We Speak the Same Language, But Do We Mean the Same Thing?

In my cross-cultural workshops, I often ask participants to do a very simple exercise. I say one word:

The dragon in the room

I ask everyone to imagine a dragon and hold that image in their mind. Then I show two pictures.

One is a Western dragon — often depicted with wings, claws and fire. Across many European stories and traditions, the dragon has been portrayed as dangerous and destructive, a creature to be feared, fought or defeated.

Then I show a Chinese dragon. It looks completely different. Long and serpentine, without the large wings of its Western counterpart. More importantly, the meaning behind it is different.

Within Chinese history and culture, the dragon has been associated with power, strength, good fortune and imperial authority. The emperor was closely associated with the dragon, and the dragon remains a powerful cultural symbol. There is even a familiar expression describing Chinese people as “descendants of the dragon” — 龙的传人 (Lóng de chuánrén).

Same English word.

Dragon.

Yet almost opposite associations can sit behind it. One can represent something to be feared and defeated. The other can represent ancestry, identity, power and something auspicious.

Neither meaning is contained in the English letters D-R-A-G-O-N.The meaning comes from somewhere else.It comes from history, stories, symbols, collective memory and culture.And that is why I use this exercise.Because it raises a question that I think is particularly important in cross-cultural mental health:

Speaking English is not the same as sharing meaning

When working with migrant communities, we understandably pay attention to language.

• Does someone speak English?
• Do they require an interpreter?
• Should information be translated?

These are important considerations. But there is another layer that can easily be missed. A migrant may speak excellent English. Someone may have lived in New Zealand for many years. They may understand every word being used by a mental health professional. But understanding the vocabulary does not necessarily mean that both people attach the same meaning to those words.

Think about three words we use frequently:

Mental health.

Recovery.

Wellbeing.

Like the word dragon, these words have histories too.

What does “mental health” mean?

If I say mental health, what appears in your mind?

For some people, mental health may immediately be associated with illness, diagnosis, treatment, counselling or psychiatric services. For another person, the same words may carry shame, fear or concern about how their family or community might perceive them Someone else may understand emotional distress through relationships, family difficulties, physical symptoms, spirituality or the pressures surrounding their life rather than through the language of “mental health” at all. We may therefore translate mental health perfectly into another language and still not have translated its meaning.

The question is not simply:

“Do you understand what mental health means?”

Perhaps we should also be asking:

“When you hear the words mental health, what do they mean to you?”

And what does recovery look like?

The same applies to recovery.

Within mental health services, recovery may emphasise ideas such as personal choice, autonomy, self-determination and creating a meaningful life. But what does a meaningful life look like? And who gets included in that picture? In a more individually oriented understanding, recovery can easily be imagined as my journey: my goals, my choices, my independence and the life I want to build. Within a more collective cultural context, however, the person's wellbeing may be inseparable from their relationships.

Their family may matter deeply.Their responsibilities towards parents or children may matter. Belonging to their community may matter.

Restoring harmony within important relationships may itself be part of what becoming well means. This does not necessarily mean that the person has no individual choices or aspirations.

It means that the self may be understood in relationship with others rather than separately from them.

So if our image of recovery is strongly based around the independent individual, could we sometimes be looking at someone else's recovery and failing to recognise it because it doesn't look like the dragon we expected to see?

What does wellbeing look like?

Perhaps wellbeing makes this even clearer.

We often encourage people to look after their own wellbeing.

What do you need?

What makes you happy?

What are your goals?

How will you practise self-care?

But for someone from a more collective cultural background, wellbeing may not be experienced only as an individual exercise.

My wellbeing may include knowing that my parents are okay.

• It may include being connected to my family.
• It may include fulfilling responsibilities that give my life meaning.
• It may include belonging to a community.
• It may include harmony between myself and the people around me.

In that context, asking someone to separate their own wellbeing completely from the wellbeing of those around them may not make cultural sense.

Again, we are using the same word.

But perhaps we are imagining different dragons.

Translation is only the beginning

This is why cross-cultural communication cannot only be about translating information into different languages.Translation is essential, particularly when people need to access health information and services in a language they understand. But translation solves one problem. It does not automatically solve the question of meaning.

Sometimes the more challenging situation may actually occur when everyone speaks English. Because when someone requires an interpreter, we are already conscious that language and culture may be different.

When someone speaks fluent English, that reminder disappears.We can easily assume: They understood me. And perhaps they did understand every word. But did we understand what those words meant to them?

Perhaps we need to ask a different question

Cross-cultural practice is often about learning how other cultures think and behave.

There is value in that.

But perhaps it is equally important to become curious about the assumptions contained within our own language.

When we say mental health, what assumptions are already inside that phrase?

When we say recovery, what kind of person and what kind of journey are we imagining?

When we say wellbeing, are we imagining an individual, or could wellbeing also exist between people, within families and through belonging to a collective?

The purpose is not to find one culturally correct definition.

It is to stop assuming that because we share a word, we automatically share its meaning.

That brings me back to the beginning.

Dragon.

One word.

Two people can hear it clearly. Both understand the English. Both know what a dragon is. And yet each can be holding a completely different creature in their mind, carrying a completely different history behind it. Perhaps the same is true when someone sitting across from us hears the words mental health, recovery or wellbeing. We may have checked whether they understood our words.

The more important question might be:

Have we ever asked what those words mean to them?