A Note to my Clients.

I’ve been thinking about the amount of self-disclosure I must permit myself on this blog, in light of my work as a counselor/therapist. Should my writing steer clear of truths about my personality, and existence? Must I not reveal my own mental states, my questions, my anxieties, my fears? What if my writing conveys thoughts and emotions which don’t necessarily seem to be associated with “normal mental health”. Would I then come across as incompetent or “unstable” to my clients?

Of course, these questions may be completely irrelevant considering that I have 29 followers. With no one to read my writing, I have little to no chance of being exposed- unless someone actually Googles my name.

But, lets assume a potential or current client does Google my name. Which they have a complete right to do. It’s justifiable to want to know about someone whom you plan on baring your soul to.

Is all that I am writing on here true of being from pure personal experience? Well, the words I write come from thoughts and emotions that I have felt at some instant or the other during all the years I have lived. So in a sense, yes, everything I write here is from pure personal experience.

Some people keep journals. And some of them may see their journal writing as a private confession to themselves. I have chosen to have my confessions online (everyone needs some sort of outlet for their narcissism; this blog is my outlet). But since I write for creative pleasure, my confessions aren’t as autobiographical as a journal entry. They certainly stem from states of mind that I have experienced deeply. However, I also have a narrative around these states of mind. We all have our narratives. Narratives in which we have slipped in some embellishments, exaggerated some events, included some characters, and romanticized our mundanities. We need the narrative to distinguish our existence in some manner from the existences of those around us. Because in essence, everyone has the same pattern of existence right? We are born, we live, we die. What makes our existence any different from that of the billions which have come before it? The story. The movie in which we are currently playing the leading role. We are the creators of the story, and who’s to say how much of it is true or false? Sometimes, we ourselves forget what’s true or false in our story. Which is why I consider even autobiographies to be fiction.

So, all that is to say that it doesn’t matter whether what I write on here is true or false of my personality or existence. It’s a portrait of existence. A sliver of life captured in an instant, with no guarantee of accuracy or continuity.

Who am I in these portraits? Nikhil, the therapist? Nikhil, the graduate student? Nikhil, an individual who has, and still does experience his own mental health concerns? Nikhil from the year 1999, Nikhil from 2012, or Nikhil from 2020? I don’t know. Maybe all of those Nikhils.

I understand that we want to believe that our therapists are infallible individuals who represent the paragon of virtue and mental health. If our therapists are mentally “healthy”, then maybe we have a better chance of overcoming our own suffering. But let’s ask ourselves why we wish for our therapists to be perfect. Is it because we would like to be perfect as well some day? And would it be so bad if they aren’t perfect? Would it be so bad if we aren’t perfect?

I am skeptical of perfection. Because it signifies that something is complete..finished…not requiring any further change. But human beings are anything but perfect, yes? Regardless of how old you are, or how much experience you have, you haven’t finished living yet, right? And hence, you aren’t an expert on life. You never will be. Until the moment you die, there’s every chance that life will throw something at you which you have never experienced before.

Your therapist is as fallible as you are. All the extra knowledge from their graduate degrees in psychology may help them in working with you to a certain extent. But it doesn’t make them immune to the very real effects that the problems of life have upon them. They aren’t special. They’re only human. All too human.

Maybe I’m writing this blog to demystify the life of a therapist. It ain’t perfect. And I don’t have the answers to what can make life perfect, and joyful, and peaceful. If I had those answers, I wouldn’t be writing this blog. I wouldn’t be trying to make sense of my existence. I would just be.

This is why I’m a therapist. Not because I want to impart wisdom or knowledge to my clients about how to live well. But because in the process of working with my clients, maybe the both of us together will come upon some semblance of sense or certainty in this wildly absurd, uncertain, imperfect thing called existence.

Having read all of the above, will you, my client, choose to or continue to work with me? I completely understand your hesitation. But please talk about your hesitation with me. Please feel free to ask me any questions you have about something I have written. Please feel free to express to me any of the thoughts and emotions that come up within you when you read what I have written.

I will accept you. I will empathize with you. And I will stand by you. Unconditionally.