The word 'immigrant' as a wound

The word "immigrant" carries history. For some, it's simply a description. But for many of us with Black and Brown skin, it's a word that cuts deep.

In the UK today, the political landscape makes this sharper than ever. Recent protests saw over 110,000 people marching for borders to be closed and immigrants to "go home," while around 5,000 stood for anti-racism. The numbers alone reveal the disparity and the daily reality of the world we are in right now.

For people like me, the child of parents who came to the UK in the 1970s from Mauritius, then a British Commonwealth country, invited here during the Windrush era, the word "immigrant" is not neutral. It is a trigger, layered on top of everyday experiences of being "othered."

Every time I hear it weaponised on the news or in conversation, it lands from what I have been repeatedly told: "You do not belong here in the UK. Go back”. And I know I am not alone.

The hidden toll on mind and body

Words are not "just words." They land in our body. When we are constantly reminded that our belonging is questioned, our nervous system shifts into a state of hypervigilance. The brain's stress response releases cortisol and adrenaline, and over time, this "always on" survival mode takes a profound toll on both mental and physical health, from sleep disturbances and anxiety to high blood pressure, chronic inflammation and even memory difficulties (Anisman et al., 2024).

For some, this adds to scars that already exist. Intergenerational trauma refers to the pain carried down from parents or grandparents who experienced racism, displacement or colonial violence (Mulligan et al., 2025). Research shows that traumatic exposures can alter epigenetic patterns, stress hormone regulation and even brain metabolism across generations (Alhassen et al., 2021). In migrant and immigrant families, systematic reviews point to parental trauma, disrupted family communication and ongoing social stressors as key mechanisms of transmission (Gillen et al., 2024).

Many immigrant families also experience enmeshment trauma, where family expectations, loyalty and shame blur personal boundaries. This can be particularly intense in families where survival has depended on "sticking together", where a child becomes the emotional container for unprocessed parental or ancestral fears. You may have grown up translating for your parents, navigating systems beyond your years, or carrying responsibilities that were never yours to bear.

For those who have also experienced domestic violence or sexual abuse, the burden multiplies. These painful experiences can feel even harder to speak about in communities where silence is the norm, where disclosing trauma is seen as bringing shame to the family. When layered with racism and the stigma of being called an "immigrant," these wounds can feel immensely overwhelming.

Why being called an 'immigrant' can feel like an attack on your very being

From both a psychological and biological perspective, belonging is not a luxury; it is a fundamental human need. We are wired to connect, to feel part of a community. Your brain's limbic system, especially the amygdala, responds powerfully to threats of exclusion. Being told, directly or indirectly, that you don't belong in a place activates the same fear-based brain centres as physical danger (Alhassen et al., 2021).

For children and grandchildren of immigrants, the message cuts even deeper. You may feel torn between loyalty to family and the need to find your own identity. You may carry shame, secrecy or silence around experiences of violence or abuse, with no safe place to put them down.

This isn't just psychological. Immigration itself is a multi-phase stressor that includes pre-migration trauma (political, economic or interpersonal), the migration journey (displacement, loss, danger), and post-migration challenges (acculturation, discrimination, social isolation, identity conflict). These stressors cascade through your mind, body and biology, producing hormonal, immune, inflammatory and even microbiome changes that increase susceptibility to both mental and physical illness (Anisman et al., 2024).

The stress response affects your immune system, cardiovascular system and even the way genes express themselves across generations. Trauma doesn't simply disappear; it echoes in our body, sometimes showing up as chronic illness or increasing risks of conditions like dementia in later life (Desai and Chaturvedi, 2024). This cumulative wear and tear on your body is what researchers call allostatic load, which is the biological burden of chronic stress that, over the years, affects your organs, brain circuits involved in emotion regulation, memory and your capacity for attachment and connection.

Finding a safe space in therapy

If any of this resonates with you, the sting of being called an "immigrant," the exhaustion of carrying family and cultural burdens, the scars of trauma, I want you to know that therapy can provide a safe and supportive space where you are truly seen.

In therapy, you can gently explore what hurts. You can name the words, experiences and memories that you've been forced to carry alone. You can understand how your body holds these experiences, learning how stress, trauma and intergenerational pain live in your nervous system, and how they show up in your daily life.

Healing isn't just about talking. It also means engaging with your body and nervous system through practices like grounding, breathwork and somatic awareness. You can work at a pace that feels safe for you, creating new boundaries so that enmeshment, cultural expectations or abusive histories no longer define who you are or who you can become.

Together, we can build resilience through practical strategies to soothe your body, calm your mind and strengthen your sense of identity. Most importantly, therapy offers you a place where you are not questioned, silenced or asked to "prove" your belonging. You are seen as a whole human being, not reduced to a label, not defined by political narratives, not constrained by what others expect you to be.

