Mental Health Blog

To learn about what Eliza would like to share about her Filipino/a/x identity and background as a mental health professional, you may read her first Kasamahan blog entry, Biyahe ng Bayani: Posttraumatic Growth and Finding Indigenous Wisdom.


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Preface
 

I’d like to first acknowledge that I can’t believe it’s been three months since attending the conference.

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Three months of wrestling with procrastination. Yet, I wonder—on whose timeline am I procrastinating other than my own? I gave myself this assignment. Although I feel the presence of jezreel cornel and Gregory Desierto, my chosen accountability partners, as I organize this blog entry, since they expressed interest in what may be written. I met Gregory at the first Salo-Salo and later learned jez attended, although in a different breakout room, through reviewing the photo taken by Kasamahan's President, Cristina Castro of the online event. The salo-salo coming up in April will mark its one-year anniversary. It goes to show how meaningful connections can magically happen in simply following through with an invitation and showing up. Who knows who you’ll meet at a next event and what seeds you’ll sow?

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Aside from supporting participants to share space at the upcoming salo-salo, my main intention with writing about the conference is to offer those who couldn’t attend a glimpse into the Asian American Psychological Association’s (AAPA) Division of Filipinx Americans (DoFA), much like the entry that focused on the Center for Babaylan Studies (CfBS) Symposium. I still recall Gregory’s excitement and passion when I first heard him share about DoFA last year. I don’t even recall the details he included. It was the energy I felt through the screen that caught my attention. So when his invitation came through text last fall, I knew it would be difficult to decline even with the conference occurring so close to the holidays. I also considered how Gregory has also shown up for Kasamahan which included his contributions with Filipino LGBTQ+ mental health with his blog entry and Filipino men's mental health with his workshop.

So do I attend?

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Both DoFA and CfBS were founded over a decade ago and are therefore established and recognized in their support of Filipino American professionals. I’ve come to see the way this support returns to them. The conference seemed grounded in the reunion of their longtime participants, drawing in a newer, younger crowd to their influential bodies of work. Attending as not a seasoned participant and not a presenter, there were moments I felt like a wedding crasher—particularly during the conference’s Saturday night banquet, when Charlene Patron-Drigo shared, now in comedic memory, “I feel like I’m stalking someone for you!” In learning his book was the first in understanding Filipino mental health care in relation to colonial mentality, Charlene felt called to support a conversation with someone in the “wedding" party or committee with the initials EJR, followed by David. Standing in stark contrast to my usual knack of being in the right place at the right time—or rather, my selective memory with a bias towards serendipotous experiences—the stars were not aligning that night in connecting.

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Like Kasamahan, I am newer in the Fil-Am professional space. With largely only my own lived professional experiences, self-study with some intermittent guidance from a few elders, and the connections within my biological family, I don't consider myself an expert in Filipino-specific mental health care. I have no reputation that precedes me, and I’m still figuring out where I fit in and what my role is—where it’s beneficial and welcomed in the larger ecosystem. In this stage of development, I’m curious if there may still be something useful in my reflections. I can only hope to offer a valuable or fresh perspective—if not a validating or entertaining one—to support the journeys of others.

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Even as I mention fresh or entertaining, I notice a contrasting internal experience: a tiredness in my body that I can’t seem to shake these past few months. As I feel into it, it’s almost akin to a feeling of fullness, to the point of nausea, as though I’ve had too much to eat in one sitting. I’m grateful and satiated, yet I don’t allow enough rest to digest fully. I’ve come to realize this fullness, this avoidance of natural signals, and the drive for more is another expression of colonial mentality I’m still working through. As I actively participate in Kasamahan and CfBS spaces reflecting on decolonization and re-indigenization, I often wonder: will famine follow this feast? This wondering drives me to stay at the table and stockpile instead of going home to rest, allowing a quiet and spacious season to set in.

