Keywords

The multiple environments I have lived in and experienced shape my story as a postmodern supervisor. In this chapter, I begin with a narrative about my family of origin, cross-cultural life journey, and the social location in which I have been immersed; this narrative leads to the story of why I chose to adopt postmodern approaches in my work, and how I perceive myself applying postmodern supervision in MFT practicum classes in the USA. My identity as a Taiwanese female faculty member adds multiple layers of complexity to this account, as these intersectional experiences influence my understanding and practice of postmodern supervision.

How Did I Get Here?

I was born and raised in Taiwan. My first language is Mandarin-Chinese. My parents were traditional middle-class Taiwanese who valued education, hard work, and perseverance. My dad was a faculty member at a university and the family’s main bread earner. He was considered “higher social class” compared to my mom because of his graduate degree and occupation. My mom, like many Taiwanese women at that time, did not finish college and stayed at home to take care of her family (Lee & Mock, 2005a). Despite numerous conflicts in their relationship, my parents remained married for 38 years until my mom passed away a few years ago. In my memories, my mom submitted to my dad most of the time despite her short temper and seemly strong and, at times, overbearing personality.

My parents’ marriage seemed traditional and patriarchal in terms of gender roles, finances, and power. As a traditional ciswoman, my mom was subservient to my dad in many aspects of life (Ashton & Jordal, 2019). She was also expected to take full responsibility for the emotional support and domestic care of the family (Quek, Knudson-Martin, Orpen, & Victor, 2011). Growing up, I witnessed how dominant discourses of traditional and patriarchal cultural values, such as gender roles, governed the ways my parents thought of themselves, interacted with each other, and made meaning of their personal and family life (Walsh, 2019).

When I was little, my mom tried tirelessly but still struggled to meet the traditional Taiwanese cultural expectations placed on her—the foremost of which was to give birth to a son. As Lee and Mock (2005a) described, the value of a wife in Chinese culture was judged by her ability to produce a male heir. Sons were often favored more than daughters and were expected to carry on the family’s name and legacy and to take care of their elderly parents (Hsieh & Bean, 2014). Daughters, on the other hand, were to be seen in relation to the men in their families, such as their fathers, husbands, and sons. Influenced by this traditional cultural and gender belief, my mom endured multiple doctor visits and medical consultations for infertility and alternative surgeries. She often took me with her to those appointments for company and emotional support. Sadly, after years of unsuccessful attempts, she gradually realized that she would never have a biological son of her own. She was met with the cruel disappointment that she had failed the predominant cultural expectation for a wife and could not have “a son to rely on” when she was old. She also treated my aunts who had sons with jealousy and envy and showed favoritism to my male cousins as if they were hers. She never said any demeaning things to me directly about my gender, but I remember those moments that I was puzzled and hurt by her obvious favoritism toward my male cousins.

As realistic and resilient as she was, my mom struggled to accept her situation, and eventually came to terms with it over time. She gradually unpacked her gender role stories within her social contexts, cultural surroundings, and life trajectory. During this reflection process, she found her own way to fight back against her gender fate as well as the male-centered culture (Ashton & Jordal, 2019). She spoke of sacrificing her education and career development opportunities to take care of her immediate and extended family; as a consequence, she lacked necessary knowledge and skills to find a well-paying job and had to be financially dependent on her husband. Her possibilities were constrained, and her choices within relationships were limited. For example, she had no choice but to take on the full responsibility of household chores. She suffered from the negative influence of the dominant gender discourse in her life that a woman had to be relationship-focused and was the assumed caregiver of the family. Thus, she demanded that I pursue higher education, get a professional job, and “never have to rely on men.” She was determined to raise me like a son in her mind—a person who is well-educated, motivated, and career-driven; a professional who is financially independent and she can rely on when she is old.

My parents seldom agreed on things, but they both valued my education. They prized upward mobility and placed great importance on hard work and academic achievements. In this traditional Taiwanese belief system, ones’ education level, career attainment, and work role contributed momentously to their self-esteem and self-definition (Lee & Mock, 2005b). Parents’ childrearing practice and the face of the family could depend on the children’s school performance as well as their future career achievements. Researchers have found that many Chinese immigrant parents bring this value from their country of origin to the USA (Hsieh & Bean, 2014).

