The Burden of Shame: How It Shapes Men’s Lives and Emotional Worlds
Introduction: The Invisible Weight of Shame
Shame is one of the most powerful yet least spoken-about emotions in men’s lives. Unlike guilt, which is tied to a specific action (“I did something bad”), shame is far more pervasive and internalized (“I am bad”). It is an identity wound that runs deep, shaping how men see themselves, how they relate to others, and how they navigate the world. Shame is not just an individual experience but a deeply relational and social one, reinforced by cultural expectations of masculinity.
For many men, shame becomes so intolerable that they develop compensatory strategies to escape it. These strategies often include aggression, hyper-independence, emotional withdrawal, or overcompensating displays of masculinity. The inability to express vulnerability turns into a survival mechanism, leading to emotional disconnection and isolation. To understand why shame holds such a powerful grip on men, it is necessary to examine how it is instilled in them from an early age through socialization.
Socialization: How Men Learn to Carry Shame
From childhood, boys are conditioned to associate their worth with performance, strength, and control. The message is clear: to be a “real man” means being emotionally stoic, self-sufficient, and dominant. Boys quickly learn that emotions such as sadness or fear are unacceptable, as they are often met with ridicule or admonition. A young boy who cries is frequently told to “man up” or “stop acting like a girl,” reinforcing the idea that emotional expression is a sign of weakness. In school and among peers, boys are placed in environments where social status is linked to success, dominance, and competence. Those who struggle academically, socially, or athletically often internalize a deep sense of inadequacy, which later manifests as shame.
Rigid gender roles further shape this emotional landscape. Men are expected to be protectors and providers, roles that leave little room for emotional struggles. When they fail to meet these expectations—whether through financial hardship, unemployment, or relationship difficulties—the resulting shame can be overwhelming. Sexual performance is another area where masculinity is tightly bound to self-worth, leading men to feel deep shame if they experience struggles with intimacy or confidence. These lessons form the foundation of male identity, creating an emotional world where shame is ever-present but vulnerability remains a forbidden language.
Shame and the Fear of Vulnerability
Vulnerability is often perceived as a direct threat to masculinity. To express emotional struggles, failures, or fears is to admit weakness—something that contradicts the rigid ideals of traditional masculinity. This creates a paradox: the more shame men feel, the more they avoid vulnerability, yet avoiding vulnerability only deepens the shame. Without safe spaces to express emotions such as fear, sadness, or self-doubt, these feelings often get redirected into other behaviors. Shame frequently manifests as anger and aggression, as externalizing emotions can feel safer than acknowledging internal pain. When men feel small, weak, or powerless, aggression can become a way to reassert control and dominance.
For some, emotional detachment becomes a primary defense mechanism, leading to numbness and avoidance of deep relationships. Others channel their feelings into workaholism and perfectionism, attempting to compensate for a deep-seated sense of inadequacy through constant achievement. In other cases, shame drives men toward substance use and risk-taking behaviors as a means of escape. These coping mechanisms, while temporarily effective, ultimately reinforce isolation and emotional suppression, preventing men from addressing the underlying shame that drives their actions.
The Shame of Unmet Expectations: When Men “Fail” at Their Roles
Society places an enormous burden on men to be providers and protectors. When they are unable to fulfill these roles, they often experience profound shame. Men who struggle financially, lose their jobs, or fail to provide for their families often feel a deep sense of inadequacy, even when external circumstances are beyond their control. Fathers who perceive themselves as falling short of societal or personal expectations may withdraw emotionally, believing that their failures make them unworthy of connection. Similarly, men who struggle with romantic relationships or sexual confidence often internalize shame, feeling as though their worth as men is diminished.
Poverty, Vulnerability, and the Exaggeration of Shame
Economic hardship amplifies shame in profound ways. Poverty is not just about financial lack; it is a social condition that strips individuals of dignity, autonomy, and a sense of worth. For men, poverty is often intertwined with masculine identity, creating additional layers of emotional distress. Financial instability undermines the traditional masculine ideal of being in control, leading to feelings of powerlessness and failure. In an attempt to counteract the shame of poverty, some men resort to hyper-masculine behaviors, including aggression, criminal activity, or risk-taking, as a means to reassert their sense of masculinity.
