From Silence to Invitation: Reflections on Cultural Broaching as an Asian Therapist

As an Asian therapist practicing in a Western context, I’ve often been struck by the tension between invisibility and hypervisibility. I’ve felt the subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) expectations to blend in, be neutral, and avoid “rocking the boat.” Yet, in the therapy room—where authenticity and healing should take center stage—these very expectations can create barriers between therapist and client, especially when race, culture, or identity remain unspoken.

Attending the Cultural Broaching & Bridging workshop was a timely, grounding experience. It challenged me to reconsider not only how I invite clients to bring their cultural identities into the room, but also how I show up with my own.

Naming What’s Often Left Unsaid

The workshop emphasized that broaching race and culture isn’t about being politically correct—it’s about being ethically responsible. Silence, even if well-intentioned, can perpetuate epistemic injustice: a term that stuck with me deeply. It refers to moments when clients are either not believed about their own experiences (testimonial injustice) or don’t yet have the language to name what they've lived (hermeneutical injustice). As someone who grew up navigating multiple cultures, I know how confusing and isolating that linguistic gap can feel.

As therapists, we hold power. The workshop reminded me that broaching race and identity is not a passive act—it’s an invitation. And that invitation must be extended with humility, curiosity, and intention.

Where Am I on the Broaching Spectrum?

The framework from Day-Vines et al. (2007) describing broaching styles—from avoidant to infusing—was both illuminating and uncomfortable. If I’m being honest, I’ve probably floated between isolating and incongruent. I value culture deeply and recognize its impact on mental health, yet there have been moments where I hesitated. I worried: Will this feel like I’m projecting? Will I make the client uncomfortable? But the data was clear—clients often wait for us to take the lead, and avoiding the topic can lead to rupture or dropout, especially among racialized clients.

Moving toward a congruent or even infused approach will require more than skill—it will require courage. Courage to sit with discomfort. Courage to use pointed language, like naming “racism” or “whiteness,” instead of hiding behind safer terms like “diversity.” And courage to repair if I misstep.

Cultural Broaching as Relational Repair

What struck me most was how broaching can function not only as prevention, but as repair. When done well, it’s a bridge back to the client—a way to say, I see you. I’m willing to hold this with you, even if it’s hard for both of us.

This hit close to home. I recalled a session with a young East Asian client navigating intergenerational tension. I had sensed cultural dynamics at play but hesitated to name them explicitly. When I eventually did, the client’s response was one of relief—“I didn’t know if I was allowed to talk about that here.” That moment reinforced what this workshop taught: when we fail to broach, we risk signaling that some parts of our clients must remain hidden.

Bringing My Own Cultural Identity into the Room

As an Asian male therapist, I’ve often been perceived as “neutral” or “safe”—sometimes to the point of erasure. Clients, colleagues, and even supervisors have made assumptions about my cultural positioning or have avoided asking altogether. This workshop encouraged me to more actively broach my own positionality when relevant—not to center myself, but to acknowledge that therapy is never a culturally blank slate.

I’m learning that broaching doesn’t always mean having the “right words” or perfect cultural knowledge. It means showing up with openness and transparency. It means saying, “This may be outside my lived experience, but I want to understand.” Or even, “As someone from an Asian background, I wonder how our cultural contexts might shape this space.”

Looking Ahead

The Cultural Broaching & Bridging workshop wasn’t just an academic exercise—it was a mirror. It asked me to reflect on how I practice, how I hesitate, and how I can evolve. My takeaway is simple, yet profound: Broaching is not a technique—it’s a stance. It’s a way of being in therapy that honors complexity, power, and presence.

As I continue my journey, I aim to broach more boldly. Not perfectly, but consistently. Because in doing so, I hope to create spaces where clients—especially those from marginalized backgrounds—don’t have to wonder if their identities are welcome.

They’ll already know.