Under the influence of this dominant cultural storyline and my mom’s determination for me to pursue higher education, my parents invested a great portion of their time, money, and resources in my education. Even though they were not affluent, I was sent to numerous after-school programs on varied topics, such as science, math, language, art, and calligraphy. My mom would always wait patiently outside the classroom and talk with the teachers afterward regarding my overall progress in the particular subject. My room was filled with educational materials, including audiobooks, classic works of literature, children’s encyclopedias, and science kits. For more than 12 years, a hired tutor would come to my home to give me weekly or biweekly private piano lessons. It was not until my first year in college that my mom finally gave up on me ever becoming the pianist she wanted me to be. I still remember the distress, disappointment, passive-aggressiveness, and bitterness in her voice when she said, “You don’t have to play if you don’t like it. It’s just a waste of money.”

During vacation breaks, my mom loved to travel and often brought me along. We visited many countries in Europe, North America, and different parts of Asia. She carefully selected trips with guided tours and live commentaries so that I could learn more about the local history, customs, and traditions. She insisted that these trips had to be both fun and educational and, at the end of the day, asked questions to test me on what I had learned from the attractions and sightseeing. I occasionally would throw a temper tantrum because of these annoying “quizzes” but was often quickly distracted by all the interesting and exciting things happening around me overseas.

Although I enjoyed the varied learning experiences, consistent with Lee and Mock’s (2005a) cultural observation of some Chinese mothers, I felt my mom was somewhat overbearing, guilt-inducing, and overinvolved with my life. Growing up, I had a love-hate relationship with her and had always felt some level of stress and anxiety about my performance. In Taiwan, this academic stress and pressure from parents to succeed seemed fairly common, and was considered the norm; researchers, however, have found it to correlate with adolescent depression (Gao et al., 2020). The pressure to succeed was also associated with high levels of stress, academic anxiety, somatic complaints, and shame upon oneself and the entire family for Asian American individuals (Hsieh & Bean, 2014).

However, looking back through a postmodern perspective that understands a person from her own context, my mom might just have been doing what she knew best in raising me. She was determined to push me to be different (from the traditional image of a Taiwanese woman/wife) and not “repeat the same mistakes I made in my life.” Her seemingly controlling demeanor within the parent-child relationship was a reflection of her conformity and suffering and, eventually, a carefully considered response to the socially constructed expectations imposed by the larger cultural aggregation and people around her. As Walsh (2019) stated, “Our lives exist and take on meaning within the social worlds that have shaped us and through which we negotiate our path in life” (p. 49).

In addition, though I had mixed feelings about my mom’s and the Taiwanese academic and career expectations, I was privileged in terms of my educational opportunities and resources. The after-school programs, private lessons, and international travel experiences had not only equipped me with specific academic knowledge and skills to compete with my peers in school but also had given me access to a wider range of sociocultural narratives and life choices (Freedman and Combs, 1996). This background knowledge as well as the formal and informal ways of learning prepared me well to seek higher education in Taiwan and in the USA, which, later on, helped me find a professional job and a satisfying career. These initial encounters with diverse cultures, worldviews, and realities during traveling promoted my current interests as well as my understanding of postmodern theories.

After finishing my bachelor’s degree at the best university in Taiwan, I pursued my “American dream” and obtained my master’s and doctoral degrees in marriage and family therapy (MFT) in the USA. My mom did not know this major well but was proud of my degrees. Since then, I have been in the field of MFT for almost two decades—starting as an adjunct instructor and clinical supervisor in the USA and Taiwan, and eventually took on a core faculty in MFT programs in the USA. My mom was instrumental in my career advancement. Like many women in collective cultures, she viewed my achievements as her own success (Lee & Mock, 2005b). Because of her sacrifice and perseverance, I was able to build my career, maintain a professional job, and be financially independent in my marriage. My accomplishments, which she had planned and worked hard for, led to changes in certain aspects of my default gender role and contributed to a more equal relationship between my husband and me, compared to my parents. My situation reflects Quek and Knudson-Martin’s (2008) research, which explored wives’ paid employment, educational attainment, and the sense of control they had over their own lives played an important role in gender equality in marriage. This did not necessarily mean that spouses fully shared power in every other aspect of their relationship. Nevertheless, acknowledging wives as coproviders in the family created changes in the arrangement of implicit but influential household tasks as well as related decision processes. For example, these husbands may initiate more household responsibilities, actively recognize and value their wives’ contributions, and willingly share mutual prioritization of wives’ careers (Quek et al., 2011).

