Realizing Diasporic Filipino/a/x Migratory Grief (Part 1)

An excerpt from “Realizing Diasporic Filipino/a/x Migratory Grief” originally published by Kasamahan on February 24, 2025.

What would you like us to know about your professional mental health background and the therapy you provide?

I’m Charlene, an immigrant, naturalized Canadian, and registered professional counsellor-candidate, deeply committed to supporting my resilient community as they navigate the grief and loss of leaving home.

My work focuses on migratory grief—a quiet, often unrecognized form of cultural bereavement that shapes the emotional well-being of immigrants and their families. I explore how the cultural values of a client’s homeland echo across generations, sometimes distorted by the unspoken grief of parents and misunderstood by the children who inherit it.

Therapy, to me, is an excavation—a careful uncovering of what’s been lost and what still remains. I help clients unearth the narratives they carry, equipping them with the tools to reshape their stories, reclaim their cultural identity, and strengthen their emotional bonds.

How would you define migratory grief in a general sense? What are the signs someone may be experiencing this?

Migratory grief is the quiet ache of homesickness wrapped in gratitude. It’s the scent of childhood meals now faint in memory, the warmth of familiar traditions that feel distant, the longing for streets that exist only in remembering. It is the mourning of a version of yourself that only existed in that place, with those people. It’s not just about geography. It’s about carrying that loss in ways you don’t always have words for.

People expect grief when someone dies. But migratory grief is different—it lingers in the background, in quiet moments. It’s triggered by small things: struggling to find the right word in your mother tongue, hearing your parents' accents in public and feeling self-conscious, or realizing your childhood friends have inside jokes you no longer understand. It’s the guilt of building a life far from family, and the ache of knowing that by the time you go back home, it won’t feel the same. Because migratory grief isn’t just about what’s left behind—it transforms you and your sense of home, reshaping both the places you return to and the way you carry them within you.

Unlike situational depression, migratory grief seeps into the body—it manifests in the restless search for familiarity, in the tension between gratitude and longing. Its signs aren’t just emotional; they live in the pauses of a sentence, in the ache of unspoken homesickness.

Migratory grief lingers in the body—tightness in the jaw from words left unsaid, fatigue that sleep doesn’t ease, an unsettled stomach that churns with the weight of unspoken longing. The body remembers what the mind tries to forget.

Behavioural changes, like shrinking into the background to avoid standing out or feeling like a visitor in both old and new spaces, can be markers of migratory grief. Others drown in work, mistaking exhaustion for purpose. Between the push to assimilate and the pull of what was left behind, belonging becomes a moving target—always just out of reach. For those who migrated as children, the pressure to adapt often outweighed the space to simply be. What began as survival became second nature, and in adulthood, many of us find ourselves repeating the same patterns, like stretching ourselves too thin and measuring our worth by how well we endure. The careful nurturing we lacked is something we must now learn to give ourselves.

Existential or identity conflicts may present with this line of thinking: "Who am I when the language of my childhood feels foreign on my tongue? Or when my roots stretch across an ocean, but my feet stand on unfamiliar ground?" Caught in the space between cultures, migratory grief is the quiet mourning of a self that no longer fits neatly anywhere.

Migratory grief doesn’t just belong to those who leave—it is inherited. First-generation parents mourn quietly, while their children, raised in the in-between, shoulder the weight of preserving a heritage they were never fully immersed in. 

Migratory grief doesn’t disappear, it shifts and reshapes over time. Healing starts with acknowledgment, allowing space for both loss and growth. It’s not about erasing grief but learning to hold it while redefining home, belonging, and self. Integration isn’t about choosing one identity over another; it’s about weaving together past and present in a way that feels whole. Therapy, particularly when it is culturally aware, can support this process—helping individuals make sense of their grief, reconnect with their roots, and create space for new ways of belonging. Storytelling and community, too, offer meaningful ways forward, reminding us that we don’t have to navigate this journey alone.

Does migratory grief tend to co-occur with other mental health challenges or have any common risk factors?

Migratory grief often intertwines with depressive and anxiety symptoms, not just because of the loss itself but because of the emotional contradictions that come with it. Gratitude and grief coexist, as does pride in one’s resilience and the quiet ache of what was left behind. Guilt seeps in quietly—in video calls with aging parents who wave off their own loneliness, in the heavy suitcase of pasalubong (Gifts for people back home, “something for when you welcome me”) meant to make up for the years spent away. It’s the unspoken weight of utang na loob, the invisible debt that no amount of success seems to repay. This guilt can turn inward, leading to subtle self-harming behaviours that aren’t always recognized as such.

For many Filipinos, Catholicism’s deep roots shape how this guilt is processed. It isn’t always through self-punishment in obvious ways, but in overworking to prove one’s worth, maintaining porous boundaries to avoid seeming selfish or overspending when visiting the Philippines as a way to compensate for distance. The weight of utang na loob (the unspoken debt to family and ancestors) can make it difficult to set boundaries or prioritize mental well-being. These patterns, though often framed as acts of love and duty, can quietly chip away at one’s sense of self and worsen existing mental health struggles.

Migratory grief is carried in the body as much as the mind. It settles in the shoulders, in sleepless nights, in the quiet exhaustion of constantly translating oneself between cultures. It lingers in the body as much as in the mind. Some people withdraw socially, feeling like they exist in limbo—never fully belonging to the place they left or the place they now call home. Others lean into emotional numbing, avoidance, or even self-sacrificing behaviours that keep them from acknowledging their own needs.

At its core, migratory grief isn’t just about missing a place. It’s about mourning an identity, a language that no longer rolls off the tongue as easily, a version of yourself that only existed in a different home. The absence of a strong cultural community can deepen this isolation, making it harder to find spaces that understand this kind of grief. Without acknowledgment, it festers in silence, compounding other mental health challenges.

Healing starts with recognition—understanding that grief and gratitude can coexist, that setting boundaries doesn’t mean dishonouring one’s roots, and that belonging is something that can be redefined rather than lost.

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If this resonates with you, you don’t have to navigate it alone. I offer individual counselling, group support, and consultation to help diasporic Filipinos find home and healing. Reach out to start the conversation.