The three things I learned from therapy
By: Tarun Galagali
Tags: Therapy, Mental Health, People Of Color

I’m not sure I would’ve gotten personal on therapy, had I not started to work for a mental health company like Talkspace. There’s such a radical openness to asking the quesiton “how’s your mental health?” that it sometimes like we’re living in the future. It’s almost more normal than asking about your weekend.

One of the reasons I wanted to write this is because I want to encourage people to go to therapy — especially, but not limited to, people of color. There are many reasons we don’t end up doing it. Most therapists don’t look like us; it can be prohibitively expensive; there’s a shame/stigma associated with it; and you might not think you “need” it.

But therapy has the potential to set you free. Yes, you. Because it set me free. I remember the first time I walked into my “counselor’s” office. It in May of 2016, on-site at Google’s campus. They offered each employee a fixed number of in-person visits (a policy I stretched to… several visits, over two years). But I remember that first visit so well.

I had a “DNS” blocker on my calendar, and I ran up the stairs of one of the main buildings. I went because I just couldn’t seem to shake off the feeling that something was off and I wanted someone’s unconditional attention to navigate through it. They say it takes some time to break in. And maybe I got lucky, but my first :45 minute session was mind blowing. I was hooked.

I would get to know that same therapist well for the better part of two years — even inviting her to my family’s Diwali celebration. She politely declined, smiling and saying that there were boundaries she had to follow.

My therapist helped me navigate relationships, work, health, and most importantly my journey to acceptance. She trotted me through my insecurities, making me look within at the things I felt least secure about and most ashamed of. And she encouraged me to accept myself. Radically. Which brings me to what I learned from therapy:

Acceptance is really everything. From the moment we’re conscious creatures, we suffer because we hold expectations over the stories of our lives. And those expectations never allow us to be free or present. Growing up, just about every signal told me I needed to be better to be enough for myself. Whenever I felt a voice saying I was inadequate, I didn’t let that sadness sit. I distracted myself with all of the best distractions. And the best distraction of all? Accomplishments. If I could anchor myself to a goal and achieve it: be it a college, a job, a relationship, a half-marathon… then maybe, just maybe, I could be at peace. Of course, that’s not how it works. Therapy helped me see through the myth, and accept that peace and acceptance only happens when you look at the root causes of those voices. Unpack the shame, the narratives, the random stories that play on loop and just say to yourself: “I accept you because… well. You’re, you.” If you haven’t read Tara Brach’s book (“Radical Acceptance”), you should. She blends Buddhist wisdom with her own practice powerfully. Emotions, without an accompanying narrative, can really only last 90 seconds. There’s neuroscience that supports this, but I think the wisdom for me was largely through lived experience. Recently, a friend of mine showed me a video I left on his Facebook wall from 10 years ago. I see a freshman year version of myself — fidgety, and anxiously moving my hands around. And I thought to myself, wow. That guy needed a hug. All of my loved ones were on the other side the country, and I was feeling lonely. I was probably going through other things. But the worst thing I was going through was the feeling that someone like me should only ever feel happy and grateful and optimistic. And that any other emotion didn’t have a home with me. I hadn’t read Rumi, or let myself say out loud that I was struggling. I held onto a narrative that I should only be happy. And I think the ego that thought “I’m better than this feeling” actually made the whole thing worse. How do I know? I experience the same onslaught of sensations, and while sometimes they stay longer than I wish they would, I’m able to watch them go. On my better days, I strip the story and watch the emotions leave. Talking to your inner child helps. Part of the reason I said “learn(ed)” is that I still talk to someone. And I still learn. One of the things my coach made do was sit down with the child version of me and process that kid’s emotion. Treat him like he was my brother, or my child even. It made me realize that the child in me, the one who grew up pretending like he wasn’t processing emotions, was actually deeply aware. Far more intuitive and conscious than the world saw. I think this is why that Mr. Rogers movie resonated so much with people. We all remember what it felt like to be a kid, and not be taken seriously for what we were experiencing in our inner lives. I think loving the child in us is a short-cut to self-acceptance; it’s easier to accept the child. You almost can’t help yourself. So try it. Write a letter to your younger self. Go on a walk and listen to a song you used to love and visualize that kid in you going WILD like it’s the craziest dance party. Play Eifel 65. Play Blink 182. Whatever it is. That child in you needs it. Even if you’re 30.

I hope to keep updating this list as I get older. Because there’s probably more than “three things.” But I made a commitment to myself that soon after starting a job in the mental health arena, I would write about my own experiences. And while I can wait till the perfect time, today feels as good as any. I had a reminder that being a person of color in the mental health arena poses its own challenges. And I wanted to say that if you can get through the barriers to finding a provider you can trust, it’s worth the effort.