Mental Health and LIS, Are We The Interruptors?

Even as I enter my own library at work, engulfed by its calm, quiet and orderly spaces, places of refuge for our students and staff, I feel the inner anxiety and unease of the morning, of the news stories and frantic awakenings at night. My anxiety has increased since the pandemic, probably even before it, if I really think about it. My mental health never much concerned me until more recently. Like me, I believe that behind the service desks, in staff rooms, and across institutional hierarchies, library workers everywhere frequently carry invisible burdens into the workplace. But within the realm of library work, conversations about mental illness are too often pushed to the sidelines, whispered behind office doors, or softened for others’ comfort. Silence becomes a form of policy, professionalism a mask.  In our era, library workers learn, implicitly or explicitly, that struggling is to be done quietly.

One of the monographs I came across confronts this silence head-on. Amazingly, LIS Interrupted seems to be the only title that fully provides firsthand accounts from library workers. The book brings conversations about mental health into public view, where they can finally be named and understood. By centring lived experiences, LIS Interrupted refuses to admit mental illness as a personal failing or a mere “inconvenient interruption” to work. Instead, it reveals how mental health is deeply entangled with the conditions of library labour itself, work that is emotionally demanding, undervalued, increasingly precarious, and shaped by systems of power.

In weaving together personal narratives and critical analyses to explore how mental illness intersects with labour, race, gender, disability, culture, stigma, and identity in the LIS field, this book explores structural inequities, namely, ableism, racism, colonialism, and managerialism. It’s a rather chilling notion that these very inequities determine who is supported, who is surveilled, and who is expected to endure harm in silence.

However, this book is not solely about suffering, but about connection and possibility. For library workers who have felt isolated or unseen, LIS Interrupted offers affirmation and solidarity. For educators and students, it serves as a critical text that challenges dominant narratives of resilience and vocational sacrifice. For institutions, it is a call to action to transform workplace cultures to better support their staff's care and dignity. In my work on trauma-informed care in libraries, I’m deeply interested in how mental health is not addressed. Karena Hagelin, an LIS trauma-expert, frames saneism as a “systemic and structural oppression of mad, crazy, and mentally ill” individuals and is a manifestation of ableism. For those who have experienced trauma, which is many of us, the norm has been to hide and disregard these feelings during work hours. In the case of the institution, to rid itself of these workers who disrupt the calm and order if it gets out of hand. I’m fortunate to have some tools and support to get through some challenging days, but thriving is still the goal.   I’m not the only one.  Let's have this book on the shelves of every library and on every desk.

"Implementing Trauma-Informed Practices in Academic Libraries: Empowering Staff to Foster Resilient and Inclusive Learning Environments" at UBC Library

Over the past year, I've been honoured to be part of Implementing Trauma-Informed Practices in Academic Libraries: Empowering Staff to Foster Resilient and Inclusive Learning Environments, a project supported by UBC Library’s Strategic Equity and Anti-Racism Framework (StEAR) Enhancement Fund. Our goal has been simple yet deeply ambitious: to reimagine the academic library as a place where staff are not only equipped to understand trauma, respond with empathy, and foster spaces that feel safe, inclusive, and genuinely supportive, but also have self-care practices to support themselves when facing or experiencing retraumatization.

The grant proposal behind this initiative seeks funding to deliver a comprehensive trauma-informed training program for library staff across UBC. This includes workshops and creating resources that introduce core principles of trauma-informed care, including safety, trust, choice, collaboration, and empowerment, to demonstrate how they translate into everyday library interactions.

Research shows that historically marginalized communities often carry disproportionate burdens of trauma, and encounters with discrimination—however subtle—can intensify stress and psychological harm. In academic libraries, where diverse users seek help, study, rest, and a sense of belonging, trauma-informed approaches are not just beneficial but essential.

A recent title that informed my work in this area is Trauma-Informed Leadership in Libraries (edited by Janet Crum and David Ketchum), which features a roster of LIS practitioners well-versed in this area. The monograph excites me because it considers an individual’s holistic life experiences, particularly the negative consequences of trauma, when determining how best to support and engage with them in the workplace from a manager's viewpoint and context.

