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Golden was too perfect. Takedown was too hateful. And I’ve felt both - Kpop Demon Hunters & Mental Health

I’ve been thinking a lot about the way K-pop Demon Hunters handles the idea of “patterns.” And what I love is how open the metaphor is. It can speak to so many things: cultural inheritance, identity, trauma… For me personally, it felt deeply tied to mental health.

The “patterns” made me think of intrusive thoughts, or the cycles of self-sabotage we fall into when we’re struggling. They reminded me of the loops we sometimes get stuck in. Of anxiety, depression, maybe even self-harm. But when Jinu tells Gwi-ma that Rumi “feels shame,” it clicked into place for me: this isn’t just about demons. It’s about that heavy internal storm we carry when we can’t forgive ourselves for not being okay.

The song Golden really struck me in that light. It’s gorgeous, but also almost painfully polished.

“Now I am shining like I am born to be / The queen I was meant to be.”

It’s the kind of thing we tell ourselves when we desperately want to believe we’re healed, that we’ve moved on, that we’re strong enough to shine. But sometimes it rings hollow. Like a mask we wear to convince ourselves we’re doing better than we are. That girlboss energy doesn’t always stick when you’re quietly falling apart inside.

Then there’s Takedown, the song Rumi refuses to use because it’s “too hateful.”

“You don’t deserve what you’ve got / You’re nothing at all / I hope you rot.”

Listening to it, I couldn’t help but think. That’s not just about fighting a villain. That could be the inner voice of self-hatred. That dark spiral where we tear ourselves down for not fitting, not being perfect, not being strong enough. It’s powerful, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t unify. It isolates.

And then there’s Free, which feels like the emotional turning point. Rumi sings that if they face their problems, they can be “free.”

“If we face it now, if we own it now / We can be free.”

And it’s beautiful. There’s this innocent hope to it that moves me deeply. But if I’m honest, when it comes to mental health, I don’t think we’re ever fully free. Our triggers, our patterns, they don’t disappear. They evolve, shift, return in different forms. What changes is how we learn to recognize them, how we manage, how we build a life around the reality of them. Still, Free hits in that vulnerable place where you want to believe healing can be whole, even if you know it’s messy and non-linear. And I love that the song holds space for that hope.

There’s a moment that hit me hard: when Jinu tells Rumi her method won’t work, and she breaks down “It has to.” That scream felt so real and made me cry. Like when you’ve tried every possible way to keep going without facing your pain, and someone calls you out (maybe someone who’s been there) and suddenly the denial just crumbles. That moment of raw desperation? It’s heartbreakingly relatable.

And I don’t think it’s just Rumi’s internal battle. Her confrontation with Celine (the mother figure) adds a whole other layer. “Why can’t you love all of me?” she asks. And Celine can’t. Because she hasn’t been allowed to love all of herself. Maybe her own traumas, her own learned patterns, are being passed down. The way so many of us inherit not just our wounds, but the silence around them. In this powerfull scene, Rumi is standing infront of an ancestral tree, confronting what she inherited from her mother figure. Her patterns are a result of a history, like so much of our mental health is. And she is confronting the root cause. (Made a whole post about their dynamic here).

That’s why the ending, The Song We Couldn’t Write, felt so powerful. Because instead of denying their flaws, the girls embrace them:

“The scars are part of me / Darkness and harmony / My voice without the lies — this is what it sounds like.”

They don’t claim to be heroes.

“So we were cowards, so we were liars / So we’re not heroes, we’re still survivors.”

It’s such a quiet kind of strength. The strength of honesty, of connection, of letting others see the parts we usually hide.

For me, that’s what healing often looks like: not fighting the darkness, but learning to live with it. Making space for our patterns. Not to be ruled by them, but to name them, understand them. And lean on each other when we can’t break them alone.

(Also, just to be clear: I’ve also seen really thoughtful queer-coded interpretations of the film. And I 100% support them. My take is more focused on mental health because that’s what spoke to me most, but that doesn’t mean other readings aren’t equally valid. I’m not trying to override or replace the queer lens. I see it too, and I stand with it.)

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Rumi x Jinu and the danger of sinking together

I’ve been thinking a lot about the dynamic between Jinu and Rumi in K-pop Demon Hunters. To me, their bond is so clearly rooted in mutual understanding — not just because of who they are, but because of what they share. As I wrote in this other post, I read the “patterns” in the film as a metaphor for mental health (though I know many other interpretations are just as valid and important).

