How to survive Indian weddings (including your own) as an HSP, introvert, neurodivergent or disabled human.
Weddings are an extroverts dream… but an introverts nightmare, especially if its your own! Indian weddings are multiple day affairs with lots of people and incredible amount of stimuli assaulting all our 5 senses. If you identify as a Highly Sensitive Person, introvert (or even an ambivert, really) neurodivergent or…
Love isn’t found
Love isn’t found It is built. It changes form and shape It breathes and grows. It accommodates our tired bodies And restful sighs Our nervous laughter And fierce kindness. It is full of feeling, but thoughtful. And just like Rome Love isn’t built in a day. Brick by brick we lay our foundation Anticipate earthquakes, storms and tsunamis But chances are, what is debilitating isn’t an unforeseen disaster
The selfie and the commodification of our infant desire to be ‘seen’.
The selfie is viewed as a way to be ‘seen’ in an attention economy — it sets the algorithm in motion. But it’s interesting, this business of being ‘seen’. It is something us therapists are quite preoccupied with — in ourselves and our clients. Being seen deeply and loved for…
A love note to woodworking from a psychotherapist
I’ve spent the last month building furniture with friends, learning how to operate a drill, use tools and joining different physical materials together to build a home. I loved it. As a therapist, I foolishly thought that it is fundamentally relationships that make a home (a professional hazard perhaps?), but…
Place love at the centre
It’s funny how benign some acts of ignorance feel When there is love at the centre. And how harmful they are When there isn’t. It is not intention but love Free, open, vulnerable love Without defences Vast and senseless Honest and carefree That makes room for difficult conversations. When love is at the centre of a relationship It is strong enough to contain all the complexities of the world Gently dancing barefoot in the woods
I am not angry, just disappointed
My poetry about oppression feels angry Us vs them Me vs you But truly I see more than the colour of your skin I see you. I see how when you were hurt, you became fearful of skin Instead of the person wearing it. I am not afraid of your skin I am afraid of you. And I am not angry Just disappointed That you can’t see me too.
What my cats taught me about love
1. There will never be enough time with those we love. We’ll always be greedy for more time, but losing my cat taught me how much I can feel her presence in my heart even after she was gone. The loss of a pet can feel like a throbbing ache…
Our bodies are our inheritance. Our heritage. Within each crevice lies a legend In each whisper a communication Gifts from our foremothers, tales from our personal and ancestral histories The narratives of the hegemony force cruel accounts upon our bodies Our relationship with them ruptured, bruised, broken and sometimes deceased…
I don’t see colour, you do
Dear White Folx, You might argue that you are reduced to your whiteness too Your identity, your stories, your struggle ‘erased’ Your depth and kindness unseen Your courage unacknowledged Your intentions invalidated. What a privilege To be surprised When that happens.