Positionality
My approach to group leadership is necessarily shaped by my positionality, or where I am situated within the professional and larger socio-political context, in relation to the theory and practice of group therapy. As Soedirgo and Glas (2020) point out, positionality is not simply a collection of demographics such as gender, age, ethnicity, and others. Instead, positionality is a dynamic and context-specific social location influenced by my intersecting identities rooted in my personal and professional history (Soedirgo & Glas, 2020). My positionality determines how I may experience and interpret group dynamics, therapeutic relationships, and professional discourses.
I am a bi-racial multilingual female-identifying individual, born and raised outside of the US. Many consider me Asian from my looks, whereas I identify primarily as Eastern European. A granddaughter of refugees on one side of the family, I became an immigrant too, leaving home and journeying through several countries before settling in the US. I came to the United States as a mental health counseling graduate student in my early 30s, eager to broaden my views on the world and myself. Although I did expand in self-knowledge and my understanding of the therapeutic processes, I have also felt circumscribed by some aspects of my training and professional conventions. For example, most of the literature I have been exposed to through my professional training is primarily written by men; and if not by men, by white women; and if not by white women, by those who are born and raised in the US. I identify as none of the above, my experiences are not shared by most authors I am frequently advised to read, and I often feel excluded by the implied universality of group experiences described. Theoretical approaches with culture-blind lenses have been common in my training, including psychodynamic, person-centered, and interpersonal frameworks.
I rarely find my experiences being mirrored by my professional peers and supervisors. Even those well-versed in feminist theories of counseling that claim to integrate cultural variables and systemic power structures into analysis still tend to view clinical interactions through the prism of what Chernilo (2011) calls “methodological nationalism.” This methodology that permeates research and practice in the social sciences, including counseling and psychology, presupposes that “the natural category or unit of analysis for society is defined by national boundaries” (Shahjahan & Kezar, 2013, p. 20) and disregards the processes outside of this “national container” (Shahjahan & Kezar, 2013; Wimmer & Schiller, 2003). In practical terms, it translates into a US-centric view on intrapersonal, interpersonal, small group, and large group dynamics, whereas views and experiences that do not fit US schemas are questioned, doubted, and often denied.
For example, as I was working on this chapter, I shared with my white American female colleague that growing up as a girl in Russia, I experienced my femininity primarily as a source of power. Unlike many of my US peers, I never doubted being equal to men in terms of intelligence or aptitude and felt that, in some instances, as a female, I had advantages over males. I pointed out that the history of Russia included being governed by women, such as Empress Catherine the Great, and that Russian women gained voting rights earlier than their sisters in other parts of the world. I further cited how I was encouraged by my teachers to pursue math and physics, in which I excelled (I was told that historically this was not, and in some locations still is not, common practice with female students in the US). My colleague listened politely and confirmed that, unlike me, she grew up believing that STEM disciplines were not for girls. Still, she expressed disbelief in my perceptions. She suggested that perhaps I was not aware of male dominance and the oppression of Russian women due to my age and lack of experience. Rather than stepping outside of her US-centered national container and envisioning the world through my eyes, my colleague explained our differences in self-concept as women by my lack of understanding.
The above vignette is just one example of how my internal experiences have not been mirrored by external professional realities. The importance of attuned mirroring – one’s internal states being accurately perceived and reflected by others – is noted for healthy human development (Kim et al., 2014) and the social construction of the subjective self (Gergely, 2007). Likewise, being empathically mirrored by professional discourse aids one’s professional development. In my experience, the lack of such mirroring creates confusion and distress, not unlike the distress of the infants not mirrored by their mothers in the famous “still face” experiment (Tronick et al., 1978).
I seek to overcome this “still-face” effect by developing a language and framework for practicing group leadership that honors my experiences and identities, including those not typically mentioned in the professional canon. My positionality is woven into how I understand group processes, relationships, and therapeutic interventions.
Group Boundary-Crossings: Gains and Losses
Given my positionality as an immigrant, I think of entering a group as an act of crossing boundaries, both literal and symbolic. From the group as a whole perspective in the traditional in-person “sitting in the circle” format (Counselman, 2017), the circle itself serves as a literal physical boundary that separates the in-group from the outside world. In virtual groups, physical boundaries expand to include private spaces, such as living quarters, not normally accessible to others in the group, introducing a new layer of self-disclosure for both leader and member.
As a group leader, I form hypotheses about my group members’ inner workings by observing their interactions with the group’s physical boundaries. In the in-person environment, the readiness or hesitance to engage can be glimpsed through body language and adjustments to chair position (leaning forward – leaning in; pushing chairs away – creating distance). In the virtual environment, this can take the form of frustrated struggles with or enthusiastic embrace of technology that helps the group connect, use of video backgrounds (or not), keeping a camera on or shutting it down.