From an individualist mainstream point of view, my mom might still be viewed as “a housewife with no professional skills or further career development.” However, in traditional Taiwanese culture, which emphasizes interdependence more than independence, my academic and career achievements were considered a collective effort and a success shared by me, her, and the family. As the main caregiver, she deserved the credit and had the right to brag about it with friends and relatives. She saved face, and her contribution was recognized and celebrated. She also proved that it is not impossible to change one’s gender fate of having to be financially dependent on men (e.g., our husbands and sons), and a daughter could bring her and the family honor not only through the man she marries, but also through her own educational and career achievement. In a collective way, my mom reclaimed the disavowed parts of herself that had struggled to survive under the constraint of dominant discourse, patriarchy, and other structures of marginalization (Ashton & Jordal, 2019). Her feelings that her possibilities were constrained and her space was limited by the gender roles and traditional cultural beliefs were somewhat alleviated.

My relationship with my mom shaped my beliefs and perspectives about culture, gender role, and marriage, which planted a seed for my future learning and practice of the postmodern perspective. However, at that time, I was not able to identify those transformative life experiences or articulate those underlying emotional and thinking processes. It was only after learning the systemic theory and postmodern approach that I was able to further process and integrate my relationship with my mom as I put all the broken pieces together—the strong influences of the social norms and taken-for-granted assumptions, the mainstream narratives, our social locations and associated privileges and subjugations, as well as how one’s personal agency and resiliency in life could create a unique outcome for me and my family.

Different Systems, Different Expectations

My husband and I met in the USA while I was attending graduate school. We are both Taiwanese and share the value of the cultural emphasis on education and career achievement of many Asian immigrant families (Hsieh & Bean, 2014). As a joint decision, we moved several times internationally and across different states to pursue the best educational and career opportunities for each or both of us. Many times, we moved to a location far from relatives and friends, spent a couple of years making it home, and moved again shortly thereafter. Looking back, there is a Chinese saying that perfectly describes our bold decision process—初生之犢不畏虎—which literally translates as “the newborn calf is not afraid of tigers.” Relocating without much social support and rebuilding a personal network from scratch was time-consuming and emotionally draining, but I was too young, and perhaps too entitled, to realize it.

Moving internationally from Taiwan to the USA for graduate school was not easy. It was a major shift in my social and power context—I was transformed from a middle-class college graduate to a “fresh off the boat” foreigner who did not know much about her surroundings. The visible and hidden agendas in my new environment demanded an utterly different skillset. Despite being motivated and career-driven, I was trained well according to the more traditional aspects of Taiwanese culture, which values being quiet, respectful, and considerate, focusing on others’ needs more than yours, sacrificing without complaint, and tolerating people’s mistakes instead of raising concerns. However, in the USA, these characteristics may be seen as lacking clear and effective communication, assertiveness, leadership, and healthy interpersonal boundaries. It took me several years to realize this, create my own technical definitions of “cultural differences,” and learn basic survival skills for the USA.

In the classroom, there were many times when I was the only non-native English speaker. Although I had qualified education, training, and professional experiences, grammar mistakes in my speaking and oral presentations would easily undermine my credibility as a competent clinician and instructor. I was not able to sound precise, convincing, and persuasive—qualities that characterize the speech of typical authority figures in the dominant US culture and which a student might expect. In the early years of my teaching career, I received negative feedback in teaching evaluations relating to this issue. Although I provided many written materials (e.g., syllabus, PowerPoint slides, and grading rubrics), some students indicated that they felt my verbal instructions were confusing and inconsistent and claimed this was the main reason why they failed an assignment or exam; notably, others in the class were able to complete these tasks satisfactorily. Some students asked the same questions again and again in an attempt to elicit a different answer and find an easy way out. As a female faculty member of color, I seem to be more vulnerable to receiving this kind of criticism, and the students could perceive me as having less authority, righteousness, and credibility to begin with.

