Category: Mental Health

A Million Miles of What They Carried

August 16, 2024

What did they carry with them, my parents, over thousands of miles? What pieces of jewelry did they carefully choose? Which did they keep and which did they have to tear away from? Did they want to wear them all on each of their fingers, filling them as high as they’d fit? As many chains that could go around their necks? What did they stuff into their pockets? What are the most valuable things, maybe viable things, to an immigrant?

Did they wonder which clothes would be most acceptable? Or did they even worry about this? Did they want to take all their clothes, even the ones that were a little snug from high school that reminded them of good times with their childhood friends? Did they want to take some of their shoes, maybe all of them? But would their shoes work there? They had heard it was bitter cold, almost uninhabitable. How do you then dress for that? How, I mean, what, do you put on?

Did they speak to each item that meant something, the ones they couldn’t take with? The doors, the walls with the little lizzards sitting still like decor, the little random steel cups and clay pots in the kitchen? Did they say goodbye, or maybe one day I’ll see you again? What did they think would happen? That they’d never return to the ground and sky and trees they knew so well? The childhood toys, dolls, the table they ate their meals on, where they sat with their mothers and fathers, their siblings, where they prayed over their dal, rice, chutney, chicken. They couldn’t take those.

What about the well in the backyard, the one they leant over as children, yelling into it, echoes responding with giggles. What stories had they told their friends about the well, as they all encircled it, bent over slightly, seeking the bottom? What lay in the darkness? What fears had they buried there and what new ones would well up?

Did they wave goodbye to the animals that freely roamed the dirt roads in front of their houses, the pigs, the dogs, as animals should? Isn’t it in fact their home too? Isn’t freedom for all? Did they whisper into the creatures’ ears one last time, did they give some of them names, letting them know they were going to a far away place where the animals wouldn’t love them the same? Did they know that then? Did they know foreign meant foreigner, a bad word, outsider, feared, to be ridiculed, cursed at, in a place that would never quite feel like home? Did they leave space for this as they were gathering all the things they would carry?

The Unseen Stings Most

July 12, 2024

I don’t have to be called a name to feel the sting of hate. It’s in the flow of society. It’s how I feel moving through a space. Space, without gravity. No foothold or anything else to anchor onto. Just the knowing.

Because it’s in the air. I, we, breathe it.

There are more often no names or obvious gestures of being discarded. I hate that way I feel, so unsettled without a way to touch or point at it. That’s it, don’t you see? I scream in my mind, wanting to yell to bystanders who aren’t innocent in their denial. They scoff with, “Oh, you’re just being,” or “Oh, everything’s not about that.” For some, it is though. So then the translucence of it is what makes me then question it. Question myself rather.

And then I pull myself back, toes touching ground, heart reconnecting with soul. This soul that allows intuition to reverberate back into my body, confirming what is real, believing it, if only within myself. To know, to realize this, is what I need to remain grounded, to remain safe, mind and body. 

Are You a Chai Alchemist Too?

June 10, 2024

I am the Chai Alchemist. When I was a little girl, the thing that made me most proud was to make the perfect cup of chai. I’d heat up the water in a steel pot and throw in the gritty chai grounds. The two boiled almost to the rim of the pot before I’d add the milk and spices, cardamom, clove, sometimes turmeric and a little bit of ginger too. Maybe black pepper.

It started out as something I was taught to do. Someone came over, we served them chai. Usually at least snacks too, if it was a more impromptu visit and definitely a whole meal with sides for the sides if it was planned. But at the very least, our guests couldn’t leave without having a cup of chai.

I knew that if someone was coming over, I’d have to get in that kitchen and start up the pot. Funny how of all the things I was made to do, this was one of the rare things I intrinsically loved to do. It was one of those rare times when everyone left me to my alchemy and when no other responsibility override the making of chai. The ceremony of it was honored.

I liked how everything else stopped. Because often, nothing stopped. Everything went by with lightning speed. The talking, the yelling, the organizing, the cleaning, everyone in the house shifting around, all the time. No one knew what it meant to be still, to revel in the peace that silence offered.

But when guests came, my parents were anchored in sitting with them. It was nice to see them do nothing else but have conversation. It kept them from worrying, fussing, rushing, running.

Making chai anchored us.

We all need it, anchoring. We need to pause, to sit in silence, to reflect, to hear our precious breath. We all need some form of making chai. We are all chai alchemists.

Racial Slurs for the Ambiguously Ethnic

June 9, 2024

aashish-r-gautam-340139When people don’t know exactly how to hate, it almost appears feigned, as if they’re practicing being insulting and hurtful. There’s a fake barrier that feels somewhat protective because people appear so silly in their attacks. It’s almost poetic justice, their buffoonery.