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I’m certain this is a common, frustrating experience for most—if not all—of us who choose to be more involved with our professions in our free time. Where we are self-aware, yet stuck watching ourselves go through the same motions of overproductivity and overconsumption. I once heard it said by a seasoned Somatic Experiencing practitioner, Elizabeth, during a dyad at a NARM training, that she can at least choose to go through this process in a “smiling way.” That option allows for some self-acceptance, and working through my authentic experience as I write instead of going against it or denying it.

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A side note for those who read my last entry: Bayani, a.k.a. my version of ChatGPT, has become less of a presence in my writing with the novelty fading after my fascination started last summer. You may notice the structure of my thoughts is a bit rougher around the edges—and perhaps, at times, long-winded compared to the first part of my last entry. This is intentional as I leave untouched or reintegrate more artifacts and details my human mind finds uniquely interesting and perhaps superfluous to others. I’ve come to further value the human voice that is not refined and more distinct in its scarcity, and those not buried under layers that prioritize efficiency and productivity. I'm also considering AI when supporting writing and art may become a conduit of colonial mentality if not used mindfully.

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Where would you like to start with sharing about your DoFA Conference experience?
 

I’m uncertain what details to leave out or glaze over and what to highlight. I only know what felt most poignant for me, and I hope that’s enough for others, depending on what they may be seeking in reading. These reflections are more personal than comprehensive.

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I recall being on my plane, then in my Lyft on Friday, January 24th, exasperated and wondering why I had signed up for yet another weekend of travel for professional development—especially since I felt my cup was already very full. I have made so many, probably even for non-introverts, professional connections over the past year across different communities and organizations. I found something valuable in each of these connections, which made it difficult to prioritize and set limits in order to protect the connection with myself.

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That said, I do notice more intentionality in bringing a personal touch—my authentic self—into most interactions. It would make sense that with enough exposure to decolonizing and re-indigenizing work, and supporting posttraumatic growth from patterned ways of being shaped by Complex PTSD, some of what I've learned and supported would begin to rub off on me.

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I’ve noticed this shift has not necessarily made life easier, just fuller—and with more complexity. And even in longer stints without slipping into performance mode, I’ve realized “being professional” remains. Society hasn’t shifted. The definition of work still serves a capitalistic hunger rather than a cycle in tune with a natural order of things. If we give this kind of working an inch, it will take a mile. If we enjoy what we do, it becomes a marketable skill, and then the opportunities and pressure to take them will grow until we're doing it so much, we forget what drew us to it in the first place. Rarely does it feel reciprocal—replenishing us when we need it to. Rarely does it feel sustainable without a collective shift or without individual boundaries in place.

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So there I was, enacting a kind of professional boundary—getting my own rideshare, booking a hotel room, taking care of myself, and seemingly not relying on anyone. How quickly I forget that my home and other responsibilities are taken care of by my spouse while I’m away.

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Before I could sink further into an internal liminal space that evening—not unlike The Terminal—I decided to get ready for the pre-conference dinner. I anticipated meeting Gregory, DoFA Co-Chair, with whom I’ve consistently shared space over the past year online, and Jeannie Celestial, whose invitation I acknowledged as another reason for attending, even though we’d only spoken once over the phone, motivated by our shared connection with CfBS. It’s not unfamiliar, as a first-generation Filipino American immigrant, to be skilled at finding points of connection with very little to go off of. But in Filipino spaces, or with another Filipino, it’s mixed with kapwa. The extent of which will be further defined in this section.

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While getting ready, I realized I hadn’t packed a hairbrush. I remember looking around the room, trying to figure out if something could work—hoping something would materialize from the empty drawers. This was followed by an hour-and-a-half excursion, going from store to store within walking distance of my hotel to find one. If only the hotel receptionist working that night had known where the stash of brushes was behind the desk, instead of saying, “We only have combs.” Anyone who has ever met me in person would know that’s a poor solution.

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When I arrived at Sophia’s Thai Kitchen, I had resigned myself to taking a Lyft the next morning to the nearest store for something everyone owns but feels awkward to lend. It was disappointing, since I booked the hotel precisely to avoid needing a car that weekend. As I walked in, feeling defeated, I recognized Gregory—at first looking through me, then recognizing me as I waved. It was very crowded, so our interaction was brief before I moved out of the way of foot traffic. That’s when I found Charlene, my future non-accomplice and a Filipina therapist who is a naturalized Canadian. This being her usual defining designation among a group of Filipino Americans within both the Kasamahan and DoFA spaces.

