
ABOUT

THE NAME
HOYSUM COUNSELLING
In Cantonese, colloquial terms are often comprised of one or more characters, with words compounded to form new meaning. Hoysum means happy in Cantonese, a common term used widely and warmly to describe feelings of joy. Growing up, I heard this phrase often, used not only in reference to happiness, but almost as a scale for feeling all other emotions depending on the presence/absence of hoysum -
are you happy or are you unhappy?
This casual turn of phrase, used frequently over a lifetime, suggests an unspoken expectation – that being hoysum is the norm and that something must be wrong if we’re not consistently joyful. For many, there can persist a quiet striving or yearning to always be happy no matter the cause or context, resulting in impossible standards made worse in this era of social media and relentless self-comparison.
Rather than understanding the word at surface level, Hoysum Counselling invites you to delve deeper into the meaning of what it means to be hoysum. In examining each part of the phrase separately, hōy represents the verb, to open, while sūm represents the beating organ rooted in our centre, the heart.
開 hōy. 心 sūm.
open. heart.
Imagine what it could feel like:
- to open up your heart and welcome the expansiveness of
human experience and emotion
- to embrace your nuanced (and sometimes conflicting) feelings
as you navigate through life’s twists and turns
- to not only accept the shadows, but to work with
them to transform your own perception of what lies beyond
limitation


The name Hoysum Counselling was thus chosen to invoke curiosity, exemplifying how we can find new perspectives and ways of understanding if we invite ourselves to examine the world through a different lens.
In giving yourself permission to open up your heart, and to be open with your heart, I hope to help you examine the wisdoms you already possess and to understand the value of your most significant relationship...
the one you have with yourself.




MACP, RCC
THE THERAPIST

I was young enough when we immigrated that I soaked up the nuances of local language and culture without much forethought or intention. As with so many other eldest daughters of immigrant parents, I helped bear the weight of my parents’ struggle as they adjusted to life in a new country, frequently stepping into the role of translator and administrator by default. By comparison, my mother’s concerted effort to keep us connected to our roots was hard fought, with tears on some weekends when we would inevitably schlepp across town to attend Cantonese classes instead of staying home for TGIF on tv. The soundtrack to my childhood was in equal parts Jacky Cheung, Anita Mui, and Beyond, as it was Backstreet Boys, Ace of Base, and Britney Spears, and I learned from a young age to attune to my surroundings to calibrate how I would show up in any given moment.
Long before I had the words to recognize masking or understand intersectionality, I was living with one foot squarely planted in parallel worlds, each with its own set of norms and unspoken rules, at times congruent and at others opposed. Suffice it to say, my fascination with the concepts of identity and belonging started early on and has continued to evolve as I integrate new perspectives and ideas to my understanding of self. For example, my late-diagnosis of ADHD in my mid-30s entirely shifted the axis to which I hold my experiences, providing both clarity and context for lifelong struggles, while affording me greater compassion and understanding for all the ways in which suffering can be silent.


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