It’s an awkward disrespect. But oh man, when they know exactly how they want to direct their behavior, it’s heinous and ugly. It’s premeditated, exact and very real.

Excerpt from Essays of Night and Daylight

 

 

 

 

Photo Credit: Unsplash

Myths about Mental Illness

August 24, 2018

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As a psychologist, I routinely hear many damaging myths about what mental health is and how treatment works. Some hold these myths to be truth, which lead them to suffer alone through deteriorating mental health.

Whether it’s due to everyday life stressors, relationship difficulties, the realities of racism, genetics, or all of the above, mental illness is real. And it requires real conversations to uncover myths and lead people who are suffering to find needed treatment.

All of us can be a part of ending stigma around mental illness. When you hear these statements, have a conversation about the facts:

“I’m weak.”

Mental illness is not a weakness in character. It’s not a reflection of some invisible strength monitor. We all experience a spectrum of emotions, everything from feeling highly emotional about difficult life events, to feeling numb. It might be because of an accumulation of circumstances we’ve experienced in the past, our biological make up or both. It is in fact a show of strength to express your emotions and seek treatment.

“I’m crazy. Something’s wrong with me.”

1 in 5 adults have had a mental health diagnosis (NAMI), and the percentage is likely higher due to people’s fears of sharing their mental health concerns. So it’s the folks who say they’re perfect who have the real problem. Life is hard and we’re human, therefore we react.

“Other people don’t feel like this.”

And how would you know this? We really have no real idea of how other people react. Even the people we’re closest with don’t know how we’re really feeling unless we tell them. So how do we know how others really react to different situations? And how does it help us to compare? And why, especially, do we assume that everyone would react the same way? We’re far too different to behave or feel the same in every situation.

“I have to hide my mental illness.”

Of course, this is your decision. Although if you decide to share with someone you trust, you may find that more people can relate with you than you thought. They or someone they know may suffer from mental illness. Some people may even be supportive and be able to give you some guidance. The reality is, there are people who don’t understand and people who do. It’s important to figure out who your trusted loved ones are.

“Medication will turn me into a zombie.”

All medications have side effects. Everyone reacts differently to each medicine based on body chemistry. Some medications cause some uncomfortable side effects when you first start taking them. The biggest question to ask yourself and your doctor is whether the benefits outweigh the side effects.

“I don’t have enough faith in God. I just need to pray more.”

I know spiritual leaders who suffer from anxiety, depression and other mental health difficulties. Does it mean they don’t have enough faith? Prayer can be powerful, however, have you been able to pray away all of the problems in your life? Do you pray rather than seek medical attention for a physical condition?

“Counseling is for white people.”

So only white people have problems? People of color tend to have a unique dynamic of stress specifically related to being people of color. Discrimination is real, people hold strange stereotypes about those who look different from them and people of color are sometimes even victims of hate. Have you ever wondered if you didn’t get a job or a promotion because of your ethnicity? Chronic worries such as these accumulate and the build up can be tremendously stressful.

“My family will be upset if they know I’m sharing our private business.”

Every family has its family business. What you’re sharing isn’t that. What you’re sharing is your business. You’re talking about how life affects you.

“It’s selfish to take care of myself.”

This is a cultural lie in much of the world, especially amongst girls and women. Your creator sees you as a jewel. You deserve to care for yourself and express your desire to have loved ones care for you as well. Also, we can’t help anyone if we’re sick.

“I don’t want to express myself in front of others.”

Everything we do is an opportunity to model behavior to others, especially those we care about the most. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to teach our children or partner that emotional expression is healthy?

“My job will find out I’m talking to a therapist.”

Does your employer know you went to the dentist last month or that you just got a refill for blood pressure medication? Therapy is highly confidential and there are very few reasons this information would need to be revealed. The first couple of sessions of treatment are usually spent reviewing how confidentiality works so that you’re very clear on how it all works.

“Asking people if they are thinking about suicide will cause them to feel suicidal.”

Simply asking this question does not cause someone to become suicidal. Either the intention is already there or it isn’t. In fact, asking about it may open up conversation and potentially save someone’s life. The National Suicide Prevention is a 24-hour hotline for anyone who needs to talk: 800-273-8255.

 

We can end the stigma of mental illness together. Please reach out to me if with questions or would like me to speak about mental health in your community.

Why She Stays: Behind the Doors of Domestic Abuse

June 13, 2017

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Why do you think she stays? Because she wants to? Because she loves him that much? Maybe. But she may also stay because red is the only color she can identify when she sees him. She may stay because she’s terrified of the thought of her children having to live in a shelter, having no financial resources, having no one to rely on. She may stay because he threatens to take her children if she tries to leave.

