Stories of Hope

Before therapy became my language, sukoon was my compass.

I chased it in motion and in stillness.

In strangers, in nostalgia.

In the way standing small before a mountain humbled me.

In how a sunset softened something sharp inside.

I kept calling it travel.

But what I was really chasing was a moment where my body could exhale and finally say,

“I’m safe now.”

And somewhere along the way, travel led me to therapy.

It became the space where I could pause—

to sit with my emotions, learn from them,

instead of chasing sukoon from one corner of the country to another.

It felt like travel had finally brought me home.

Fulfilled its purpose.

Now, a decade later, as a therapist myself,

I see how we all need this support system—

to grow, to thrive, to become our most regulated, resourced selves.

To travel inward, as much as we travel outward.

And yet, there’s still so much shame attached to “seeking help.”

But therapy isn’t help in the way we think of help.

A therapist isn’t supposed to save you.

They’re meant to hold space for you,

while you learn to save yourself—gently, honestly, and in your own time.

In a country where a student dies by suicide every hour,

We don't need a messiah.

We’re not living in the times of Sai Baba miracles.

We’re living in DIY times.

And so healing, too, must be a daily practice.

It’s easy to tell a client how to self-regulate.

Much harder to do it yourself.

But if we’re holding safe spaces,

we must also be held.

If we preach that all feelings are welcome,

we must allow ourselves—as humans, not just professionals—to feel them too.

We all need safe spaces.

But we can’t feel safe if our nervous system doesn’t.

We all need support.

But we can’t offer support if we’re not feeling supported.

Therapy teaches us how to regulate rather than externalise—

to create safety within, so we can extend it to others.

And that’s exactly why

every therapist needs a therapist.

Therapy taught me

That sukoon…

it’s not a place.

It’s a practice.

Twelve years ago, I was diagnosed with moderate clinical depression and had to take a break from work for six months. My depression was not rooted in fear of failure, extreme anxiety, or toxic negativity, although those were symptoms. Instead, my depression came from a void.

I still remember the mornings, where my wife Shilpa tried her best to just pull me out of my bed so that I could just commence my morning routine. I still remember driving to my work parking deck and heading back home due to extreme panic attacks. I still remember those moments, when my mind almost convinced me to do the unthinkable.

Luckily, I survived! Thanks to my dear wife Shilpa who reminded me of the power of positivity and gratitude. Thanks to my sister Meenal who called me daily and spoke to me for hours, and helped me to rebuild my confidence. Thanks to my friend Sridhar, who introduced me to meditation via music (Hanuman Chalisa).

But all of their support would not have led to change if that moment did not happen—that moment when I acknowledged that I have a mental health problem and should seek intervention.

That moment marked the beginning of my transformation—and these are some of the ways I brought that change to my life:

• Embracing Positivity

I started flooding my mind with positive thoughts, leaving little room for negativity. I followed inspiring voices and shared a Daily Dose of Positivity with my team each morning. What began as a simple habit became a ripple of hope for many.

• My Inner Circle

With time, I found myself surrounded by people who uplifted and inspired me. Their support, feedback, and presence helped me rebuild from within.

• Attitude of Gratitude

Gratitude changed everything. I began by simply being thankful for life—and slowly, that feeling grew. It deepened my connections, reshaped my mindset, and earned me the title of Chief Happiness Officer among colleagues.

I am a second-year MBBS student and Hindustani classical vocalist. A few months ago, I was diagnosed with dissociative disorder caused by anxiety, and the journey hasn’t been easy. Initially, my right side would become rigid, and over time, I began experiencing fainting episodes, leaving me overwhelmed and struggling to understand what was happening. I was hesitant to seek psychotherapy due to the stigma surrounding mental health, fearing judgment and misunderstanding. However, as my condition worsened, I realized the importance of therapy in my recovery.

The journey of an MBBS student in India is filled with immense academic pressure. The volume of information to be studied is vast, and the competition is fierce. From the very beginning, students are expected to excel, and the fear of failure looms large. For me, the stress reached its peak during my first-year exams, where I felt a tremendous burden to perform well despite my deteriorating health.