My “passive” and “vague” communication style was not only an issue of English speaking skills, but also a practiced cultural custom. Compared to traditional Taiwanese culture, American culture is relatively low-context and relies more on direct and explicit verbal communication. Information and rules in the USA are expected to be clearly spelled out and communicated primarily through language. On the other hand, traditional Taiwanese culture is high-context, which means it focuses on the interpersonal relationship and the implied messages within a specific group or context when communicating. Nonverbal behaviors and the group’s identification and understanding, instead of direct language, are emphasized (Sue & Sue, 2012). The American cultural emphasis on verbal communication was embedded in the teaching evaluation; consequently, the evaluation could disadvantage an international faculty member like me whose original culture is relatively high-context and whose first language is not English. My experience is hardly unique: Fan et al. (2019) observed that teachers from non-English speaking backgrounds generally receive lower ratings compared to their native English-speaker counterparts.

Despite experiencing many scenarios in which I felt marginalized, I have been blessed with many kind, sincere, and honest people in my life, including compassionate mentors, caring supervisors and senior administration, friendly colleagues, generous acquaintances, and considerate students, all from various cultures. They have respected me and have created space for me as a minority female faculty member. I am deeply appreciative of their inclusivity. This mix of positive, negative, marginalized, and empowering experiences helped me to improve in my academic role and to apprehend the nuances of the influences of social location, particularly its effect on teaching and supervisory relationships.

Not One Way or the Other

The postmodern approach helped me understand the students and myself as a person and as a supervisor within various social and cultural contexts. For instance, from this perspective, the negative comments in my previous teaching evaluation were not judgments of each other as ignorant students or an incompetent instructor, but rather could be viewed as more of a mismatch of expectations instead of accusations or blame. Some students might have compared me with an inner image of an authority figure that looks, sounds, and behaves like the mainstream and meets the cultural emphasis on high verbal communication . This assumption was created by the dominant discourse and social settings as well as their previous interpersonal relationships. Likewise, I acted and responded based on my own cultural beliefs and what I thought was “right.” However, looking through the postmodern lens, no one was necessarily “right” or “wrong.” The students and I were in parallel universes that did not understand or connect with each other. As the theory suggests, perceptions and emotions, which are often considered to generate solely within the individual, are, in fact, influenced by the environment (Crotty, 1998). Judgments and evaluations that seemed personal were actually socially constructed. The so-called “truths” are shaped by cultural contexts and are intersubjective.

In other words, my students and I as their supervisor are not able to be objective and “bias-free .” As Anderson (1997) stated, “A therapist cannot be neutral. All are impossible. On the contrary, we each take who we are, and all that that entails—personal and professional life experiences, values, biases, and convictions-with us into the therapy room” (p. 137). We all are “biased.” We are biased because we understand the world based on our experiences of family of origin, gender, sexual orientation, ethnic identity, socioeconomic status, education, etc.

This postmodern perspective provided a justification for my differences—my quietness, lacking clear boundaries, passive and vague communication style, and etc. It gave me some space and a reason not to be fully “Americanized,” as no culture or individual is “higher” or “better” than the other. We are just different, biased in our own way with our unique strengths and weakness. It allowed me to be myself and not lose my culture. At the same time, I was able to acknowledge, respect, support, and work with the various realities and expectations of my students and the overall western academic culture. This acknowledgment of different possibilities of being and interacting helped me to not hold grudges when receiving criticism, either constructive or sometimes, unfortunately, malicious. I learned to see the judgments from others as socially, culturally, and family constructed, instead of a purely personal attack. This viewpoint encouraged and consoled me when experiencing interpersonal conflicts and feeling marginalized as a faculty member of color. It helped me to keep an overall positive attitude and to see the persons and their real needs beyond their defenses. Postmodernism also addressed the power differences within the social context of academia, which shed light on the confusions around the power issues that I faced every day as a female faculty of color.