The social stigma surrounding poverty reinforces cycles of isolation. Men who struggle financially often withdraw from relationships and social support due to the shame of not being able to “provide.” This withdrawal leads to further emotional and psychological distress, reinforcing feelings of depression and hopelessness. Shame not only keeps men trapped in emotional distress but also perpetuates systemic inequality, making it harder for them to seek help or break free from damaging social expectations.
Breaking the Cycle: Moving Toward Emotional Liberation
Healing from shame requires challenging the cultural narratives that men have internalized. This is not solely an individual process but a relational one—men need spaces where they can be vulnerable without fear of judgment or emasculation. Developing emotional literacy, where men learn to name and express emotions beyond anger, is a crucial step toward healing. Finding safe relationships with friends, partners, or therapists who allow for vulnerability without reinforcing shame is equally important.
Redefining masculinity to embrace a more flexible and human-centered identity can help dismantle the rigid expectations that keep men trapped in cycles of shame. Community support is also essential—men need more spaces where they can openly discuss their struggles without fear of rejection or humiliation. By fostering environments that prioritize emotional well-being over rigid gender norms, men can begin to break free from the shame that has shaped their lives for too long.
Conclusion: From Shame to Connection
Shame is not an emotion that men can simply suppress or “power through.” It is a relational wound that requires relational healing. When men are taught that vulnerability is weakness, they are denied the very thing that could set them free. Redefining masculinity in a way that allows for full emotional expression is crucial to fostering healthier, more connected lives. True strength lies not in emotional suppression but in the courage to connect, to be seen, and to embrace one’s full emotional range. Only then can men begin to unburden themselves from the shame that has weighed them down for far too long.
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The Supreme Court’s ‘Parasites’ Remark for Homeless Is an Injustice Beyond Measure
A Statement That Shames the Nation
In a recent hearing regarding night shelters, the Supreme Court of India made a statement that has left many shocked and outraged. The court, while discussing the government’s responsibility toward the homeless, remarked that providing them with freebies turns them into ‘parasites.’ This statement, brutal and dehumanizing, reflects an insensitivity that is intolerable in a country where millions struggle daily to survive.
The idea that free food and night shelters make the homeless dependent is not just misguided but deeply detached from reality. The Supreme Court, the very institution meant to uphold justice and protect the vulnerable, has instead chosen to shame them. The remark raises serious concerns about how the judiciary perceives economically marginalized populations and whether it truly understands the depth of their struggles.
The Harsh Reality of Homeless Shelters: Alienation and Mental Health Struggles
Having worked in a homeless shelter, I can attest that the experience is shattering. The people living there are not ‘parasites’; they are victims of a system that has failed them at every turn. There exists a deep alienation within these shelters—a sense of being abandoned by society, of being reduced to mere numbers rather than human beings with dignity and aspirations.
The psychological toll of homelessness is immense. Many individuals suffer from severe depression, anxiety, and trauma due to years of neglect and hardship. A life of uncertainty, hunger, and rejection from mainstream society often leads to deteriorating mental health. Rather than acknowledging this reality, the Supreme Court’s statement further stigmatizes an already vulnerable population, reinforcing the idea that they are undeserving of compassion or support.
Many individuals I met were desperate to earn money, not because they were unwilling to work, but because work was scarce and exploitative. Some were even willing to sell their kidneys just to get by. Others took on any labor work they could find, despite being paid minimal wages. The Supreme Court’s claim that freebies prevent these individuals from working ignores this harsh reality. It paints them as lazy and unmotivated when, in truth, they are among the hardest-working people in our society, struggling to survive under unimaginable conditions.
A Flawed Understanding of Poverty
The Supreme Court’s statement echoes a common belief among many privileged individuals—that giving money or food to the poor makes them dependent. I have heard countless laypeople say, “Don’t give them money; they will just spend it on alcohol.” Now, the highest court in the country is making a similar argument, only magnified in its cruelty by referring to these people as ‘parasites.’
This flawed perspective fails to recognize that the homeless are not in their situation by choice. They are victims of systemic inequalities, economic downturns, and policy failures. Instead of questioning why people need these ‘freebies’ in the first place, the court has chosen to degrade them, shifting the blame onto the poor rather than addressing the structural issues that perpetuate homelessness.
Selective Outrage: Why Are Industrialists Not Called ‘Parasites’?
