Blogs | Therapea

Virat Kohli getting out or hitting a six really depends on how I was positioned, what I did a moment ago. I carry the silly weight of blame. Oh, he got out because I did this. Fuck, argh. Perhaps the Indian team should come to me, take me on tour with them, because clearly whether they win or not depends on my position. But ah, my memory. I take a deep breath, my lungs expand as I do that. And I release it all together. It is almost funny how this is the one thing I can't rel

For a long time, asking for help felt like a slightly strange concept to me. Not because I thought there was anything wrong with helping people. In fact, I was always quite comfortable being the person others came to. I could listen, figure things out, take care of things and usually find a way to make something work. But being on the other side of that equation felt different. Being the elder daughter probably had something to do with it. There was an unspoken sense of being

My body froze for a millisecond. Something passed from my mind to my chest; indescribable, but unmistakable. I was typing a message yesterday and asserting myself there. But my memory. My oh my. I was anywhere between surprised and shock. This little message to the person who doesn't even matter to me made me angry? Why did I feel angry? Why do I feel angry over small things? But now as I type this I sit to wonder if the anger and rage that lasted for a millisecond, was it ev

There is a question that quietly follows a lot of heartbreak. It usually arrives after the conversation is over, after the message has been left on read, after you've replayed the interaction in your head for the tenth time. "Why does this seem so much harder for me than it does for them?" Maybe you've found yourself checking your phone every few minutes while they take hours to reply. Maybe you've spent an entire evening wondering if something you said upset them, while they

(TW: This piece contains references to disordered eating and body image. Please read at your own discretion.) Note: Some details in this piece have been changed to protect the privacy of people mentioned. Why am I not losing weight? This is the question I kept searching on Google. It was just before COVID, in late 2019; when I had just started therapy and was seeing a psychiatrist for the first time. A life-changing period, in more ways than one. And somewhere in the middle o

For a word that is supposed to make us feel empowered, boundaries often come with an incredible amount of guilt. Scroll through social media and boundaries are everywhere. We're told to protect our peace, choose ourselves and cut off people who don't respect us. It all sounds so straightforward, almost as though setting a boundary is simply a matter of deciding to do it. But for most people, that's rarely what it feels like. More often than not, a boundary doesn't begin with

I was feeling irritable, almost defensive in a moment that was supposed to feel easy. It was like a part of me is not used to having it feel this easy. Ironically, easy felt like the most difficult part. I have this side of me, almost the most powerful one, yet the most vulnerable. I call it spirituality. It protected me from everything that hurt me. The loneliness turned into solitude, the noise turned into divine guidance. It was one afternoon when I just woke up from a nap

"Have you tried talking to someone?" It's probably one of the most common responses people receive when they're going through a difficult time. Usually said with kindness, with genuine concern, with the hope that sharing the burden might make it feel a little lighter. And sometimes, it does. But sometimes, those four words feel far heavier than the struggle itself. As a therapist, I've often wondered why something that sounds so simple can feel so incredibly difficult. And ov

In the living room, when everyone had come to wish me; extended family, friends, cousins. I was working that night, but I tried to keep the sessions cleverly spread out or rather skewed in the day so that I could make the best of both worlds, having the evening to bring in my birthday and the next as I planned as an off. The little workaholic side of me regretted taking a day off, but a part of me was smirking around how smartly I planned my birthday week to get as many off d

A few years ago, if someone had told me that their brain never switched off, I don't think I would have fully understood what they meant. I would have empathized, of course, but I couldn't relate to the feeling of having a hundred thoughts competing for attention at the same time. I liked my quiet moments. I liked having time to myself. I could sit with a cup of coffee, listen to music, go for a walk or simply spend an evening doing nothing, and my mind would stay with me. I

Burnout, used so many times, always with the mindset that burnout = break, burnout = rest. I knew this. With the confidence of a rat. I had read about it. I had helped people through it. I knew the metaphors, the frameworks, the language. Almost heedless of how one actually experiences it in their body, their mind and soul. Until I found out I didn't. I remember my first group supervision session. All new faces. I shed a tear without any explanation. I asked my supervisor if

January 2024. Home cleared, bags packed, eyes full of tears and a heart so heavy. Saying goodbye to a place that shaped me, that I called home, felt like a loss. I told everyone I wasn't ready to leave London. What I didn't say, maybe didn't even know then, was that I wasn't ready to leave a version of myself behind. Moving back was difficult; culture shock, lifestyle change, a little bit of independence taken away…I remember isolating myself, didn't meet my friends for a f

With my chest constantly tugging and a sorrow ingrained in each cell, I didn't stop to think about what would happen. I was too busy worrying about doing it wrong. What if I missed something; an important detail of my life? How would she help me if I left something out? And then the thoughts I didn't say out loud: she's a therapist, her life must be so sorted. Her relationships. Her family. Herself. None of that was what I walked into. I was 22. Genuinely broken, lost, and cl

Session 18. Airpods in, tumbler beside me, notebook open, coffee close. I'd just walked around for a bit and stretched before sitting down. Same routine. But something felt different before this one. The sessions had gone quiet lately. Not uncomfortable quiet, but just steady. Nothing visible was shifting. She was showing up. We were talking. But nothing looked like progress from where I was sitting. No turning points. Just her coming in each week and talking about her life.

I wasn't depressed. I wasn't in crisis. I just wasn't myself anymore. This is why I started therapy and why you don't have to hit rock bottom. The quiet grapple of feeling weighed down and holding together lives in the mind forever. From never having to ask this question, I started therapy when I did hit rock bottom. Lonely, lost, and trying to make sense of what was happening to me. Who am I becoming? I didn't have any major traumatic experience, but the small incidents just