Attentiveness to Power and Its Influence on Relationships

A person’s culture, gender, race, age, sexual orientation, physical condition, education, socioeconomic status, religion, and possible membership in other marginalized groups influence how power was granted to them based on their social location. As Freedman and Combs (1996) stated, some people have easier access to a wider range of sociocultural narratives than others and are entitled to more choices in their lives.

This explains the mixed experiences I encountered in the USA as they intersect with multiple social locations in my personal and professional journey (Hernandez & McDowell, 2010). Despite my marginalized identities as a Taiwanese female, I am privileged in terms of education, training, and vocation as an academia and supervisor in higher education. I work in an environment that often minimizes cultural traits that I value and are “innate” to me (e.g., being quiet and considerate, focusing on others’ needs, and sacrificing without complaint); yet, I am in a power position that is reinforced by the academic structure. Because of cultural and gender social location, I am an “authority figure” that does not look, sound, or behave like my mainstream counterparts, and at times challenged by students. The postmodern approach’s attentiveness to power and its influence on relationships provided an avenue to deepen my understanding of numerous relationships in which I feel comfortable and empowered as well as those that I feel “brushed off” and marginalized.

With this understanding, it is important to pay close attention to my relational use of power as an instructor and supervisor in the classroom. In order to be held accountable for proper use of this power and to monitor my personal “biases,” I situate myself in a way that explicitly identifies my own experiences and intentions that influence clinical supervision and therapeutic work. For instance, I constantly reflect on the reasons why I choose a certain theory or suggest a specific intervention to the student. Although this self-work is not highlighted in postmodern supervision, it is important for me as a supervisor to regularly reflect on my biases in order to be clear about my positions, including my strengths and limitations, and to identify instances where my personal issues interfere with my professional work.

More often than not, this self-reflection process engages various social locations and identities, either in my private time or in peer consultation, within myself or with my professional colleagues. For example, conversations with my Asian colleagues and mentors “normalize” the contextual challenges a faculty of color faces; and consultations with my non-Asian colleagues and mentors provide a universal perspective that most instructors deal with in their classroom. I gained self-knowledge because of all of these dialogues and reflections and understand the complexities and profound influences of intersectionality and relational power within MFT supervision. It is only through understanding myself that I can appreciate the similarities and differences of others. Only through this self-work can I be aware of how my own life experiences and “bias” influence the ways I see and listen to my students. The postmodern lens opens the door to attend to the sociopolitical complications and power confusions. That aids in avoiding practices that subjugate others or capitalize on my power as an instructor and supervisor in the classroom. With this insight of my positional and relational power and the subsequent emotional comfort it brings, I am able to watch myself and to not overcompensate my “powerlessness” in certain aspects of my personal and professional life by abusing my power in supervisory relationships with students (Wilcoxon, Remley, & Gladding, 2014).

What Do I Do in Postmodern Supervision?

Meanings are constantly negotiated and cocreated among individuals, the others around them, and a larger cultural aggregation (Freedman & Combs, 1996). Supervision consists of an interpersonal and dynamic process of constructing and co-constructing realities of each student. In the following section, I will describe how I see myself applying concepts of postmodern supervision in MFT practicum classes and how my social location influences these interventions. I will also provide examples of how I use myself as a “cultural outsider” to promote students’ awareness and learning about the influences of dominant discourses highlighted in the postmodern approach.

Decentering of the Dominant Professional Account of Knowledge

As a co-learner in the supervision process, I pay attention to the influences of power, social contexts, and the larger professional discourses within the supervisory relationship. Using a parallel process, I ask students similar questions and facilitate discussions to explore their own life trajectories relating to these diverse social indicators and their influence on personal and professional identities and clinical treatments. In doing so, a decentering of the dominant professional account of knowledge could happen, and trainees may become more familiar with their personal local knowledge that comes from the rich history of their life paths (Carlson & Erickson, 2001). When trainees see themselves as experts of their own stories, it is likely that they would adopt the belief that people are experts on their own lives and create spaces for clients to tell their own stories in the therapy room (Bobele, Biever, Solorzano, & Bluntzer, 2014).