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I had met Charlene about a year ago through one of Gregory’s webinars highlighting Indigenous psychology, a few months before the CfBS symposium. Much like Gregory, we shared space in different online group meetings. Eventually, I approached her about writing for the blog, asking her to share her developing specialty on migratory grief. It felt organic to offer to be conference buddies, once we learned neither of us had plans outside of the defined conference events.

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Both feeling nervous and overstimulated, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and little personal space, we decided to claim an unreserved table nearby with five chairs that seemed invisible to everyone else. After a few moments, I asked Charlene if it was okay for me to invite a group to sit with us, to make better use of our space. This is the era after pandemic lockdown, after all, and seeing everyone stand so closely made me uneasy, even without an overt fear of Covid. Charlene agreed, and soon after, I invited two women who had replaced us in the same spot we had stood to join our table. They agreed.

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Charlene and I learned their names were Christine and Tina—short for Clementina, not Christina, which she pointed out is much more common for Filipinas. Somehow, I hadn’t fully noticed this until that moment. I quietly appreciated her name, often associated with nature, in contrast to the religious associations so common with names like the first part of mine.

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The conversation flowed—sharing our connections with one another, learning they were fast friends, then exchanging stories of our lived experience as Filipino mental health professionals. We blended family stories and work experiences with a shared respect for stories that weren’t our own, which is a familiar norm in our profession.

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I remember feeling a sensation perhaps from information I connected unknowingly, that led me to interrupt the current topic and to ask Christine directly, “Did you start DoFA?” 

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To which she paused and responded, “I was one of the people who did.”

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Charlene and I nodded, and the conversation moved on. I accepted that fact easily—I felt grounded in Gregory’s presence as the current Co-Chair, his work speaking louder than the title when we’ve shared space. I also accepted that I came very unprepared in neglecting to read the history of the organization. Maybe this is my way of finding rest when I put in the effort to fully show up.

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Then when Christine stepped away to greet someone, Tina finally shared what was more a surprise for me, and likely felt like an elephant in the room for her: “Did you know Christine is the current president of AAPA?”

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I remember my face heating up—feeling embarrassed I didn’t know, and guilty because I had recently been in a conversation that criticized the “Asian American” label for the way it can erase, even as it supports, distinct cultural identities. With further consideration, the term “Filipino” also did this during Spanish colonization of Indigenous groups. I was, nonetheless, amazed—given how often Filipinos express feeling excluded in Asian American spaces—to learn that the current AAPA president is Filipina. 

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Kevin Nadal, along with Alicia del Prado and EJR David, would later elaborate on how DoFA came to be in direct response to such an exclusion within AAPA during their talk Dalubhasa Diaries: Spilling the Tea on Professional Life and Personal Strife.

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Christine returned and settled back into our conversation, which somewhat surprised me, considering how many others there were to meet and greet—especially as AAPA President. Although I supposedly “acted normal” for the rest of dinner, ordering and enjoying my pad thai, I was partly preoccupied with hiya.

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It was strange—it's not as if I’m unaccustomed to being around well-accomplished people. But I’m now considering how easy it is to objectify leadership, just as it is to objectify those who follow, especially when we don’t know much about one another. This may be a future objective with the blog for authors to be known on a more personal level underneath the professional exterior. Anyway, both dynamics of objectification in leadership and in following can be welcomed, consciously or unconsciously, because they offer a familiar structure and reduce the possibility for social missteps.

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In our conversation, I got the sense that we were all more comfortable with the kind of objectification that comes with service—those who give beyond what they are called to do. Which makes sense, considering that bayani, the Tagalog word for “hero,” also means “volunteer.” The image of an unassuming member of the community at work contrasts sharply with the more extravagant, individualistic image of a hero in American society.