So when I look at Jinu and Rumi, what I see is mirror dynamic based in unhealed trauma. They connect because they carry similar wounds. They speak the same language of shame. And when you’re hurting, having someone who gets it, who mirrors back your struggle, can feel like salvation. You’re no longer alone. You’re no longer broken alone.

This kind of connection can be a lifeline. But what happens when that person is your only anchor... and this person falls?

That’s what makes Jinu’s relapse so painful to watch. There’s this beautiful moment during Free when he says he can’t hear Gwi-ma anymore, as if Rumi’s presence has muted the voice that tells him he’s not enough. But the moment she’s gone, Gwi-ma comes back, the shame and issues come back.

And this time, Jinu doesn’t just fall : he pulls Rumi down with him. That betrayal at the award show isn’t just cruel. It’s self-sabotage. He weaponizes her vulnerabilities because he’s drowning in his own.

Their confrontation scene is devastating. Rumi begs him to believe they can heal, that they can still be free together. But Jinu, broken and spiraling, tells her it won’t work. That moment shatters her and she screams "it has to!".

Because if the one person who knows her patterns, who shares her shame, stops believing in the future, how is she supposed to hold on?

And sure, I love the trio dynamic with Mira and Zoey — but let’s be real. At that point in the story, they don’t understand her. They’re hurt by her lies. They fear what they can’t name. That’s something that happens too, with self-harm or mental health struggles. Even people who love you don’t always know how to show up. Sometimes they lash out. Sometimes they disappear. And that adds a second layer of loneliness to the whole thing.

After all that, Rumi is completely alone. That’s why the scene with Celine under the ancestral tree hits so hard. She’s not just asking for love. She’s confronting the silence, the control, the generational pain she inherited — and finally choosing to stop running from it (more on that scene here).

And what strikes me most is that, even at the end, Jinu and Rumi don’t save each other directly. Rumi doesn’t return to fix him. She returns because she’s faced herself and that’s what makes her steady again.

By standing there, vulnerable but grounded, she creates the space for Jinu to breathe again too. She doesn’t push him. She just exists in front of him, honestly. And that alone gives him a reason to move.

Maybe seeing her live with the patterns and still choose self-worth helps him believe he can do the same. And that’s why he makes the choice to sacrifice himself — not just for her, but because he finally recognizes that clinging to the same loop will destroy them both. It’s a painful but meaningful gesture. A rupture that breaks the toxic dependency and opens up the chance for something new.

So yes, I love their bond. And I ship them hard. But I’m also glad the film didn’t rush into a resolution. Because depending entirely on one person — especially someone carrying the same pain — doesn’t always heal you. Sometimes, it breaks you both.

A healthy Rumi x Jinu relationship might be possible someday — but only after they’ve rebuilt themselves on their own terms. After they’ve stopped trying to survive through each other.

I’d love to see how that’s explored if we get a sequel.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ more kpop demon hunter ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

If you’re curious about my post on K-pop Demon Hunters and mental health through the songs, it’s right here !

I also wrote about Celine and Rumi's relationship here.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ more on mental health and love ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

And if you're interested in a deeper exploration of this kind of bond — mental health, shame, love, and trying to climb out of darkness together — please read Seven Days in June. It’s an adult novel and beautifully written, though be warned: it deals with heavy themes. You can check my full review for content warnings.

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The Matriarch Isn’t the Villain. She’s the Mirror

I often hear a discourse where Celine in K-pop Demon Hunters, Alma in Encanto and Ming in Turning Red are seen as vilains. They’re the ones who restricted the younger generation, hurt them, and are ultimately responsible for their pain, trauma and self-doubt. They’re framed as the real villains of the story. But I’d like to differ.

These are stories of intergenerational trauma. They are women who survived, repressed, and tried to protect their families the only way they knew how: through control, perfectionism, and emotional suppression.

And yet, when the next generation begins to reclaim joy, freedom, softness — they become the obstacle. Not because they’re bad people, but because they’re scarred. Their minds cling to survival strategies, unable to recognize that the environment has changed.

Alma is still stuck fleeing the colonizers.

Ming is still afraid of her true self.

Celine believes that fear and mistakes must be hidden.

It’s not about hating these characters. It’s about how unprocessed trauma twists love into control. How survival, unexamined, turns into rigidity. These women were never given space to process their own pain and they project it onto their daughters and granddaughters.

And here’s something we rarely say enough: intergenerational trauma can create toxic patterns but that doesn’t always mean there was abuse or conscious harm. Even when their love becomes suffocating or controlling, these women are not necessarily “abusive parents.” They are daughters of silence, fear, and sacrifice. And they were never taught another way. It’s important to make that distinction, especially in a world that often pushes a binary, punitive reading of family dynamics.

