July is BIPOC Mental Health Awareness Month, and I've been sitting with the ways it names a problem SeekHealing was built to help address.
Hey there, all you beautiful seekers of healing – with a special shoutout this month to our Black, Brown and Indigenous family.
July is BIPOC Mental Health Awareness Month, and I've been sitting with the ways it names a problem SeekHealing was built to help address. The Steinberg Institute puts it plainly: BIPOC communities in the U.S. experience mental illness at roughly the same rate as their white counterparts, but access care at drastically lower rates — because of racism and misdiagnosis inside clinical systems, generations of mistrust built by real medical harm, a behavioral health workforce that doesn't culturally reflect the communities it's meant to serve, and the layers of stigma that all of those barriers reinforce in one another.
Social health programs are designed to meet people outside those clinical systems: peer-led, non-clinical, free of charge, and increasingly organized by trusted community members from the very impact areas we serve — which means the barrier of stigma has a much smaller hold on someone's first "yes" to connection than it does on their first "yes" to a therapist's waiting room.
Allow me to hand the mic over here to my brilliant colleague Ife — a facilitator in our community whose perspective on this matters more than mine.
We stand together.
With love,
Ife Lewis & Jenesis Nicolaisen
As a master's-level mental health clinician of Haitian descent, I have experienced therapy from both sides of the room—as a provider and as a client. My own years in therapy profoundly influenced my decision to enter this field because I knew there had to be another way. A way that honored the fullness of our stories, our histories, and our humanity.
Completing my master's program gave me a deep understanding of the culture of therapy in America. While I received an invaluable clinical education, I also recognized that many conversations central to the lived experiences of Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) were largely absent from my training. I found myself searching for an approach that was more inclusive, culturally responsive, and deeply honoring of our communities.
That search led me to the work of Dr. Jennifer Mullan and her groundbreaking book, *Decolonizing Therapy: Oppression, Historical Trauma, and Politicizing Your Practice*. Her work gave language to experiences I had felt but had never seen reflected in my graduate education.
As Dr. Jennifer Mullan reminds us:
"Therapy is not neutral because the body is not neutral. You cannot heal what you will not name, and you cannot name what you refuse to feel."
For many in BIPOC communities, naming what we feel has never been simple. Our emotions exist within larger systems shaped by historical trauma, racism, colonization, discrimination, microaggressions, stereotypes, cultural erasure, and the ongoing pressure to survive. Healing cannot be separated from these realities.
Many of us have also inherited cultural messages that our worth is measured by what we produce rather than who we are. Generations before us often lived under conditions where rest was unsafe, survival required relentless labor, and exhaustion became normalized. Whether through family stories, cultural conditioning, or the intergenerational effects of trauma, many of us continue to carry these patterns today.
Sometimes this shows up as working ourselves beyond our limits, holding ourselves to impossible standards, believing we must prove our value, or feeling guilty when we slow down. Rest can feel unfamiliar—even undeserved.
Yet healing asks something radically different of us.
Healing invites us to create enough internal space to notice what we feel, to name it without judgment, and to remember that our worth has never depended on our productivity. Our essence—not our output—is our greatest resource. When we allow ourselves to rest, we create the conditions for awareness, regulation, and transformation.
For many of us, this is a revolutionary act.
Finding the right therapist is part of that revolution. Therapy is not simply about finding someone with credentials; it is about finding someone who understands the cultural, historical, and systemic realities that shape your life. It is okay—and often necessary—to interview a potential therapist. Ask about their experience working with BIPOC clients. Ask how they understand racial trauma, historical trauma, cultural identity, spirituality, and family systems. You deserve a therapeutic relationship where you do not have to educate your clinician on your lived experience before your healing can begin.
Dr. Jennifer Mullan also reminds us:
"This work also highlights the need to return back home to our ancestry, to many of our practices, our medicines, our native tongues, and our communal ways of thriving."
For me, this invitation is deeply personal. Healing is not about rejecting psychology—it is about expanding it. It is about recognizing that our ancestors carried profound wisdom long before therapy offices existed. Community, ritual, storytelling, spirituality, movement, breath, nature, music, prayer, ancestral remembrance, and traditional healing practices have sustained our people for generations.
Mental health is not one size fits all.
Our healing should honor evidence-based practices while also making room for culture, identity, ancestry, community, and the wisdom carried within our bodies. When we begin to remember who we are beyond what we produce, we shift something larger than ourselves. Every person who chooses to heal with intention contributes to a healthier family, a stronger community, and a more compassionate future.
Because healing has always been more than an individual journey—it is also a collective remembrance.
And as we work towards our individual journey, “What would your healing look like if it honored not only your mind, but also your ancestry, your culture, and your community?"
Ife Lewis