While the Supreme Court condemns the homeless for relying on minimal government assistance, it remains silent when it comes to wealthy industrialists and capitalists who have exploited public resources and evaded accountability. Industrialists are granted debt waivers worth thousands of crores. Business tycoons flee the country after taking massive loans from Indian banks, and yet, no one dares to call them ‘parasites.’ Instead, they are celebrated as entrepreneurs, even as they drain national resources and leave taxpayers to bear the burden of their unpaid debts.
Government policies often favor the wealthy, offering tax cuts, land grants, and financial incentives under the guise of ‘economic growth.’ These same industrialists lobby for policies that suppress workers’ rights, keeping wages low while accumulating enormous wealth. Meanwhile, the homeless—who receive nothing more than the bare minimum for survival—are vilified for supposedly draining national resources.
But when a destitute person eats low-quality food at a night shelter—food that no one would consume willingly—they are suddenly labeled a parasite? This hypocrisy is disgraceful.
The Absurdity of the ‘Mainstreaming’ Argument
The Supreme Court’s argument that homeless individuals should be brought into the mainstream of society is, on the surface, correct. But what is the proposed road map for achieving this? Is the court suggesting that taking away free food will miraculously integrate them into the workforce? If so, this is not just naïve but deeply irresponsible.
These individuals already work—most of them as daily wage laborers, earning meager amounts that barely sustain them. Some days they find work; other days they don’t. Many send whatever little they earn to their families. The court suggests that the government should focus on giving them jobs, but is this a joke? The government has failed to provide employment even to educated university graduates. How, then, can we expect it to suddenly provide stable jobs to the homeless?
Ignoring the Systemic Causes of Homelessness
No government, regardless of its political affiliation, truly cares about the homeless. They exist in the blind spots of society, ignored until election time when politicians suddenly remember them as potential voters. Instead of addressing the root causes of homelessness—lack of affordable housing, inadequate wages, and insufficient social security—governments offer temporary relief in the form of night shelters and food programs. And even these minimal services are now being condemned as ‘freebies.’
It is not the homeless who are parasites; it is the system that has parasitically fed on their labor while offering nothing in return. The real question should not be whether these individuals deserve free food but why they need it in the first place.
What Can the Supreme Court Do?
Rather than shaming the homeless, the Supreme Court should use its power to force the government to take real action.
- Can the court demand an increase in funding for organizations that provide shelter and rehabilitation?
- Can it push for stronger labor protections to ensure fair wages for daily workers?
- Can it call for an investigation into why government schemes meant for the poor are often riddled with corruption and inefficiency?
- Can it demand that tax benefits and debt waivers for industrialists be scrutinized with the same intensity as welfare programs for the poor?
The judiciary has immense power to influence policy and hold the government accountable. But instead of advocating for real change, it has chosen to degrade the most vulnerable members of our society.
A Call for Dignity and Justice
The Supreme Court’s statement is not just an insult; it is a reflection of a broader societal indifference toward the poor. Homelessness is not a moral failing or a sign of laziness—it is a crisis born out of economic inequality and systemic neglect. Instead of shaming those who are already suffering, we must work toward restoring their dignity and providing them with real opportunities to rebuild their lives.
Justice is not just about punishing criminals; it is also about protecting the marginalized. If the Supreme Court cannot recognize this fundamental truth, then what hope do we have for a just and equitable society?
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War, Power, and the Wounded Psyche: The Truth Behind Global Conflicts
When we look at wars and conflicts throughout history, they often seem like a material phenomenon—powerful nations and their leaders waging war to conquer lands, control natural resources, and establish economic supremacy. The long history of colonization, imperialism, and military invasions appears to be driven by greed, the hunger for money, land, and assets. However, to see war only as a battle for material gain is to tell only half the story. The truth is far deeper, rooted not just in politics and economics but in human psychology, particularly in the psyche of the leaders who drive these wars.
The Hidden Motivations of Conflict
While external factors such as resources, territory, and political ideologies provide the justification for war, they are often a facade that masks the true internal conflicts of leaders. Many wars have been fueled by an obsessive pursuit of honor, respect, and dignity—concepts that override everything else, even logic and morality. History has witnessed countless treacherous leaders who have inflicted devastation on the world not merely because of economic ambitions, but because of deeply rooted psychological wounds.
Treacherous leaders are not born; they are made. They are shaped in environments where love, emotional security, and a sense of self-worth are absent. In the absence of these fundamental emotional needs, such individuals develop a desperate need to compensate. They begin to seek validation in dominance, power, and control. This psychological void, what psychoanalysts often refer to as the ‘narcissistic wound,’ pushes them toward extreme actions—actions that rewrite history in blood and destruction.