There were moments when I doubted my ability to continue. My anxiety would manifest physically—my body would freeze, I would experience dissociative episodes, and studying for long hours felt impossible. I constantly compared myself to my peers, wondering if I was falling behind. The fear of disappointing my family, who had high hopes for me, only added to the pressure.

However, I gradually found ways to navigate these challenges. I learned to prioritize my mental well-being alongside my academics. Therapy played a crucial role in helping me develop coping mechanisms. I began incorporating relaxation techniques such as breathing exercises and mindfulness into my routine. Breaking down my study schedule into smaller, manageable sessions also helped reduce the overwhelming nature of medical studies.

Moreover, I stopped striving for perfection and started focusing on consistency. I accepted that some days would be harder than others, and that was okay. Seeking support from my close friends and family, who reassured me that my health was more important than grades, also made a huge difference. By finding a balance between self-care and academics, I was able to clear my first year successfully.

I hope my story inspires others to speak up and seek the support they need. Let us work together to break the stigma and create a culture where mental health is valued just as much as academic achievement.

I lost my first dog, Oreo, on the last day of 2018. He just vanished, and I never saw him again. A few days later, I went through a breakup that shattered me - eight years together and he cheated. It felt like my whole world collapsed.

As a way to cope, I chopped my hair short and locked myself in my tiny old house near Manali. Outside, it snowed five feet, but inside, I felt even colder.

Over the years, people told me I was depressed, that I was crazy. I tried to be okay, but no matter what I did - even the things I loved - I felt lost. Some days, the darkness got so heavy that I thought of ending everything. And the worst part? Some people around me often made it even harder.

Maybe I didn’t like that version of me. Maybe that’s why I forced myself to step outside, to breathe, to move. The more time I spent outdoors, the lighter I felt. And before I knew it, I had climbed to the top of the world-Everest.

Standing at 8,848 m, looking at the endless horizon, I felt something shift inside me. If I could make it through insane cold, mad storms, physical exhaustion and near-failure due to my mask to reach the highest peak on Earth, maybe, just maybe, I could make it through life too.

That changed something in me. It gave me a reason to keep going, to dream bigger. To do more, not just for myself, but for others too.

The truth? That darkness still visits me. There are days I get triggered, and it takes me two or three days to feel like myself again. But I’ve found something that pulls me forward - big goals that make me excited to wake up in the morning and train for physical and mental health.

Healing isn’t a straight road, & I still have a long way to go. I think, in my own way, I’m getting there.

Anxiety sneaks into the smallest moments—my phone ringing, planning ahead, or the fear of missing out. I once thought I was just being cautious, but over time, I realized these thoughts were shaping my world in ways I couldn’t control.

Growing up, I watched my mother, my sweet mother, overthink everything, always imagining the worst. She didn’t realize her fears were imprinting on me. If I dropped something or got hurt, it became a big deal, and I learned to be scared, too. Maybe if I had told her, “”Mom, it’s okay, it’s just a small thing,”” things would have been different. But anxiety doesn’t work that way—it grows quietly before you even realise it’s there.

As I got older, my anxiety evolved. I battled FOMO (fear of missing out), feeling pressured to attend events even when I didn’t want to. But it wasn’t just about missing out—it was the fear of the unknown. What will happen there? Who will I have to talk to? What do they expect from me? Even a simple phone call made me anxious—What does this person want from me?

Things intensified when I left home for my MBA. I learned that not everyone has your best interests at heart. Unlike my family of 30, where unconditional support was a given, the outside world was different. It was a difficult adjustment, but I started reframing my thoughts, reminding myself that expecting kindness from strangers wasn’t fair to them or me.

Seeking help was one of the best decisions I made. Counseling helped me understand my patterns and work through them. Now, two years later, I see how much I’ve grown.

I’ve learned to let go. My FOMO has faded—I no longer force myself into situations that don’t feel right. If I’d rather take a peaceful walk than attend an event, that’s okay. I’ve developed a thick skin toward negativity and learned that not everything deserves my emotional energy.

Anxiety may always be a part of me, but I know now that it cannot hold me back.