My participation in this project has been both professionally transformative and personally grounding. Working alongside colleagues who share a commitment to equity and care has deepened my understanding of how library work intersects with human vulnerability. This initiative is more than a training program; it's a step toward reshaping campus culture, one interaction at a time, to ensure that all library users feel seen, supported, and respected.

Joyful Reading of "Chinatown Vancouver: An Illustrated History"

Reading Chinatown Vancouver: An Illustrated History by Donna Seto has been an absolute joy and revelation. From the moment I opened its pages, I felt immersed in a vivid and engaging tapestry of a community that has shaped the soul of Vancouver. The book’s vibrant illustrations bring to life a neighbourhood that is both historic and alive – and very near and dear to my heart. The historical Chinatown that I know — its narrow streets buzzing with memory, its shopfronts glowing with the warmth of people who built something enduring against the odds – brought back many fond memories for me. And to a past I have heard of but never visually experienced in a book.

I found myself lingering over the write-ups on the buildings, or searching on Google Street View, each one a small story of resilience and pride. The interviews with community members are deeply moving — their voices remind me that Chinatown isn’t just a place on a map; it’s a living archive of hope, survival, and belonging. Donna Seto’s research through archival photographs, too, offers a powerful window into the bustling heart of the community during its thriving days. I could almost imagine stepping through the doors of Cathay Importers, hearing the clatter of plates at Ho Inn Restaurant, or catching the aroma of a meal at Ho Ho.

For a librarian and historian like myself, Chinatown Vancouver: An Illustrated History isn’t just a history book. It’s a love letter to a neighbourhood that carries the weight of generations, a reminder that place connects us to our past and shapes our future. Reading it, I feel both pride and responsibility — pride in the community’s strength, and commitment to ensure its stories continue to be heard.

 

Competency Checking in the Modern Workplace

A decade ago, when I was earlier in my career, I experienced an incident that continues to follow. During a retreat, our team participated in a group activity to generate ideas about the program logic model. When it was my turn, I suggested that any initiative should have an element of autodidacticism. Expecting to build on this point or continue with the conversation, there were no comments. Instead, my boss noted I had used a “ten-dollar word,” followed by snickering amongst the group, who then moved on to break time.  

I had trouble articulating what I had experienced at the moment, but I felt demoralized. My contribution felt like a joke that didn’t resonate with the audience. Except I wasn’t joking. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first, nor the last, time I experienced such a microaggression. At its worst, I questioned my sanity in such situations. Now more than two decades into my career, I can confidently say that this is common among marginalized individuals.

Shari Dunn, an EDI consultant and author of Qualified, answers precisely what I experienced and have been puzzled by. It’s called competency checking. There are three primary ways competency checking is deployed in the modern workplace, and its roots are deeply crystallized from centuries of systemic racism. When the majority population perceives anything that threatens them, in this case, intelligence, it evokes an unconscious bias and cognitive dissonance. Competency checking illustrates three things happening:

Assumption – Manifests in low expectations, marginalization, and extreme micromanagement. Suppose someone assumes that they are intellectually inferior. In that case, they may question the individual’s qualifications more closely during an interview and, once hired, pay much more attention to their work while looking for any mistakes.

Expression - Particular surprise or unease with open displays of BIPOC intelligence, which can trigger requests or demands to confirm how it was acquired and whether it’s the result of rote memorization or actual, integrated knowledge. This can be manifested as dismissal, quizzing, argument, and tokenization.

Activation - A feeling of fear when confronted with a BIPOC person who holds any authority, especially someone in a leadership position. This manifests as requests for identification, undefined feelings of unfairness, anger, and unease.

The only way to truly deal with the impact of competency checking is to acknowledge that it is happening. It’s no wonder there is a lack of vertical career trajectory, which refers to the absence of opportunities for employees to advance to higher-level positions within an organization, often resulting in career stagnation for BIPOC individuals, and we're not just talking about libraries.  

 I’ve seen so many colleagues’ careers plateau, where an individual remains in the same role or at the same level for most of their career without significant advancement. I can certainly speak to this experience, and I can say it hurts the morale of an organization. It’s my hope that Shari Dunn’s work continues to help those who are in the ruts be more inspired that there are actions that can be taken and agency in one’s role if they feel underappreciated. We just have to look for it.