From the conquest-driven madness of Alexander the Great and the imperial ambitions of Napoleon Bonaparte to the genocidal reigns of Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin, history is rife with leaders who compensated for their internal wounds through war and destruction. Each of these leaders justified their actions as being for the greater good, but their true motivations lay elsewhere.
More recent manifestations of such psychological compensation can be seen in figures like Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former U.S. President Donald Trump. Their political decisions often go beyond strategic governance, driven by personal insecurities, wounded egos, and a deep need to assert dominance. Netanyahu’s relentless military aggression and Trump’s erratic foreign policies are not merely political maneuvers; they are extensions of their psychological need to compensate for personal inadequacies, using entire nations as tools for their own validation.
Obedience and the Machinery of War
The question then arises: If war is often driven by the wounded psyche of a few leaders, why do masses follow them? Why do soldiers obey orders to kill, destroy, and sacrifice their own humanity? The answer lies in obedience and the structure of military institutions. Psychological research, particularly Stanley Milgram’s famous experiments on obedience, has shown that humans are wired to follow authority figures, even when it goes against their moral compass. The hierarchy within military structures reinforces this obedience, ensuring that individuals become mere cogs in the machine of war.
But obedience is not the only factor. There are soldiers who genuinely find pleasure in killing, who channel their own psychological wounds into the act of war. War, for them, is not just duty—it is a form of personal compensation, a way to reclaim a sense of power they never had in their personal lives. Just as leaders seek validation through conquest, some soldiers seek it through bloodshed.
The Role of Historians: Changing the Narrative
When wars and conflicts are analyzed, history books often focus on tangible causes—resource control, strategic military advantages, or ideological differences. But by doing so, we are doing a great disservice to ourselves. The history of war needs to be rewritten with a psychological lens, one that turns inward and exposes the deeply personal motivations of those who wield power. Until we begin to recognize that war is not merely about land, oil, and political ideologies but about mental illness and psychological compensation, we will continue to be trapped in an endless cycle of destruction.
Understanding war through this perspective does not justify the actions of these leaders, but it does allow us to anticipate and counteract future conflicts. Perhaps the most dangerous thing about treacherous leaders is not their ambition, but their ability to articulate and justify their actions in a way that manipulates the masses. The most powerful leaders are not just warriors; they are skilled storytellers, capable of making destruction seem noble.
In the end, war is not just a failure of diplomacy or economics—it is a failure of human psychology. Until we address the wounded psyches that drive leaders to war, the world will continue to pay the price for their unhealed scars.
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Kumbh Mela and the Militant of Science, Logic and Psychology: A Reflection on Belief and Rationality
The Kumbh Mela, one of the largest religious gatherings in the world, has once again drawn millions of devotees to Prayagraj. With its grandeur comes an influx of videos and clips showcasing the various babas and sadhus who have gathered to seek and share spiritual experiences. However, in the age of social media and an increasingly rationalistic worldview, these figures are facing an unprecedented wave of scrutiny and criticism.
People armed with science and logic are questioning the babas at Kumbh, dissecting their beliefs and practices through the lens of empirical reasoning. If a baba makes a statement that appears illogical or absurd by modern standards, they are quickly dismissed as frauds. Some have even gone so far as to diagnose them with mental health disorders, calling for their treatment rather than allowing them to continue their spiritual pursuits. Psychologists are eager to categorize them, diagnosing them with conditions ranging from schizophrenia to delusional disorder.
The irony here is stark. Those questioning the babas with relentless logic fail to recognize that religion and belief have always been rooted in something beyond reason. They operate in a domain where faith, cultural tradition, and collective experience hold more weight than scientific validation. If figures like Jesus Christ or Prophet Muhammad were to emerge in today’s world, their extraordinary experiences and claims might very well be dismissed as symptoms of psychosis. This highlights a fundamental issue: our inability to coexist with perspectives that do not conform to the rigid frameworks of science and logic.
The Nature of Belief and Cultural Identity
Belief, by its very definition, does not require empirical proof. It thrives on personal and collective experiences, stories passed down through generations, and the psychological need for meaning and purpose. The devotees who throng the Kumbh Mela are not necessarily looking for scientific explanations; they are seeking spiritual solace, a connection to something larger than themselves.
