Six Unforgettable Sessions: A Therapist’s Reflection

The therapy room is quiet, the soft ticking of the clock marking the start of a rather unusual day.

My schedule shows six back-to-back sessions today.

I glance at the list, curious about the stories these names might carry. Little did I know, today would hold a mirror up to everything we so often avoid.

Session 1: Megha

The door creaks open, and in walks Megha, draped in a long, heavy shawl. Her shoulders are slumped, her movements slow, as though she’s carrying the weight of the world.

“I’m so tired of being pushed away,” she begins, her voice soft and hesitant. “Every time I try to come close, people act like I’m the problem. They distract themselves with their phones, drown me out with endless noise, or simply pretend I don’t exist.”

“All I want is to be seen,” she says, her eyes brimming with unspoken sorrow. “I don’t stay forever—I come to help them heal. But instead of sitting with me, they run away.”

Session 2: Raudra

The next client doesn’t enter quietly. Raudra storms in, his energy fiery and commanding. He doesn’t sit—he paces, his presence filling the room.

“Why does everyone hate me?” he demands, his voice booming like thunder. “They call me dangerous, uncontrollable, destructive. But does anyone ever stop to ask why I’m here?”

“I show up when something’s wrong. When there’s injustice, when boundaries are crossed—I’m the one who says, ‘Enough!’ But instead of listening to me, they suppress me, bury me deep until I can’t hold it in anymore. And then, when I finally explode, I’m the villain.”

Session 3: Anand

The room brightens as Anand enters with a spring in his step, radiating warmth and energy. His smile is infectious, but as he sits, his cheerful demeanor falters slightly.

“I’m not sure I belong here,” he begins, wringing his hands. “People say they love having me around, but they don’t really trust me. They act like I’m too good to be true, like I’ll disappear any moment.”

“And when I do leave—because, let’s face it, I can’t stay forever—they blame me for not sticking around longer. It’s exhausting, trying to live up to everyone’s expectations.”

Session 4: Bhitishree

The next visitor slips in so quietly, I almost don’t notice. Bhitishree moves cautiously, her eyes darting around the room. She sits on the edge of the chair, ready to bolt at the slightest sound.

“I know I’m not welcome,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “But I’m not here to make anyone miserable. I’m here to protect them.”

“I’m the one who warns them about danger, who makes them pause and think before they act. But instead of listening to me, they numb me with pills, push me away with false bravado, or pretend I don’t exist. They don’t see that I’m just trying to help.”

Session 5: Kilasa

Kilasa strides in next, her nose wrinkled and her expression sharp. She sits down, crossing her arms as if bracing for a fight.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” she says curtly. “I’m not here to ruin their lives. I’m here to set boundaries. To say, ‘This isn’t right,’ whether it’s a bad relationship, a toxic environment, or something as simple as spoiled food.”

“But instead of listening to me, they act embarrassed. They ignore my signals, pretend I’m overreacting, and end up in situations they could’ve avoided if they’d just paid attention.”

Session 6: Matsya

The final client enters with a cautious but piercing gaze. Matsya sits gracefully but fidgets with her hands, a flicker of unease passing across her face.

“I hate how people look at me,” she begins. “They think I’m petty, spiteful, or bitter. But they don’t see the truth.”

“What truth?” I ask.

“I show up when they feel like something is slipping away—something they want, something they think they deserve. I’m here to point out what they value, to help them recognize their desires and take action. But instead of working with me, they bury me in guilt and shame.”

She sighs. “I know I’m not perfect, but I’m not the enemy. I’m just a reminder of what they care about most.”

Reflections of the Day

As the day ends, I sit in silence, reflecting on these six visitors. Each one had come with a story of being misunderstood, avoided, or silenced. Each one, a voice longing to be heard.

And then, the realization hits me like a wave. These aren’t just clients—they’re our emotions, the very essence of what it means to be human.

• Megha is Sadness, here to help us grieve and heal.

• Raudra is Anger, protecting us and demanding justice.

• Anand is Joy, reminding us of life’s fleeting beauty.

• Bhitishree is Fear, safeguarding us from harm.

• Kilasa is Disgust, setting boundaries and preserving integrity.

• Matsya is Jealousy, guiding us to understand our desires and motivations.

We’ve turned them into enemies, running from them or numbing their voices. But they aren’t here to harm us—they’re messengers, each with a vital purpose.

The Irony of It All

As I sit back and process the day, one thought keeps circling in my mind: how ironic it is that we, as humans, are working tirelessly to avoid the emotions we don’t want to feel—pushing them away, drowning them out, pretending they don’t exist, with with the help of mindless scrolling, endless binge-watching, overpacked schedules, constant notifications, and a never-ending stream of distractions. We bury ourselves in work, numb our discomfort with food or substances, and escape into curated versions of reality on social media—all to avoid sitting with the emotions that make us human.

And yet, at the same time, we’re pouring so much energy into creating AI and robots capable of feeling. We dream of machines with emotions, of lifelike companions that can laugh, cry, love, and rage.

But here we are—beings gifted with a full and beautiful spectrum of emotions—and we’re doing everything in our power to numb them. Isn’t that strange? Isn’t it worth questioning?

Perhaps it’s time to pause and ask ourselves: what are we running from? Why are we so afraid to sit with Megha, Raudra, Bhitishree, Kilasa, Matsya, and Anand—the visitors that make us human?

In our quest to perfect machines, are we forgetting how to embrace the imperfection and beauty of our own humanity?

The next time you feel an emotion knocking at the door of your mind, don’t run. Open the door. Listen. Sit with them. Because when we stop avoiding our emotions and start understanding them, we begin to understand ourselves.

And isn’t that the most profound kind of progress we can make—not in machines, but in the very essence of being human?

So, lets see what happens when we stop running and start listening....

Now, I invite you to go back and read it again—this time, with the knowledge of who Megha, Raudra, Anand, Bhitishree, Kilasa, and Matsya truly are. Listen carefully to what they’re trying to say, not just to the therapist but to you...