10 Years at the Helm of Ricepaper Magazine

 

This week marks a major milestone—ten years as Editor-in-Chief of Ricepaper Magazine. On Wednesday, I’ll have the honour of reflecting on a decade of storytelling, advocacy, and community-building in Asian Canadian literature.

What am I most proud of? Helping amplify voices too often left unheard. I’ve had the privilege of publishing both emerging and established Asian Canadian writers—each one reshaping the literary landscape and expanding the boundaries of what Canadian literature can be.

Back in 2016, we made the bold leap from print to digital. It wasn’t just survival—it was reinvention. That shift allowed us to embrace multimedia, reach new audiences, and publish fresh work from across the globe, including a growing wave of Southeast Asian voices who found us online and submitted their stories, often for the first time. That pivot wasn’t easy, but it gave Ricepaper a second life—and a bigger one.

As editor, I’ve helped shape some of our most potent and timely themed issues, including “Time and Space,” “Myths, Legends, and the Supernatural,” and “Re-Imagining Asian Futures”—themes that tapped into the pulse of identity, diaspora, mental health, resilience, and memory across generations. Our readers weren’t just reading—they were seeing themselves.

We are currently celebrating 30 years of Ricepaper with our latest anthology Infusions, a special collection of writing in Ricepaper Magazine that spotlights a new wave of Asian Canadian and Asian diasporic voices. Alongside that, we launched an archival project that captured the impact of the Asian Canadian Writers’ Workshop (ACWW), preserving its legacy for the future.

Mentorship and collaboration have always been at the heart of what I do—nurturing new editors, mentoring interns, and building bridges with universities, cultural organizations, and literary festivals like LiterASIAN and Word Vancouver. We’ve grown stronger together.

One of my proudest moments? Renaming the ACWW Emerging Writers Award after my friend and mentor Jim Wong-Chu, following his passing in 2017. It felt right—to honour his legacy while making space for the next generation of literary talent.

Ten years in, I still believe Ricepaper matters more than ever. We’re not just publishing stories—we’re continuing to shape the future of Asian Canadian writing.

Celebrating the The Paper Trail at LiterASIAN Writers Festival in June 2025

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When I explored the Paper Trail, a national exhibition that opened on July 1, 2023, at the Chinese Canadian Museum, I was astonished that it had taken 100 years since the passing of the Chinese Exclusion Act to properly acknowledge this dark period of our history in Canada.    I'm so pleased that for this year's LiterASIAN Festival, I invited Catherine Clement, the exhibit curator, to join us as a featured author and speaker.  Catherine is an award-winning community historian, curator, and author whose work has profoundly impacted the preservation and understanding of Chinese Canadian history. 

The Paper Trail to the 1923 Chinese Exclusion Act commemorates the centennial of a significant yet often overlooked period in Canadian history. This exhibition, which opened at the Chinese Canadian Museum in Vancouver on July 1, 2023, features the most prominent public display of early Chinese head tax and related identity documents assembled. Clement's leadership in crowdsourcing these materials from families across Canada led to the creation of The Paper Trail Collection, now housed at the University of British Columbia Library, making it the country's most comprehensive community archive.

 

Beyond The Paper Trail, Catherine has dedicated a decade to uncovering the legacy of Yucho Chow, Vancouver’s first Chinese commercial photographer. Her research culminated in the 2019 exhibition Chinatown Through a Wide Lens: The Hidden Photographs of Yucho Chow and a subsequent book, which won the 2020 B.C. Lieutenant Governor’s Medal for Historical Writing and the 2020 Vancouver Book Award.

Having Catherine Clement as a featured writer at the LiterASIAN Writers Festival is particularly exciting due to her profound impact on Asian Canadian historical narratives. Her work aligns seamlessly with this year's "Origins" theme, focusing on the roots and beginnings of Asian Canadian communities while celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Asian Canadian Writers' Workshop (ACWW).   The festival program is out, and Catherine's event, The Paper Trail to the 1923 Chinese Exclusion Act, is on June 28, at the Chinese Canadian Museum.  See you then!