Expressive Arts Therapy for South Asian Diaspora Grief in Boston

We meet many clients who say their grief is hard to explain. It is not only about missing a country or a city. It sits in the body like a pause. It appears when a familiar word will not arrive. It lingers in a recipe that tastes almost right. 

For many South Asians in the diaspora, grief carries histories of migration, partition, caste, class, language loss, and the quiet work of making a life between places. This grief is ordinary and heavy at the same time. It deserves care that does not ask you to choose a single story.

Expressive arts therapy gives us a way to sit with complexity without forcing perfect language. Through image, rhythm, movement, sound, and story, you can let the body speak. You do not need to be an artist. You only need a little time and a willingness to notice. In our work, we center care that is anti-colonial and abolitionist. 

That means we honor the conditions that shaped your survival, we resist pathologizing what kept you here, and we make space for healing that moves toward dignity, community, and choice.

Quick Guide: Expressive Arts and Diaspora Grief Terms

Term	Plain-language definition	How it may look in session	When it helps
Diaspora grief	Grief shaped by migration, partition, caste and class hierarchies, language loss, and living between places. It can feel ordinary and heavy at once.	Naming mixed feelings; drawing a “before / now / in-between” map; gentle ritual for a date, food, or word that matters.	You feel split between homes, muted around family traditions, or tired by constant translation.
Expressive arts therapy	Using image, movement, rhythm, sound, and story to explore experience when words feel thin. No art skill required.	One-minute line drawing to music; bilateral scribble for regulation; choosing colors for sensations before talking.	When talking stalls, when the body holds the story, or when multiple languages live inside you.
Abolitionist care	Care that builds safety without punishment and dignity without hierarchy. It considers housing, food, community, and choice.	Consent checks, pace set by the body, resourcing before exposure, warm referrals to practical supports.	When self-critique is loud, when systems have policed you, or when basic needs shape your capacity.
Anti-colonial lens	Locating distress in histories of colonization, caste, colorism, borders, and language policies rather than only inside the person.	Making space for your languages and rituals; questioning “proper” grief rules; inviting community care.	When you feel pressured to choose one identity or to heal in one approved way.
Fragmentation	Feeling scattered, numb, or far from yourself after stress or harm. A survival pattern that once kept you here.	“Self-fragment map” of strong, soft, and uncertain parts; appreciation before asking any part to shift.	When you notice shutdown, overwork, or conflicting roles that are hard to explain.
Polyvagal-informed cues	Rhythm, breath, and social safety signals that invite the nervous system toward steadier states.	Paced breathing, bilateral drawing, gentle swaying, voice warm-ups before narrative work.	When anxiety spikes, sleep is rough, or you need options to settle before speaking.
Consent-based pacing	Therapy follows your readiness. Slowness counts as skill. Choice is ongoing.	Clear stop signals; “ten percent” goals; pausing exposure if the body does not feel safe.	When past care felt rushed, blaming, or disconnected from your context.
Ritual	Small, repeatable acts that mark meaning without needing a rulebook.	One candle, one line of poetry, one word altar; closing breath after each exercise.	When you want continuity across languages, schedules, or households.
Belonging	A felt sense of being held by people, place, and practice. It can be layered and provisional.	Community-making exercises, “collective dish,” language swaps, story circles.	When isolation, shame, or gatekeeping make connection feel out of reach.

What diaspora grief can feel like

Diaspora grief can be a split attention.

Part of you tracks the room you live in now.

Part of you tracks the house where a grandparent once prayed.

You might feel numb when a festival arrives or guilty when you cannot explain why you are tired. Some days you may feel proud of what you built. Other days you may feel far from yourself. None of this is a failure. It is a record of what your body carried to make a life across borders.

Why expressive arts help

I often hear the phrase that art helps us escape. But art is not an escape from reality.

It is a tool for naming it with care. When you move a pencil across paper or breathe in time with a simple rhythm, your nervous system receives cues of safety. When you shape a color or a sound that matches what you feel, your inner world becomes a little more visible.

You do not need a full sentence to begin. A line is enough. A breath is enough.