A Not-Knowing Stance

I take a curious, not-knowing stance and inquire about the clinical meanings and connections my trainees make for case conceptualization. I have also offered my observations of the case and the influence of the trainees’ social location on their clinical interpretation and therapeutic interaction in a personal and not intimidating way. For example, I have referred to my own social location and shared my perspective as a “cultural outsider,” to explain how I see individualism and independence as one of the dominant cultural stories, and further describe ways in which I perceive these cultural stories as influencing the trainees’ interventions or their clients’ family dynamic. For instance, in a previous case consultation, a supervisee shared that her client is a 38-year-old Asian American male living with his older mother. Historically, American society has expected children to leave home when they reach adulthood, whereas traditional Taiwanese culture typically encourages adult children, especially sons, to co-reside with their older parents. In this case, interdependence is stressed more than independence in the parent-child relationship. I narrated very briefly about my own cultural and gendered story of my mom’s desire for a son to take care of her when she is old, in order to help the trainees explore how the Western and Eastern cultural values may have informed their clinical judgments and the client’s family life. Students reported it as insightful, while others seized the opportunity to “educate” me about the American culture. Mutually, we gained from these discussions as we coeducate each other. I make efforts to meet them through both differences and commonalities surrounding social locations.

Deconstructive Listening

Most of the time, I work with what my students present to me—their notes, stories, analyses, and selected therapy videos shared in a practicum class. Despite the standard case presentation components, students consciously or unconsciously choose certain materials and ways of narrating their therapeutic stories. It is important to explore this underlying process of “selection” and listen to both the said and unsaid. For example, every culture has its own dominant discourses and storylines. Discourses and storylines that are not the same as the mainstream are often discouraged in obvious or subtle ways. In other words, although there are multiple ways to narrate a client’s life and therapeutic relationship, society provides only certain dominant narratives that are considered appropriate or relevant templates for describing or interpreting one’s behaviors and experiences. These mainstream discourses define the client’s and the student therapist’s social roles and standards, such as the meaning of being a “good student” or being “successful.” It is very likely that certain parts of clients’ lives and trainees’ experiences may be ignored, disapproved of, or oppressed by the dominant discourses while others remain unnoticed (Freedman & Combs, 1996; White, 1991).

Therefore, when listening to trainees’ narratives in supervision, I apply deconstructive listening, that is, giving attention to the unnoticed or less-storied aspects, such as “struggles against injustice,” strengths, or resources in clients’ and trainees’ lives (Freedman & Combs, 1996). I pay attention to the influence of restrictive cultural stories and the power distributions between the client family and the student therapist. I ask questions to help trainees unpack their accounts and see their current cases and interventions from a different perspective.

However, applying the stance of not-knowing, the intervention of deconstructive listening and the primarily conversational format of postmodern supervision present some unique challenges and learning opportunities. This collaborative and not-knowing role I assume presents a much less authoritative position compared with other theories. The preferred supervision style of inquiries, conversations, and discussions, instead of lectures and directive instructions, could be misunderstood as revealing me as “inexperienced” or suggesting that I “don’t know” the answer. Acknowledging multiple possibilities and speaking softly could also be viewed as “not confident,” “unsure,” or “weak.” As mentioned earlier, stereotypes of gender, age, and race might compound this first impression of incompetence.

This style of trainee-centered and decentering of the dominant professional account approach can be anxiety-provoking for beginning therapists, especially when they believe that I, as the supervisor, am responsible for providing a definite answer to the client’s problem (Bobele et al., 2014). Some trainees might feel uneasy and uncomfortable adopting this style and even doubt the effectiveness of therapy and supervision. For instance, instead of viewing the stance of not-knowing as an intentional clinical intervention and supervision approach, the beginning therapist who did not receive the directive and straightforward instructions they expected from me may see this trainee-centered approach as a sign of me being an “inexperienced” and “incompetent” supervisor. Stereotypes associated with my marginalized identities (e.g., race and gender), again, might compound this impression of incompetence. Establishing credibility for me as a Taiwanese female postmodern MFT supervisor is a continuous effort when using the postmodern stance. As such, I found ways to make known my “expert” knowledge through sharing my training and education backgrounds, and referencing textbooks explicitly to “justify” my clinical suggestions with new students. Moreover, I responded to students’ questions directly instead of redirecting to the class for varied viewpoints . This may not be my modus operandi but at times a necessary method in demonstrating the vast trainings and experiences I have.