Symbolic boundaries reside in the group norms, both explicit and implicit. They dictate who and what is acceptable (or not), what can be discussed in the group, and what is to be avoided. Co-created by the group leader and group members and situated within the context of broader culture(s), this symbolic boundary simultaneously includes and excludes, safeguarding against what the group deems threatening. While protecting some aspects of members’ experiences, this symbolic boundary also has the potential to oppress and silence expressions of self that challenge group equilibrium. In the most dramatic instances, this boundary “walls out” undesired persons, conversations, and behaviors. In virtual environments, norms that require specific ways of engagement (e.g., having a camera on) can restrict access to groups for those with technological challenges.
Group boundaries, literal and symbolic, provide a frame through which individual, interpersonal, and group as a whole dynamics can be understood (Agazarian & Gantt, 2005). For this reason, Rutan et al. (2014) suggest that the group leader’s fundamental tasks are creating and maintaining this frame, as well as “encouraging members to reflect upon their own and others’ relationships to the boundaries” (p. 205). Such self-reflection can be challenging, and group members often express ambivalence about entering this boundary-contained space with words and actions, such as questioning the group contract, being late, and no-showing.
Informed by my positionality as an immigrant, I understand this ambivalence as a defense against losses (that inevitably accompany gains) when one crosses boundaries. Helen,1 a new group member, underscored this ambivalence by pointing out how she gained connection by meeting others with similar experiences when she joined my group. At the same time, she stated she lost feeling “special,” which, to her surprise, made her feel sad. Supporting Helen’s processing of this unexpected grief, I reminded her that joining the group, as with any boundary-crossing, requires courage and some measure of faith in self and others. It also requires the ability to imagine being helped by crossing that boundary. While acknowledging Helen’s loss and making space for it, I simultaneously sought to assist her in connecting to her fortitude and imagined future self that could come to fruition through creating supportive relationships.
Helping my group members navigate such gains and losses, I draw on my family’s intergenerational history of crossing boundaries. I think of my grandmother who crossed an icy-cold river in the dark of night – the boundary that separated two countries, Manchuria and the USSR (both countries that dissolved in the years that followed). She was only ten at the time, fleeing violence and famine brought by war between China and Japan, with ethnic Koreans who were living in the area for generations, like my grandmother’s family, being caught in between.
My grandmother recalled the gunfire erupting from both sides as she and others charged across the river, mothers carrying babies on their backs, according to Korean tradition. She described some mothers reaching the opposite shore alive, with their children catching bullets and not surviving (personal communication, Alexandra Kogai, 1990s). For many, that boundary-crossing resulted in the ultimate loss – ceasing to exist. My grandmother lost connection to the place of her birth, extended family members, and, importantly, her Korean name (Koh Jo-nan). She adopted a more Russian-sounding name on the other side of the river, Alexandra Kogai. One’s name is a marker of identity (Xu, 2020). My grandmother gained a new chance to live by crossing that boundary. Yet, she also lost important parts of herself by having her name changed and, over time, assimilating into a new culture.
1 Clinical vignettes are composites of group dynamics I observed in various capacities in training and therapeutic contexts. All group members’ names are fictional, and their life circumstances are changed to protect their privacy and confidentiality.
I, too, experience gains and losses as I traverse cultures and professional contexts, albeit not in a fashion as dramatic as that of my grandmother. Gains and losses shape my identities and color the lenses through which I view crossing boundaries. For example, I empathize with my long-term group member who breaks into a prolonged lecture about his name whenever a new member joins. When introducing himself for the first time to a newcomer, William, a white American male in his 60s, proclaims that he is to be called William, not Bill, nor Will, nor Billy. With a serious look on his face, he explains at length that if someone calls his name, he wants to be sure that they refer to him and not anybody else in the room. Ironically, in all the 15 years that William has been in the group, not a single member has shared his name. Yet William repeats his “name talk” almost verbatim every time he meets someone new.
I understand William’s “name talk” as protection against a possible loss of individuality, a common fear associated with crossing the group boundary. Simultaneously, it is a boundary-setting move: William asserts his control over how to be referenced by the group. While some might react to the air of self-importance that is quite strong in William’s presentation, I focus on his vulnerability in the face of a potential loss of parts of self. Coming from the positionality of an immigrant, I know that a name is one of the few things you might be able to preserve as you cross boundaries. For me, a name is not only a preference but a repository of identity and a cultural self (Dion, 1983). It also conveys a range and depth of relationships: the group knows from William that his family references him as “Billy,” which is more intimate than the formal “William” we know him by. By communicating his name preference to the group, William reasserts relational boundaries around himself...