughout World War II and its aftermath. Some of their stories are clear—my paternal grandfather narrowly escaped death as a teenager.

He and a friend were hiding in a bomb shelter during an air raid. His friend begged him to go get a cup of tea. While they were out, the shelter was directly hit, and everyone inside was killed. Other stories are less known, such as what exactly happened to most of my maternal grandfather’s family when their land was taken by the government; how he became a translator for American Airmen during World War II; or how he finally ended up in Taiwan, meeting my grandmother at an officer’s club where she worked as a secretary. The people and places they lost are mysteries.

I'd guess that many of us first- or second-generation Americans have grandparents with similar stories. The Asian Americans who arrived in the United States before World War II weren't spared either; the Japanese internment camps are an ongoing reminder of the evils of racial prejudice and discrimination. We are haunted by the ghosts of our ancestors, our bodies and minds continuing to bear witness to all that we have lost. 

Losses of the past always find a way to worm their way into the present. 

As time passes on, stories fade, yet we are still left with much unprocessed pain and trauma to grieve. It often seems that we don't know what to do when the pain hurts too much. When it grows into the form of mental illness and dysfunction. When our souls begin to shut down.

Grief has a way of unnerving us. 

It shifts and expands, becoming louder and more visible until we can no longer ignore the heritage of pain that most of us carry. Our grandparents and their losses shaped who they were, especially as parents. Which impacted the children they parented. Who, in turn, parented us. Recent psychological interests have popularized and given voice to generational trauma. We now can name the apparitions that follow our bloodlines—modern psychological research increasingly suggests that children of those who have suffered from abuse or trauma are most susceptible to developing mental disorders. So what do we do? How can we break the curse, so the cycle of pain finally ends?

We need to learn to grieve. 

Grief is a feeling, but grieving is an action. It's an action that we must choose to move through. It can not be dismissed or buried into non-existence. It will always reemerge. For many of us from Asian heritages, we have tamped down our Grief in favor of survival. We must “save face” from the social stigma of public displays of despair, mental illness, or any other unsavory developments and addictions that often come as a result of our Grief.

As we work to change the narrative around Grief and mental health for Asian Americans, I have personally been deeply inspired by author and chaplain J.S. Park. Park’s voice and book As Long As You Need were helpful in reminding me that I am part of a collective whose goals in writing, pursuing careers in mental health, and engaging in advocacy are to champion Asian wellness and wholeness. His book and his vulnerability in sharing publicly about his ongoing battles with mental health have given me a road map for what it looks like to engage with Grief and mental health struggles publicly as an Asian American. 

There is deep meaning in the language we use to grieve being given to us by someone who has lived our experiences. It serves as a call, a reminder: We are not alone.

J.S. Park states in As Long as You Need, “Grief is the voice of what is gone. Not only the people that we lose, but dreams unmade, dignity frayed, pictures with emptied frames.” The absences we suffer are not silent. As a chaplain, Park sits with those who are dying and their loved ones. He sees the old realities pass away and the new ones come into being. 

Grief is loss. And Grief is death. Deaths of all we once were and all we hoped to be. 

We all have losses that have shaped us, from losing something we loved to lacking something (or someone) we needed. Only by taking the time to witness, name, and hold our Grief, can we find the strength to release it to grow into something more. 

But as we watch our families, our friends, or our dreams die, we must remember that even death brings new life. We have the opportunity to allow our pain to take up the space it needs now so that it won't corrupt the future where it doesn't belong. The honor we give it in the present softens it, shapes it, and transforms our Grief into the fertilizer of the fields of our lives. 

I believe that grieving well, which means grieving honestly, in the ugliness, despair, and unfairness of it all, is one of the key ways we can change some of the dire trends in Asian mental health. If we can face our losses and the negative impact that pain has on our lives without judgment or shame, we could begin to break down the stigma and harm surrounding mental illness and relational dysfunction in our families and communities. We honor and thank J. S. Park and our other Asian brothers and sisters who are bravely pioneering the way for us; their vulnerability and invitation to grieve give people like me the courage to do the same. 

When we release our shame, see the truth of our lives, and watch it all be covered by Grace, freedom comes. It is here where we begin to heal. 

May we hold our Grief now so we don't repeat the traumas that caused it.

May we live lives informed by the reality of this world and the belief in the goodness intended for it so that we may release our pain into the hands of a God who is constantly making all things new.

May our Grief become a blessing that nourishes something beautiful.

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

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Naomi K. Lu is a Chinese-American Third Culture Kid who grew up in East Asia. An educator and a writer, she is passionate about Asian mental health, depression treatment, and suicide prevention. She currently lives in California with her three dogs. Follow Naomi on Instagram @nkluwrites.

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