Consider the recent controversy surrounding the so-called “IITian Baba,” who claims to blend science with spirituality. Some critics were quick to mock his statements, while others were intrigued by his attempt to find a middle ground between the two worlds. Whether his claims hold any scientific validity is beside the point. What matters is the faith people place in him and the comfort they derive from his words. Belief systems are not meant to be universally rational; they serve emotional, cultural, and existential purposes.
The Limitations of Science and Logic
While science has undoubtedly transformed our world, it has its own limitations. The Enlightenment era, which sought to counter religious dogmas with logic and empirical evidence, succeeded in many areas but also failed in others. Modernity brought with it advancements in technology and medicine, yet it also contributed to alienation, environmental destruction, and ethical dilemmas that science alone cannot resolve.
Science has its share of shortcomings and unintended consequences. The industrial revolution, rooted in scientific advancement, led to environmental degradation. The pursuit of nuclear energy brought both progress and catastrophic destruction. The COVID-19 pandemic showcased how even the most advanced scientific frameworks could be riddled with uncertainty and evolving hypotheses.
On the other hand, religion and cultural practices offer a sense of community, moral compass, and emotional fulfillment that logic often struggles to provide. The need to eradicate all religious and cultural beliefs with science is a form of intellectual arrogance that disregards the complexity of human experience.
A More Nuanced Approach
Rather than ridiculing those who engage in religious and cultural practices, a more nuanced approach is required. Understanding that belief systems operate on different principles than science allows for mutual respect and coexistence. We must recognize that people derive meaning in diverse ways—some through empirical inquiry, others through spiritual experiences.
Instead of approaching religious practices with a debunking mindset, we should strive to understand their cultural significance. Why do millions gather at the Kumbh Mela? What psychological and emotional needs are being fulfilled? These questions open the door for dialogue rather than conflict.
Conclusion
The relentless pursuit of logic and science as the ultimate arbiters of truth can be as dogmatic as the religious beliefs it seeks to challenge. The Kumbh Mela is a testament to the enduring power of faith, culture, and collective human experience. Rather than dismissing it outright, we should seek to understand and appreciate the multifaceted nature of belief.
In a world where both science and religion have their respective strengths and limitations, wisdom lies in balance. It is neither scientific progress nor religious tradition alone that will guide us forward, but a synthesis of both—rooted in humility, curiosity, and mutual respect.
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The Socio-Psychogenesis of Suicide in Kota: A Psychologist’s Reflections
As a psychologist working in Kota, I am deeply immersed in the lives of students who come to this city, carrying the weight of countless expectations. These young individuals, often between the ages of 15 and 23, leave their families and familiar surroundings to prepare for some of India’s most competitive entrance exams, such as JEE and NEET. While some of their stories are inspiring, they are also profoundly tragic, as many buckle under immense pressure. The alarming rate of student suicides in Kota is a manifestation of a complex web of social, familial, systemic, and individual factors.
Sitting across from these students in counselling and therapy sessions, I often hear narratives tinged with anxiety, despair, and hopelessness. The emotional toll they endure is palpable, and while their pain is immediate, the causes of their struggles run deep into the structures of our education system, societal values, and familial expectations.
The Burden of Student Responsibility
It is easy for people to point fingers at students themselves, blaming their inability to cope or labelling them as too fragile to handle challenges. However, such simplifications only serve to absolve others of their responsibility. These adolescents, still developing emotionally and psychologically, are thrust into an unforgiving environment where their worth is measured solely by ranks and results.
In counselling sessions, I have often reflected on a fundamental issue: many students do not know why they are here. They come to Kota with dreams of clearing the JEE or NEET exams, not because they genuinely aspire to be engineers or doctors, but because societal and familial pressures have convinced them that these professions are the only path to a prosperous and meaningful life. But is this “knowing” genuine? True knowing involves an internal sense of purpose and clarity, not the blind acceptance of external expectations. Without this inner sense of direction, their journey becomes one of constant self-doubt and despair, compounding the pressures they already face.
As much as I try to help them reframe these thoughts, I cannot ignore the systemic and societal factors that reinforce these beliefs. It is not the students who fail but the environment around them that sets them up for such profound despair.
Families and the Unyielding Weight of Expectations
In many cases, parents and other family members play a critical role in shaping the pressures their children feel. Kota is not just a city for these families; it is a beacon of hope and aspiration. Parents often see the city as a means to secure their children’s futures, investing substantial financial resources to enroll them in renowned coaching institutes. This investment is not merely monetary but also emotional.
