For the longest time, I believed that I was a failure. For me, my worth was based on how much I achieved compared to others. Even though I went to a prestigious university, majored in psychology and got good grades, it wasn’t good enough.
Achievement in academics and career was very important to my parents because it was how they survived and thrived after moving to the United States from Hong Kong as international students.
My parents—especially my father—wanted me to get a lucrative job in healthcare, engineering, or law. I couldn’t do it because I was weak and uninterested in math and science. I wanted to be like my engineering or pre-med friends, who were logical, driven, and practical, but instead, I was creative, compassionate, and idealistic. I still decided to major in psychology instead but struggled with a nagging belief that my interests and gifts were inferior. During this time, I wrote poems like this one:
Ain’t it a shame
I was never good
at anything practical
I like everything soft
things like
peaches
and animals
stories
doodles
poems
I choke on anything solid
like money
and math
the Krebb Cycle
driving directions
and planning
in this world
solid means doctor and engineer
It means capable
It pays the bills
Soft means psychology
weak and easy
it means eyebrows raised
when I tell you my major
means
Dad saying it’s a waste
I shouldn’t have even gone to Berkeley
and me thinking
maybe he’s right
I’m wasting his money Sometimes
my head leaves the clouds
I drown when I go under
and fear makes me wish
I could belong in this water
After I graduated from college, I moved to Beijing, China to pursue a journalism internship. The lies of “You’re not good enough, you are a failure” followed me across the ocean. I kept feeling like I was drowning in waters I didn’t belong in. Cut off from my family and friends and trying to adjust to a new culture, I struggled with self-hate and depression. There were many days where I broke down crying suddenly, either at work or at home or in public.
Yet God’s voice broke through in my darkest moments — even though I wanted to keep him out, even though I was too shamed to face him. One night, when I had cried myself to sleep, God gave me a dream. I dreamed that I climbed to the top of a mountain where He sat on His throne, holy and blinding in light. When I reached the top, I threw myself down on the ground, not daring to come close to Him, not daring to face Him. How could He not be angry at this pitiful creature groveling before Him? And yet, He came close to me, leaning down like a skyscraper bending over to meet a small girl. He lifted my chin with His finger, and instead of anger or even annoyance, I saw His face, gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love. His face was like the gentle sunrise breaking over the hills.
This dream was the beginning of my belief in a seemingly simple truth: God loved me no matter what! He accepted me no matter what I could or could not achieve, no matter whether I was good at math or science or psychology.
This truth freed me to value the gifts God had given me. I saw a need for Christian mental health professionals in China. Many of my Chinese friends and students would confide in me, and I wished I were better equipped to help them in their emotional and relational struggles.
When I returned to California with my husband (I had gotten married mid-way through my time in China!), I applied to the marriage and family therapy program at Fuller Theological Seminary. During my second year, I worked at Lake Avenue Church Counseling Ministries as my practicum site.
God confirmed that LAC was where he wanted me to be. At Lake, I was able to use my gifts and training in marriage and family therapy to support the church and surrounding community. As a trainee, I provided one-on-one therapy with individuals, couples, families, and children in confidential therapy sessions.
In addition, I had the privilege of taking part of a special training on Tuesday nights in Restoration Therapy, a type of therapy that aligned with how I experienced healing from God. Restoration Therapy explains that many of us get hurt from experiences from childhood, where we get the message that there is something flawed in our identity or that there is something untrustworthy or unsafe about relationships.
In my case, growing up with a critical father caused me to believe that my identity was flawed: “I am a failure.” I coped with my sense of flawed identity through performing (getting good grades, getting into a prestigious school) and shaming (beating myself up). According to Restoration Therapy, the key to healing is to believe and own the truth, and thus be able to behave differently in light of that truth. The truth I needed to believe was that I am lovable no matter what I achieve. Only then was I able to value myself, open up to others, and use my gifts to become a Christian counselor.
Yet the training on Tuesday nights wasn’t easy. Each person in the student team was paired up with a co-therapist, and our professor and student team evaluated us with real clients through a live video feed or a recording of our sessions. Not only were we rigorously challenged to grow in our clinical skills, we were challenged to manage our own emotional pain during the therapy sessions. I often had to struggle to remember that my worth and value wasn’t based on how well my therapy sessions went, especially when I was being evaluated by my professor and peers. It was hardest when the criticism about my therapeutic skills came from my clients. During those times, I would hear the lies again that plagued me again: “You are not good enough. You are a terrible therapist. You are a failure if you don’t achieve.”
Yet I knew these were lies. God had made me stronger in Him. I would tell myself, “My worth is in being a child of God.” By holding onto this truth, I was able to refrain from taking what clients did as a personal attack and understand that they were struggling with their own issues. I was able to be gracious to my clients and myself, be present with them, and learn from my mistakes. I was free to use the gifts God gave me to be a channel of His healing. Henri Nouwen writes about the character of a wounded healer, which I hope I embody as I work with my clients:
“A wounded healer is someone who can listen to a person in pain without having to speak about his or her own wounds. When we have lived through a painful depression, we can listen with great attentiveness and love to a depressed friend without mentioning our experience. Mostly it is better not to direct a suffering person’s attention to ourselves. We have to trust that our own bandaged wounds will allow us to listen to others with our whole beings. That is healing.” (Wounded Healer, 1979).