Hierarchy and Collaboration

Despite the marginalized aspects of my identity, as a MFT supervisor, I am required to perform evaluations and make judgment of my supervisees’ clinical progress and skills. The evaluative role associated with the supervisory position is inevitably attached to different kinds of power, such as legitimate power (e.g., the responsibility of evaluating, gatekeeping, grading, etc.) and relational power over supervisees (Wilcoxon et al., 2014). This power differential can be apparent, especially when working with beginning student therapists in their first practicum class. Some students seek and rely heavily on my guidance and advice. I am intentional about reducing the less helpful aspects of positional hierarchies and maximize the collaborative, cooperative, and mutual generation of ideas (Bobele et al., 2014).

For instance, when working with beginning therapists, I describe where my questions, comments, or observations come from and offer my intentions behind them, so, my students can better evaluate my “bias” and decide how to relate to it (Freedman & Combs, 2008). I situate my thoughts and ideas within the contexts in which I was raised, educated, and trained. Except for legal, ethical, or pressing clinical issues (e.g., crisis intervention), I present my recommendations as one way of conducting therapy but not the way of doing so. In doing this, I intend to create space for students’ voices and to remain mindful of the power dynamic and “sociopolitical issues that can subtly direct the process” (Gehart & Tuttle, 2003, p. 216). As a result, my students take a more involved role in their professional development.

New and Alternative Stories

In supervisory practices, I use the insights and observations I gained through traveling and living in different cultures as well as my social location as a “cultural outsider,” to challenge my students’ assumptions and to raise their awareness of the dominant discourses. I use cultural conversations regarding our supervisory relationship to broaden their perspectives that are restricted by the mainstream narratives. In doing so, I facilitate the process of re-authoring new and alternative stories, which express ideas, thoughts, and emotions that have been suppressed by the negative societal narratives. Through this process, I attempt to bring forth and nurture “thick descriptions” and meaningful, multistranded stories that include different aspects of clients’ lives and trainees’ clinical work.

For instance, in a previous case consultation, a teenage client seemed very discouraged by being called a “nerd.” My trainee’s observation suggested that the client appeared introverted and lack social skills. He might have a negative self-image relating to being too “nerdy.” During group supervision, we discussed the trainee’s proposition for basic social skills training and also examined the meaning of “nerd” in client’s social context and its implication on his interpersonal and family relationships. As a “cultural outsider,” I shared that in some Asian cultures, in which children’s academic performance is highly emphasized, there is actually a value attached to being a “nerd.” Some parents even prefer their child to be “nerdy”— that is, to care less about social and physical attractiveness and focus merely on knowledge, school, and good grades. There might be varied interpretations of being “nerdy” in different industries (e.g., high-tech industry versus traditional manufacturing) and geographical locations (e.g., urban versus rural). The expansion of ideas was not to determine which cultural value is “right” or “better,” but to open up a discussion about different possibilities and ways to look at the same “problem” (Freedman & Combs, 1996). Through constructing and reconstructing stories of as-yet-unstoried aspects, trainees may find new retelling of themselves as a therapist and as a person (Freedman & Combs, 2008). Many of my students were pleasantly surprised by this meaning-making process and strength-based approach.

Conclusion

My social location has influenced my journey to an academic position I am in today. My relationship with my mom was significant in constructing my narrative and my preferred way of performing my academic responsibilities, especially in clinical supervision. However, I know that my story as a Taiwanese female postmodern MFT supervisor working from a cross-cultural context will keep evolving and will be re-authored as I continue my journey in the discipline of MFT. I am excited about the years to come and am thankful for my friends and families as well as my compassionate, patient, and truthful mentors, colleagues, administrators, and many others who have supported me and created spaces for me when I am dealing with the challenges and power confusion as a female faculty of color. Without you, I could never have become me.