In practice, expressive arts can:

• Offer ritual without a rulebook. You can mark what matters with a small act of attention.
  

• Let the body lead. Sensation, rhythm, and breath support presence when words feel thin.
  

• Hold many languages at once. Color, texture, and sound carry meaning beyond grammar.
  

• Invite community. Making together can soften isolation and shame.
  

Here are Five Practice invitations

Choose one practice. Keep it short. Ten minutes will do. If strong feelings rise, pause, look around, and name five things you see.

1) A tiny altar to language

Set up

Choose one word that matters in any language you carry. It can be a name, spice, street, prayer, or slang. Write it slowly on a scrap of paper. Trace it once. Place it beside a small object you already have. A cup. A leaf. A thread. Put this altar somewhere you will pass by today.

Practice

Each time you see it, notice your breath. Say the word softly or in your head. Let the sound arrive as it is. With an accent. Mixed with another language. Misspelled. Written in Latin letters if script feels far. Nothing to prove.

Why this matters

Languages travel through migration, class, caste, and schooling. Many of us were praised for English and teased for our mother tongues. Some learned to switch our voice at the door. A tiny altar invites repair without performance. It says this word belongs here. You belong here. It offers a body cue of welcome that can soften shame and invite regulation.

Make it yours

Include more than one word if your home holds many languages. Add scent or taste if that feels right. Cardamom. A slice of ginger. If prayer is not your path, keep it secular. If sacred objects are part of your life, choose with care and consent.

Reflect

What memory does this word carry. What pressure does it carry. What version of you feels seen when you say it. What boundary would protect that version today.

2) Fabric memory

Set up

Pick a piece of fabric you already have. A scarf, T-shirt, dish towel, tote, or blanket. Hold it for a moment and notice texture, weight, temperature, and any faint scent that lingers.

Practice

Make three quick marks that translate what you sense. Tight cross-hatches for scratchy weave. Long lines for a smooth slide. A loose grid for worn cotton. Give the page a simple title like “Sunday laundry line” or “Blue tote on the train.”

Why this matters

Textiles carry stories of labor, migration, class, and care. Many of us were taught which fabrics are proper and which are not. Drawing the feel of cloth lets the body share memory without forcing details. It affirms everyday life as worthy of attention, not only what is polished or prestigious.

Make it yours

Use pencil, pen, or whatever is near. If color helps, add one shade that matches a feeling rather than the fabric. If touch is overwhelming, place the cloth beside you and draw what you remember instead of what you feel.

Reflect

What place or person arrives when you see these marks. What rules did you learn about looking neat or respectable. What softness or protection do you want more of today.

3) Soundtrack of home and here

Set up

Choose two songs. One that carries a sense of before. One that feels like now. Use whatever you already listen on. Give yourself a small moment to arrive.

Practice

Play the first song for one minute. Let your hand draw a single line that moves like what you hear. Pause. Play the second song and draw a new line on the same page. Notice where the lines touch, cross, or wander apart.

Why this matters

Music travels across borders more easily than people. It holds languages, migrations, borders, and the politics of who gets heard. Placing both songs on one page invites coexistence without choosing a winner. It honors that belonging can be layered, provisional, and still real.

Make it yours

Use pen, pencil, or finger on a phone note if paper is not available. If sound feels intense, lower the volume or listen through one earbud. You can also imagine the song and draw in silence. If words in the music carry pressure, focus on rhythm.

Reflect

What memories gathered around each line. Where did the lines rest or avoid each other. What rules did you learn about what counts as proper music. What would make it easier for both songs to live in your day.

4) The map of in between

Set up

On a blank page, draw three circles. One for where you come from. One for where you are. One for the in between. In the middle circle, place small symbols for what you carry - objects, memories, or values that travel with you. A photograph, a bus pass, a scent, a prayer, a border crossing, a dream.

Practice

Add one symbol for something you want to carry forward. Add another for something you are ready to set down. There is no need for accuracy or symmetry. Let the shapes overlap if they wish. Let the circles drift apart if they need space.