In the eyes of others, he’s charming and kind. But no one knows that he’s also someone who pays the children’s school fees if he feels like it, and the light bill or buy groceries some of the time, but there’s usually a catch. He always makes sure she and the kids feel guilty about it, as though they’re strangers depending on his unjustified kindness. He’s someone and he’s no one, all at once. This is where her confusion lies.

There are also other things he is not. He is not someone who can give love, because he cannot receive it. He is not someone who is able to put himself in anyone else’s shoes. He is not someone who will share her burdens. He is not someone who wants to model compassion and integrity for his children. He doesn’t know how to pretend to be these things, nor does he care to.

He is not someone who will protect his family, and in fact, he is the one from who they need protection. He is secretly proud of his cowardly ways.

So you ask, why does she stay? What’s wrong with her? Well, would you leave if you had nowhere to go, no one who could help you, no money to feed your children or no way to get them to school or doctors’ appointments? What about if he took away your family’s medical insurance? And what about if your child had some chronic condition? What if he threatened to call immigration?

It seems easy to question some other random person. Yet, it’s more often not some other random person, it’s your co-worker, your neighbor, your friend, your sister. Maybe it’s you. Maybe you don’t know it is. Maybe you think someone else’s situation is worse and so you justify to yourself that yours isn’t that bad, so it couldn’t be considered abuse.

He doesn’t punch or slap you like those other men. He only occasionally curses at you or randomly accuses you of cheating when he’s really angry. Sometimes he shoves you but always says he feels terrible afterward. He doesn’t stop you from working. Yet he drops by unannounced from time-to-time, and come to think of it, more frequently lately.

He says he loves you so much he wants to spend all of his time with you, especially when you try to hang out with friends or make plans to see family. He says he wants to take care of the finances. He gives you an allowance because it’s convenient. He feels there is no need for you to have access to the account. Access for what?

No, no, no. None of this is me, you say. Okay. But are you afraid to say the wrong things, to do something that might upset him, go to places he may not approve of, wear clothes he might find inappropriate? Do you have a running reel in the back of your mind of what he might say about this or that, about just about every decision in your life?

But you’re always on his mind because he cares, you say. I get it. It’s all very difficult. It’s insidious. It’s perplexing. Comprehending his intentions can be difficult and even the fleeting idea of leaving is not an easy one to consider.

Let’s now once again reconsider why she stays, why you stay, why we stay, why we’ve considered leaving, why we don’t have to do any of it alone whether we stay or go. Most of us, 1 out of 3 females in fact, has been abused, most often by a loved one. You are not alone.

So again I want you to believe me when I say it, you don’t have to do it alone, no matter what you decide.

Originally published at http://www.girlsglobe.org on June 5, 2017.

What Are You?

April 1, 2017

IMG_5718“What are you?” people sometimes ask. It seems to come from a place of perplexity. There appears to be frustration because when someone’s ethnicity isn’t identifiable, the ability to categorize is suspended.

When people ask with malicious intent, they don’t know exactly how to mistreat those of us who appear more racially ambiguous. Their slurs appear feigned as if they’re practicing being insulting and hurtful. There’s a fake barrier that feels almost protective because they seem silly in their attacks. It’s poetic justice, their buffoonery.

But oh man, when people know exactly how they want to direct their behavior, they’re heinous and ugly. It’s premeditated, exact and ironically sincere. And that’s the purpose the question serves for them. They’re asking, What are you so that I can hate you with a special type of ignorance.

The are is sometimes drawn out and accompanied by a sneer. It’s an inability to judge. Maybe they wish they could call me the N word, or maybe confidently accuse me of being an illegal “alien,” or Muslim, although, if not so ignorant, they’d know that the latter isn’t even an ethnicity.

Yes, it’s happened to me before, on multiple occasions and in various forms. Sometimes it’s blatant, most times covert. On business trips, my white colleague and I were consistently pulled out of the airport security line to be frisked and have the contents of our luggage overturned. “This only happens when I’m with you,” she’d marvel, and we’d shake our heads.

Most often though the high-pitched, “What are you” with furrowed brows and head cocked to one side is asked by well-meaning people who are simply curious. And when I tell them, they usually respond with an, “Oh! I love Indian food” or “Have you seen Lion?” and we dive into intriguing conversations about what we are, far beyond our race. And that’s beautiful because it comes from our ability to wonder and connect.

So what am I? What are any of us? Well, we’re people and being human intrinsically means we’re knitted in many fascinating, complex ways based on how we’re created and the lives we’ve lived. So go ahead, I see the crease in your brows. Ask me what I am.