They’re the product of a generation that was told to endure. But endurance without healing becomes its own kind of violence.

What’s powerful in these stories is that they don’t end in vengeance. They end in confrontation and transformation. The confrontation is necessary: the younger generation refuses the silence. Refuses the shame. Refuses to carry a burden that wasn’t theirs to begin with.

The house is destroyed in Encanto.

Mei accepts her full self.

So does Rumi.

And in the best cases, this confrontation allows the elder to soften too. Alma opens up. Ming listens. And I’m hoping in the sequel, Celine will open too.

Maybe that’s also why these stories speak so deeply to POC audiences. These aren’t stories about cutting ties. They’re stories about how hard it is to transform them, to protect ancestral bonds while refusing to perpetuate inherited pain. In many racialized families, collectivity, loyalty, and intergenerational duty are sacred... even when they come at the cost of personal boundaries.

And sometimes, Western individualist frameworks read these tensions as dysfunction or villainy. But for us, they’re just the difficult truth of growing up and trying to do better.

These women aren’t villains. That would be too easy. They embody the fragile, necessary work of bringing change without breaking the thread. These stories are about refusing to inherit their pain without reflection. Because love, without accountability, is not enough.

These stories show us that each generation has something to learn from the next. And the new generation must also break free from the chains they inherited while preserving what is meaningfull.

But it’s not just their story.

One day, we’ll be the older generation.

And we’ll need to be humble enough to learn from the ones after us.

So don’t be a fool.

We may be Mei, Rumi, or Mirabel today.

But tomorrow, we could be Ming, Celine, or Alma.

And when that time comes, we’ll realize how hard it is to unlearn what once kept us safe.

So let’s have compassion for all these characters.

Because these stories show us not just how the cycle of generations works, but how it can make us better, stronger, and more connected... if we’re all willing to go through the change.

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If you’re curious, I’ve written more on K-pop Demon Hunters:

A post on the mental health themes woven through the songs — right here.

A breakdown of Celine-Rumi in comparaison to Gothel–Rapunzel dynamic — here.

An analysis about Rumi, Jinu, and the danger of sinking together — here.

Some book recs for each of the K-pop Demon Hunters characters — here.

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edit (07/08/25): Thanks to several kind Colombian commenters and reblogs, I’ve learned that the historical context shown in Encanto is more likely tied to the Thousand Days’ War, a brutal civil war rather than direct colonial violence. I initially framed Abuela’s trauma through the lens of colonialism, which was a mistake. The real context is deeply rooted in internal ideological conflict. As a South asian viewer, I’m very grateful to those who shared insights ! I encourage readers to check the comments and reblogs for more historical nuance and brilliant perspectives 🧡

And thank you to everyone who shared, commented and interacted on this post !

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My lord I need you to make up your mind, where the fuck are we going

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akemi homura can never resist the urge to aura farm it’s ingrained in her blood

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"WHY ARE YOU SHIPPING A VAMPIRE WITH THEIR VICTIM 🤮🤮" is. is that not the point of vampires.

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at a tribal finance conference listening to a quileute tribal council member talk about how companies have bought every house in forks, wa because it’s a tourist destination so they can’t hire people to work for the tribe

anyway fuck stephenie meyer for profiting so intensely off of racist stereotypes of quilteutes and all native people while never contributing a dime to help them solve the problems she caused!

if you have the ability, you can donate to their move to higher ground fund here: https://mthg.org

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What are some chronic illnesses that can only occur in a fantasy setting?

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Detroit Free Press, Michigan, August 29, 1939

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"you're romantasizing problematic behavior" actually i'm doing something worse, i'm sexualizing it

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I don’t care how disgusting or fucked up a fic is. NO writer should EVER be harassed for writing taboo fics, especially when the warnings are properly tagged and you choose to go ahead and read them on your own free will.

you’re not morally superior for harassing real people for the sake of fictional characters and fictional stories. you’re just a bully.

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i feel like the knowledge that there are some medical databases with free-to-use 3D scans of various human organs available for 3D printing would have drastically reduced tumblrs amount of bone stealing scandals. plus you can make ones that glow in the dark.

look at my glow in the dark humerus boy

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Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman

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@important-cat-pics

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Eclipse

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I thought it would be interesting to draw human versions of them. And I think the elven ears look cute 😣

Original by @/VlVSlES on X!