Why this matters

Living between places or cultures often means holding contradictions. Such as: love and loss, safety and longing, pride and fatigue. The map helps externalize what is usually invisible: the emotional labor of translation, the negotiations of belonging, the weight of inheritance. Naming what travels with you is an act of care, not closure.

Make it yours

You can collage with magazine cutouts, thread, receipts, or found textures instead of drawing. If art feels inaccessible, simply write lists within each circle. If you come from multiple “froms,” add more circles. The exercise is not about geography but about the movements of your story.

Reflect

Which symbols feel heavy. Which ones bring warmth. What stories have you been told about loyalty, home, or success. What would it mean to carry yourself with the same tenderness you offer to others.

5) Collective dish

Set up

Invite friends or family to bring one small food item that feels like home. It can be cooked, raw, packaged, or symbolic. Place everything on a shared surface like a table, mat, or tray. Make space for mobility needs and sensory preferences.

Practice

Without speaking at first, arrange the items together into a shape. A circle, a river, a constellation. Let people move in and out at their own pace. When the group is ready, each person offers one sentence about what they notice or remember.

Why this matters

Food carries memory, labor, and land. Recipes travel through migration and also through disruption. This practice honors many kitchens, many lineages, and the hands that fed us. It resists the idea that there is one authentic way to belong. A shared arrangement allows connection without requiring agreement.

Make it yours

If food is not accessible, gather objects instead. A tea bag, a wrapper, a seed, a spoon. You can also sketch the items and arrange the drawings. Include a moment of care for those with allergies, dietary needs, or fasting practices. Consent and comfort come first.

Reflect

Which item pulls your attention. Whose labor made it possible. What stories about class, gender, or purity live around this food. What would it mean to eat in a way that respects your body and your community. If you keep the arrangement for a while, notice how it changes over time.

Honoring contradiction

In this work, you do not have to choose a single feeling. You can love your family and need space. You can feel grateful for opportunities and mourn what was left behind. You can hold faith and ask difficult questions. Expressive arts makes room for these tensions. Your drawings and movements can hold both without asking you to resolve them before you are ready.

Consider closing any practice with a short line:
“Both can be true, and I am still here.”

Community practices

Healing does not depend on being alone. Many clients feel more grounded when creativity is shared.

• Story circle: Each person brings a photo. Set a two minute timer. One shares, one person draws the feeling of it. Switch. This keeps stories held by many hands.
  
  

• Festival reimagined: Create a small ritual that fits your current life. One diya on a windowsill. One line of poetry for Eid. One mango leaf on a door. Small gestures are still real.
  
  

• Language swap: Teach one word or phrase to each other and write it on a card. Say it once together. Place it by your door for a week.
  
  

Abolitionist and anti-colonial care in practice

Here, we do not frame your coping as a personal flaw. Many survival strategies formed in systems that rewarded obedience, punished need, or demanded silence. Colonization, caste, and colorism shape whose stories are heard. Borders decide which losses count as grief. An abolitionist lens asks us to build safety without punishment and dignity without hierarchy. That might look like replacing self-critique with consent. It might look like pausing before exposure work if the body does not feel safe. It might also mean inviting community support so you do not carry this alone.

Principle	What it means	In practice
Abolitionist and anti-colonial lens	Coping is not a flaw. Many patterns formed where obedience was rewarded and need was punished. Care centers dignity without hierarchy and safety without punishment.	Name colonization, caste, colorism, and borders as forces shaping grief and voice. Begin with consent and curiosity. Invite community support so care is not carried alone.
Symptoms as protectors	What looks like shutdown or overwork often kept you safe. We thank these strategies before asking them to shift.	Ask, “What did this part protect you from?” Offer appreciation. Explore softer roles before new skills.
Pace as protection	Slowness is a skill. The body’s readiness matters as much as the plan.	Begin with low-intensity grounding. Delay exposure if safety is uncertain. Build stop signals and consent points.
Culture belongs in the room	Culture is not decor. It shapes memory and care.	Invite language, ritual, or music if meaningful. Explore belonging without stereotype.
Safety is material	Healing lives inside housing, food, community, and choice.	Assess basic needs and connect to resources. Include care networks and pace around energy and access.
Consent over critique	Replace self-critique with informed choice. Change that fits capacity is still change.	Offer options, not orders. Ask, “What would feel doable by ten percent?” Co-create goals and revisit often.

