I sit on the edge of the couch, my fingers nervously twisting the hem of my dupatta. The room is warm and softly lit, but there’s a coldness inside me that refuses to thaw. Across from me, in a comfortable chair, sits Dr. Mehta. Her kind eyes and gentle demeanor should put me at ease, but I can’t help the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.
“Shivani,” she begins, her voice calm and soothing, “this is your space. You can share as much or as little as you’re comfortable with. We’ll go at your pace.”
I nod, unable to meet her gaze. My eyes are fixed on a spot on the floor, like it might somehow give me the strength to speak. I’ve rehearsed this moment so many times in my head since Rudra discussed this with me. He was scared to discuss therapy with me because he knows me—my overthinking. But I know that this is important for me. And now that I’m actually here, the words feel stuck in my throat. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“It was my husband’s idea,” I finally say. “He encouraged me to seek professional help.” I pause, letting the silence hang for a second before continuing.
“When Rudra suggested therapy, he was worried I might take it the wrong way… like he thought I was too much to handle or something. But I understood where he was coming from. He’s always been beside me, always there to hold me when I need him. But I need to learn how to deal with my own problems. I can’t keep pushing everything down and pretending that I’m fine. I need to face my past instead of hiding from it. I need to do it right this time.”
She nods slowly, her expression full of compassion. “It’s very brave of you to seek help, Shivani. It takes a lot of courage to face what you’ve been through.” Her words put me at ease, making me feel comfortable.
I let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of her words. Something about the way she says it—like she really means it—makes the tightness in my chest loosen just a little.
Dr. Mehta leans forward in her chair, her voice still gentle but with a firmness that makes it clear she’s really listening. “Can you tell me what led you to this point, Shivani?” My throat tightens again. My heart races in my chest. It’s hard to put into words the kind of pain I’ve been carrying for so long. I look up, meeting her gaze for the first time.
“I guess…” I begin, my voice cracking slightly. “Everything started to fall apart when my grandmother passed away. It was sudden. I was just a teenager… And suddenly, I felt like I’d been left alone in this world.” I pause, looking at her, wondering if it’s okay to tell her everything. “Things weren’t the best when my grandmother was alive either,” I chuckle humorlessly. “But I had two months of every year to be away from all my monsters,” She tilts her head in confusion. “I used to visit her in summer vacations,” I explain.
“You had your parents, didn’t you?” She asks, her tone gentle, urging me to answer her.
“They weren’t good to me,” I reply quietly. That's all I can manage at first. I don’t know what else to say without falling apart. Telling everything at once feels strange.
“You have to be a little more elaborative, Shivani. It’s okay. Take your time.” I hesitate for a moment, then speak again.
“I don't know how to start. It feels so strange to start speaking about something that's been living in me for so long.” I mutter, not looking into her eyes. Shame engulfs me.
“Shivani, I know that you want to become better. And that means that to become better, you have to let go of something that is holding you back. And as I said earlier, you can start small, as small as you are comfortable with.” Her words encourage me, and I let out a breath before telling her.
“My parents… they weren’t really there for me. I always felt like a burden, like I wasn’t good enough.” My eyes sting with unshed tears as the memories creep in. “No matter what I did, they always hated it.” She stays quiet, giving me space.
“My mother told me several times she regretted giving birth to me.” My voice is barely above a whisper. Dr. Mehta’s expression stays calm—professional—but I can see the flicker of empathy in her eyes.
“That must have been incredibly hard for you,” she says softly. “To feel abandoned by the ones who were supposed to love and support you unconditionally.”
Her words hit something raw in me. I look down again, ashamed of how much it still hurts.
“But it wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”
I know she means well, and I want to believe her, but it’s hard to let those words in. No matter how kind anyone will be with me in the future, the pain stays.
“I know, logically, that it wasn’t my fault,” I tell her, my voice trembling. “But I still feel… I feel so much shame. And when I look at myself, all I see are flaws. It’s like I’m broken.”
She nods, her eyes understanding me deeply. “It sounds like you’ve been carrying these feelings for a long time. And after everything you’ve been through, it’s understandable that you feel this way. But you’re not broken, Shivani. You’re here. And you’re strong for seeking help.”
I bite my lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall. “I don’t feel strong,” I admit. “I feel so weak… so empty.”
“Feelings of low self-worth and low self-esteem are very common after the kind of trauma you’ve experienced,” Dr. Mehta explains. “But those feelings don’t define who you are. Part of what we’ll do here is work on rebuilding your sense of self. Helping you see your worth… and your strength.” Her words offer a tiny sliver of hope. It’s there—faint—but hard to reach.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I confess, my voice cracking again. “There’s so much I’m carrying around. I don’t want to burden you too. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I always end up depending on someone. Anyone who offers a little help—I cling to them. It’s like I don’t know how to stand on my own.”
Dr. Mehta offers a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s okay to ask for help, Shivani. It doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human. And that’s what I’m here for. To help you. To listen.”
She leans back slightly, her tone a little more serious now. “But I can only help you if you’re willing to open up. I can’t help you if you keep everything bottled up inside.”
I nod again, the truth of her words sinking in. I want to be better. I really do.
“We’ll figure it out together,” she says. “We’ll take it one step at a time. For today, just know that it’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. This is a safe space for you to express yourself. No judgment.”
A soft exhale leaves me. I guess I’m not completely alone in this. “Thank you,” I whisper, barely audible.