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Gregory eventually made his way over to our table. We realized we were the last ones left. Tina offered to drive us back. I recall a sign of the times that we focused more on the futuristic doors of her car than its now infamous brand association just a few months ago. I particularly linger on this detail because the city I’m based in, Austin, houses its controversial founder and one of his factories, recently drawing protests from its progressive residents. A microcosm to the struggle with the power of corporations on a nation-wide level.

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Riding with Charlene, Gregory, Christine, and Tina, and hearing some of their personal experiences connecting through DoFA, I remember feeling a childlike glee—rare, joyful, confusing, and a little embarrassing. I’m far more used to being contained and neutral, even on the inside, especially in professional settings. Tina even lent me a brush, having brought two, which offered some relief given the early start time the next morning.

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All in all, there was something sweet about how the night organically unfolded. Though I was an outsider entering an established DoFA space, I didn’t feel the need to resign myself to being a wallflower—pleasant and predictable—nor did I feel pressure to perform to have my needs for belonging met with hardly sharing anything that one may proudly include on a resume.

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I do think that night’s experience was distinctly kapwa, rather than the result of survival skills like assimilation or strategic connecting. An important factor may also be where people are in their personal journeys at the time they share space with one another. When people have the capacity to be present with themselves and others authentically, a sense of kapwa can more easily emerge and be felt.

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I recently had a similar experience after the conference in a non-Filipino space with other therapists trained in the modality I specialize in. Perhaps therapy that supports a path towards posttraumatic growth offers a different door into the same space of interconnectedness—a Filipino, or perhaps pan-Indigenous, birthright that many have disconnected with.

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What were the Conference Events and what would you like to share about them?​ ​

 

I recall laying on the hotel bed when I got back and feeling complete. I remember feeling a sense of trust that if I didn't hold on or further the connections with anyone in the group that weekend, this opportunity will eventually unfold in the future when the time was right. Ironically, the opposite experience with the pressure I place on myself with writing this blog entry.

 

Eventually that night, reality hit when I realized I haven't even set foot in the actual conference and I wasn't going home until Monday. Even now, I wonder how well what I've shared so far represents a DoFA conference experience without going into the presentations. Have I gone on and on without adding much value?

 

For now, I'm okay with not knowing, and sharing the titles of events and presentations I attended and participated in during the conference weekend. To be continued.

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Philippine National Anthem and Co-Chair Welcome
 

Keynote, From Silence to Purpose: Personal Kuwento of Healing, Advocacy, and Empowerment - Christine Catipon, MD, PsyD

 

Colonization and Cultural Amalgamation in Cognitive Disorders and Impacts on Individual and Family Dynamics - Lisa N. Cruz, PhD, Nicole D. Evangelista, PhD, Michelle R. Madore, PhD

 

Stigma or Erasure: Halo-Halo Epistemology as Indigenist Pilipinx American Legibility - Joanne C. La Torre, PhC, LCSW, MSW

 

Liberating Like a Mother: Navigating Internal Parts, Social Justice, and Self-Care - Kate Viernes, MA LCSW, Jean-Arelloa Tolentino, PhD

 

DoFA Banquet

 

“Searching for Kapwa” Film Screening - Lou Felipe, PhD, Larry D. Lariosa, LMFT

 

Colonial Mentality and White Sexual Imperialism: Dismantling Internalized Racialized Sexism Among Filipina American Women - Danielle Espinosa, MS, LMFT

 

“Ano’ng Atin?” Mentorship Hour - Visited with Justine Villanueva, JD

 

Atangs to Kuwentos: The Power of Communal Care as Decolonial Mental Health Praxis Among Pilipinx Americans - Joanna C. La Toree, PhD, LCSW, Lalaine Sevillano, PhD, MSW, Kirin Macapugay, SDW, MSW, Dale Maglalang, PhD, MA, MSW, MPH

 

Ocean-based Somatic and Environmental Therapy Practices in the Diaspora - Meghan McDaniel, MEd, MCP Candidate, Michelle Q. Slavik, Certified Surf Therapy Facilitator