This approach says:

• Your symptoms often protected you. We will thank them before we try to change them.

• Your pace matters. Slowness is a skill, not a failure.

• Your culture belongs here. We will not reduce it to decor or discard it for neatness.

• Your safety includes housing, food, community, and choice. Healing sits inside material conditions.
  
  

Care notes for grounding

• Keep sessions short. Ten to fifteen minutes can be enough.

• If you feel far away or flooded, look around and name five objects, feel your feet, and take one slow breath in and one slow breath out.

• If the past feels too close, do not force the exercise. Close the notebook and sip water. Return when you feel steadier.

• If you notice persistent numbness, panic, disrupted sleep, heavy shame, or thoughts of not wanting to be here, it may help to work with a therapist who understands trauma and culture.
  
  

What therapy with Pragati Jaiswal can look like

I offer online expressive arts and trauma therapy for South Asian, Asian diaspora, and multicultural clients across Massachusetts. My work centers cultural humility, consent, and care that honors the body. We move at a pace that feels possible and we welcome your languages, rituals, and identities into the room. Sessions may include art making, gentle movement, breath, or story alongside evidence-informed therapy.

What to expect in our first session

Our first meeting is quiet and collaborative. There is no pressure to share everything at once. We will decide together what feels available today.

• Arrive and ground
  A short check-in, one slow breath, and a simple choice about how to begin: color, line, movement, or words.

• Name what you are carrying
  We notice where stress, grief, or numbness shows up in body and story, with appreciation for survival strategies.

• Choose simple materials
  A pen, two crayons, or a single sheet of paper. No art skills needed. You can also just talk.

• Try one brief practice
  A one-minute line drawing to music, a “before and now” map, or a paced-breath exercise, only if it feels safe.

• Set consent points and pace
  We add clear stop signals and decide how to pause or slow down when needed.

• Clarify supports
  We explore what care looks like in your week, from rest and routines to community resources.

• Shape a next step
  We co-create a small goal that fits your capacity, and outline what the following session might include.

A closing ritual you can try today

Take a page. Draw a small circle for your heart, a small square for your home now, and a small triangle for the home that lives in memory. Place one dot where you would like to meet yourself this week. Give the page a short title. Place it somewhere tender. Let it be a quiet promise.

If you would like company in this work, I would be honored to support you. I offer expressive arts and trauma therapy for South Asian and Asian diaspora clients, and for anyone who wants a slower, kinder way back to themselves.

You can book a free consultation with Pragati to see whether this is the right fit.

• What is expressive arts therapy?

  Expressive arts therapy combines creativity and mental health. It uses drawing, movement, sound, and storytelling to help you express what is difficult to put into words. You do not need art skills. Each creative act supports emotional regulation, trauma healing, and self-understanding through body-based awareness and reflection.

• What is diaspora grief?

  Diaspora grief is the emotional experience of living between places and cultures. It includes missing home, navigating migration, caste, class, and language loss. This grief can feel both ordinary and heavy. Expressive arts therapy helps process these layered feelings through creativity, ritual, and gentle reconnection to belonging.

• How does an abolitionist and anti-colonial lens shape therapy?

  An abolitionist and anti-colonial approach to therapy recognizes that survival strategies often formed under systems that punished difference and need. It centers safety, dignity, and consent. Rather than treating symptoms as flaws, we honor culture, name oppression, and build care networks that include housing, food, and community.

• Do I need to be an artist to try expressive arts therapy?

  No. Expressive arts therapy focuses on process, not perfection. You can use color, sound, gesture, or movement to explore what feels true. The goal is self-expression and healing, not artistic ability. Every mark, sound, or breath becomes part of how your body tells its story.

• What happens in a first therapy session with Pragati Jaiswal?

  A first session begins gently, with consent and choice. You might start with a breath, a mark on paper, or conversation. Materials stay simple: a pen, crayons, a blank page. Together we follow what feels safe, honor your pace, and notice small shifts in presence and ease.