If you're feeling overwhelmed and unsure where to begin

It's completely understandable to feel uncertain about taking the first step, especially when the weight of intergenerational trauma and ongoing discrimination feels so heavy. You might find it helpful to start by confiding in a trusted friend or family member who can simply listen without judgement. If you prefer to keep your thoughts private initially, journaling can be a powerful way to begin making sense of what you're feeling, allowing your emotions to move from inside of you to written words on a page. If writing in a journal is not suitable for you, then how about typing an email or notes on a secure app to yourself using your password-protected smartphone? 

Simple grounding practices like deep breathing exercises (breathing in for three seconds, holding your breath for four seconds and then breathing out for five seconds, and then repeating this process ten times) can help regulate your nervous system when anxiety feels overwhelming. 

Another gentle practice is bilateral tapping, crossing your arms and gently tapping alternate shoulders with your hands, much like you would soothe a baby to sleep. This rhythmic self-touch activates your body's natural calming response, helping you to self-soothe, self-regulate and find moments of peace even when everything feels chaotic around you. 

These are important acts of self-compassion. However, while these steps can provide temporary relief, the complex layers of trauma, racism, and intergenerational pain often require the sustained, safe space that therapy provides. Working with a therapist who understands these specific experiences means you won't have to carry this alone anymore, and you'll have professional support to navigate the deeper healing your mind and body deserve. Even if you can only have a few therapy sessions, it is still worth having some professional support available to you to help guide you through.

Difficult conversations need to be had

In a group therapy session I attended, I raised the reality of being a Brown woman in a White majority, privileged context. The facilitators, both White therapists, responded by attempting to “relate” through their own cultural experiences. While well-intentioned, it felt silencing. Experiencing religion or culture within a White ethnic group is not the same as living with racism based on skin colour.

I know this very well from being brought up in mid-to-late 1970s Britain, a very different social environment to what it is now. I shared feedback with them about their attempts to relate, because I believe that growth, for all of us, comes through reflection. And always through brave, courageous and authentic communications. For White therapists especially, the difference between empathising and attempting to relate is crucial.

Empathy honours difference; false equivalence erases it. False equivalence echoes histories of taking over land and lives, and in the present, it shows up as White guilt in words. We reclaim power by naming it: our bodies, histories, skin, identity, lineage, pain. When we say, “I don’t expect you to relate, but I ask you to stay with me,” we shift the relational posture.

Ultimately, as people of colour and descendants of immigrants, we hold multigenerational grief, resilience, complexity and embodied knowing. When we walk into therapy spaces, we carry not just our personal wounds, but collective ones too. The act of holding safe space in a White majority context is not passive; it’s resistance, it’s reclamation, it’s healing at once.

You deserve to be heard and seen

If you've been hurt by the way the word "immigrant" is used in today's UK, know that your pain is valid. These aren't small slights; they are reminders of centuries of exclusion, carried in your body and mind across generations.

Healing is possible. Through compassionate, person-centred therapy that honours your lived experience, because it's culturally sensitive counselling. We can work together to untangle the weight of intergenerational trauma, to find your voice and to reclaim a sense of belonging that no political narrative can take away from you.

You deserve a space where your complexity is honoured, where your heritage is respected, and where your pain is witnessed without judgement. You deserve to heal. Please reach out and reclaim your power, be very proud to be you. 

References

Alhassen, S., Afzal, N., Janiri, D. and Fagiolini, A. (2021) 'Intergenerational trauma transmission is associated with lifetime susceptibility to depression and other psychiatric disorders', Communications Biology, 4(1), pp. 1–12. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1038/s42003-021-02255-2

Anisman, H., Doubad, D., Asokumar, A. and Matheson, K. (2024) 'Psychosocial and neurobiological aspects of the worldwide refugee crisis: From vulnerability to resilience', Neuroscience & Biobehavioral Reviews, 162, p. 105456. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neubiorev.2024.105456

Desai, G. and Chaturvedi, S.K. (2024) 'Crossing borders: A systematic review identifying potential mechanisms of intergenerational trauma transmission in asylum-seeking and refugee families', General Hospital Psychiatry, 83, pp. 55–63. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.genhosppsych.2023.11.004

Gillen, M., Goodman, A., Danaher, F., Bosson, R., Greenwald, M. and Jasrasaria, R. (2024) 'Intergenerational trauma and resilience among im/migrant families: Child mental health outcomes and psychosocial mechanisms of transmission', Health, 16(6), pp. 888–920. Available at: https://doi.org/10.4236/health.2024.166059

Mulligan, C.J., Abedalthagafi, M., Shapiro, D.I. and Al-Delaimy, W.K. (2025) 'Epigenetic signatures of intergenerational exposure to violence in three generations of Syrian refugees', Scientific Reports, 15, p. 5945. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-025-89818-z