My battle with Bipolar Affective Disorder (BPAD) began when I was 16. The extreme mood swings left me lost, overwhelmed, and drowning in feelings of guilt and worthlessness. At my lowest, I even attempted to end my life. But I realized that suicide isn’t a solution—it only takes away the chance to turn life into something meaningful.

In 2009, my family took me to a psychiatrist, and that marked the beginning of my healing. Therapy, medication, and learning to recognize my triggers helped me regain control.

Two things made all the difference for me — first, talking openly about my struggles with my family, who created a safe space for me. And second, being honest about my mental health at work. Opening up allowed me to prioritize my well-being without hiding who I was.

The girl who once couldn’t face her Economics exam is now an Assistant Professor of Economics.

Choosing to live is the courageous thing to do. If I could find my way back, so can you. Life is precious, and with the right support, you can find hope again.

My story is a difficult one, I was first diagnosed with severe depression in 2011 along with PTSD, and suicidal thoughts. While battling these illnesses, I was admitted to a psychiatric unit in Baltimore, Maryland. It was at this time I was further diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder.

While the odds seemed stacked against me, I was determined to take my life back into my hands.

Currently, I’ve been going to therapy four days a week and been on medication for seven years now, balancing my illness, treatment, and job. I’m doing much better and I hope that my struggle will inspire others to not only find the courage to fight these battles but also seek out the right help.

In 2022, I hit rock bottom. My struggle with OCD, depression, and anxiety had consumed my life, leaving me trapped in a relentless cycle of fear and hopelessness. It all became too much, and on May 23rd, 2022, I attempted to take my own life. That moment marked the lowest point in my journey, but it also became the turning point I never expected.

Through a week-long stay at an inpatient hospital and two months at a behavioral health center, I began to believe something I hadn’t in a long time: I could get better. It wasn’t easy—every step forward came with challenges, but I kept going. What helped me most? An unexpected lifeline: a movie.

That summer, I watched the story of my idol, NBA superstar Giannis Antetokounmpo. From selling trinkets on the streets of Athens to becoming an NBA champion, his journey reminded me that humility, grit, and resilience can overcome even the hardest battles. His story reignited a spark within me—a belief that I could rise too.

Before my attempt, I had always been passionate about storytelling. But after surviving, I was driven to create a new narrative: my own. I channeled my pain into a solo stand-up comedy show—a space to share my healing journey with humour and honesty. It wasn’t just about making people laugh; it was about breaking the stigma around mental health and reminding others (and myself) that our struggles don’t define us.

Resilience isn’t just surviving—it’s daring to thrive, to shine, and to believe we are so much more than our darkest moments.

Living with depression and anxiety, compounded by a lithium deficiency, has taught me the intricacies of balancing mental health with everyday life.

My personal experience has shown that achieving a ‘work-life balance’ can be a challenging journey.

In 2021, just six months into my job and overwhelmed by depression and panic attacks, I decided to resign. Everyday activities became overwhelming, and my panic attacks were intense. I craved company but also felt like a burden when someone reached out.

Fortunately, my family has always encouraged me to focus on my well-being. My doctor and therapist have also guided me through the most difficult challenges, helping me find moments of depression relief amidst the struggle.

During this time, I got a cat. Just thinking of her would ground me, bringing me a sense of calm amidst the chaos.

In 2022, I returned to the workforce. While this was a turning point in my career, the role’s demands took a toll on my mental health. I pushed myself too hard, leading to burnout.

Despite this, I continued therapy and managed to stop taking my antidepressants. I also taught myself crocheting, which brought me peace.

After a year and a half in that job, I chose to leave and took a four-month break to recharge. This allowed me to focus on myself before stepping into my current role, where I’ve been for the past five months.

Now, I take each day at a steady pace, learning from past experiences and focusing on my goals without losing sight of my well-being.

This journey has taught me the importance of putting myself first. Every step, whether forwards or backwards, has contributed to making me stronger.

Surrounding myself with a supportive network—whether it’s family, friends, my pet, or professionals—has made all the difference.

Success doesn’t come from working yourself to exhaustion—it comes from understanding your limits and making space for your mental health in your daily life.