"Aiswarya, come here!"
I was startled to hear amma call me the full name instead of Aishu. As kids, we all know what that meant — deep trouble.
I had casually said "fuck" when my friends had surprised me for my 19th birthday, pretty loudly for that matter, which didn't go down well as you may have guessed.
This was a couple of years ago. I believe cuss word or otherwise, the use of the F-word is pretty ubiquitous, especially among adults. I have known a colleague who graces their every sentence with it. I'm guilty of its fluent use too!
But I'm not here to bash it. Nor justify using it.
If I say there's another word that is even more shushed than "fuck," would you believe me? Let me give you a clue.
It's not a cuss word. It's good for your health. It's vital for anyone at least once in their lifetime. There is no harm in doing it. Getting it right is hard, but not impossible. It needs to be encouraged more and more. Cheered, in fact! It needs patience, effort, firm trust and takes time.
Therapy!
If it sounded anti-climactic, sorry but not sorry.
You mean the world to me, to the moon and back, fallen madly in love — we must have said these at least once in our life (to at least one person, if not more).
Have we ever said this to ourselves, but?
At least some of us have been hardwired to believe that keeping ourselves at the bottom of the priority list is selflessness. If you are a woman, I mean, should I even go there?
This deprioritizing over the years has a way of eating us, inside out. Whether we know it or not. Maybe our parents have learnt to live with it. Just because you can live with something, doesn't mean you should, right?
I had just lost my father. I had much toxicity in my life. Running to my mom had its own limitations since she was going through immeasurable pain, fighting her own battles. It was a lonely pit of despair. While I knew therapy could help, I was scared to tell anyone. Why? Societal conditioning. The stigma around mental health.
I mustered up the courage to tell Amma. She was supportive — not a surprise, she's been an amazing mother.
From then, it was a series of trial and error. Meeting two therapists and one life coach. Did it help? Not really. Let me tell you why.
The folks I met clearly said the problem was me. My thought process. If I decide to let go, I'll be fine the next day. I was confused and distraught. I knew this is what I had to do, no brainer there. But how do I do it? That's why I needed help.
Heck, one therapist even gaslighted me and also went on to say how she brought her husband back to life, and the rest of the family history which didn't relate to why I was even there. An hour later, I walked out of the room, determined to never knock another door for help. And trying to tell myself that I'll figure it out on my own.
Did I? Not really.
It was like a band-aid on a wound that was more than skin deep. Some nights, I clutched my stomach tight because it was uneasy with pain, and I found myself crying to sleep most of those days. Guilt, anger, sadness — I mean, you could name it, I had it up my sleeves.
I lost weight, couldn't remember the last time I smiled from my heart. Crying was like breathing. Sleeping was addictive. Comfort food hardly helped. The darkness I saw, I shudder to think about it even now.
One morning, I woke up and decided enough was enough. I called up one of my closest friends, Karishma, told her I needed help. Shamelessly, unabashed. She checked and reverted with two numbers. The choice was mine.
I called up a therapist. Her voice was gentle. There was something different this time. I ended up crying and she consoled me, like no one else had. I was pleasantly surprised. We set up a time to talk, she was even willing to meet me in person the first two times.
We started the journey — of healing, of acceptance, of acknowledging.
Since I loved to write, she asked me to note down how I feel about myself. Remember when Rachel wrote Ross an 18-page letter, front & back? I wrote just as much, except that it spoke about self-loathing, low esteem, and what not.
My journal had big blots of tear-stained pages where I slowly began to see, maybe I'm not the problem as I was led to believe.
Slowly a can of worms opened up. What I did now had everything to do with my past. The most unintended thing had massive impact on the mind. Childhood, relationships with friends, family, toxicity. Getting to the roots. Crying, healing, journaling, talking about it. Most importantly, knowing it will take time.
Will the pain go away forever? I don't know, maybe not. Will it be manageable? Definitely, yes. Will you make peace with it? Of course, yes!
As the pages turned, seasons changed, the tears appeared a lot lesser. The self-loathing very slowly turned into self-love. The idea of falling in love with myself seemed absurd — I mean, I was nothing in my eyes. Then she cheered me, we worked things out together. The bad days where I slipped, there were no blame-games, only acceptance that it is a natural thing to happen.
When I realized this, life started becoming a little easier. I started being a lot less harder on myself. This turned into a loop. And repeated for the better.
I entered a relationship with myself. I started dating me — watch a movie with a pizza & Baskin Robbins Gold Medal Ribbon, watch my favourite TV show for the nth time, dance like nobody's business, work out whenever I could, listen to music while I walked back home from work, eat good food and occasional junk, fall in love and explore a new city, Bangalore.
Slowly, being alone didn't mean I was lonely. Silence spoke volumes around me.
It was new. It was scary but exciting.
I gave up so many times, but I picked myself back saying this is natural to happen. I accepted my flaws, got aware about my triggers and insecurities. And in time, decided to be unapologetic about who I am, and who I wanted to be.
Most importantly, I prioritized myself over anything & everyone, while trying to be mindful about not hurting another person in the process. Is it selfish? Perhaps to some. Does it matter to me? Hardly!
Did it end there? No!
I discovered parts of myself which I never even knew existed. I tried to paint. The colors made me really happy. Was it a perfect painting? Nope. But that was the beauty of it. A bunch of imperfections just for me, by me. I decorated my new apartment in Bangalore. Pots, plants, fairy lights. To my surprise it gave me even more joy. I started to live a different life — a confident, independent, live-and-let-live life. Where I hardly tried to get into the good books of anyone. It was so easy, relieving.
Later on, I attended open mics, wrote poetry, met new people. Attended pottery workshops. I wanted to learn Ukelele; didn't think twice, went and got myself a base model. Am I good at it? Nope. Am I getting better each day? Yes! One string at a time. I turned to one among my closest circle, Suraj, a guitar-maniac and flawless natural at it, to help me with the chords when I got stuck.
One day, I turned back, looked at how far I was able to come thanks to so many wonderful souls. And I clicked this picture to remind myself to always keep dating myself. To always love.
Does this mean I'm sorted? No! I'm still a work in progress. A beautiful one at that. There is still a long way for me to go, but I'm banking on this journey like no other.
If you are struggling with something, a trauma, however big or small, don't suppress it. Please get help. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. And it's worth everything. Look after yourself, be happy. Then you can be there for your loved ones always. One day when you look back and see how far you have come, surreal — that will be the feeling.
If you are still hesitating, know that you will definitely have one person to cheer you — me! To celebrate your small wins and stand together for the slips. If I can be of any help, always a text or call away.
Like the journal on the table says, don't let the Muggles get you down!
Life is too short to hate yourself.
Love,
Aiswarya