Many parents approach this journey with good intentions, wanting the best for their children. Yet, these intentions often morph into overwhelming expectations. In my conversations with students, I hear them speak about their parents’ sacrifices—selling land, taking loans, or foregoing personal comforts—all to fund their education in Kota. These sacrifices, while commendable, place an unbearable burden on the child to succeed.
Students often mention, “I feel like I am living my parents’ dream, not mine. If I fail, I will ruin their lives.” These words stayed with me, highlighting how the pressure to succeed is often about fulfilling familial aspirations rather than personal ambitions.
In many families, there is also an emotional disconnect. Parents, preoccupied with the financial and logistical demands of this journey, may not recognize the psychological struggles their children face. Mental health is still a taboo topic in many Indian households, and students are often discouraged from expressing vulnerability. When they do speak up, they may be met with dismissive comments like “Just focus on your studies” or “Everyone else is managing, why can’t you?”
Society’s Unyielding Standards
Beyond the family, societal expectations amplify the pressure students feel. In India, success is narrowly defined by a few prestigious professions, particularly in engineering and medicine. Society places an almost mythical value on securing admission to institutions like IITs and AIIMS, equating this achievement with intelligence, respectability, and upward mobility.
The societal obsession with these professions creates a culture of hyper-competitiveness, where students are judged not only by their results but also by their ability to surpass their peers. This relentless comparison erodes their self-esteem and fosters a toxic environment where failure is stigmatized.
In my work, I have seen how societal judgment seeps into the psyche of students. They fear not only their own disappointment but also the shame they believe their families will endure if they fail. Students said, “If I don’t get a good rank, my neighbours will say my parents wasted their money. I can’t let that happen.” This external judgment adds an unbearable layer of stress to an already overwhelming situation.
The Role of the Coaching Industry and Education System
The education system and coaching industry are central to the pressures students face. Kota’s reputation as a coaching hub is both its greatest strength and its greatest weakness. On one hand, the city offers unparalleled resources and expertise for competitive exam preparation. On the other hand, it fosters a culture that prioritizes results over well-being.
Coaching institutes operate like factories, churning out toppers to enhance their reputations. Students are subjected to gruelling schedules, often studying for 12–14 hours a day. The emphasis is solely on academic performance, with little attention paid to their mental or emotional health.
I have visited these institutes and spoken with faculty members, and while many express concern for their students, the structure of the system leaves little room for compassion. Mock tests, rankings, and cutthroat competition dominate the landscape, creating an environment where students feel like mere numbers.
The education system also bears responsibility. India’s focus on high-stakes exams creates an atmosphere of scarcity, where securing a limited number of seats in prestigious institutions becomes a do-or-die situation. This scarcity fuels the coaching industry’s growth while neglecting the broader question of how education should serve the holistic development of individuals.
The State’s Apathy
The role of the state in this crisis is both glaring and appalling. Despite the well-documented pressures faced by students in Kota, there is a severe lack of mental health infrastructure in the city. There are too few counselors and psychologists to address the needs of the tens of thousands of students who come here every year.
Moreover, the state’s failure to regulate coaching institutes allows these organizations to prioritize profits over student welfare. There is little accountability for how these institutes operate or the impact they have on students’ mental health.
Government initiatives to promote mental health awareness often remain superficial, failing to address the systemic issues that drive students to despair. As a psychologist, I often feel like I am working in isolation, trying to put out fires in an environment that constantly fans the flames.
A Culture of Silence
One of the most heartbreaking aspects of this crisis is the culture of silence surrounding it. Families, coaching institutes, and society at large often avoid addressing the issue of student suicides, treating them as isolated incidents rather than symptoms of a systemic problem.
When suicides do occur, the narrative often shifts to blame the individual student for their perceived weakness, ignoring the broader structures that contributed to their despair. This refusal to engage with the root causes perpetuates the cycle of pressure and tragedy.
Personal Reflections
As a psychologist, I carry the weight of these stories with me long after the counseling sessions end. I have seen students break down, sharing their fears and vulnerabilities in ways they cannot with their families or peers. Each story is a reminder of the immense challenges they face and the urgent need for systemic change.
There have been moments of hope, too—instances where a student begins to see their worth beyond academic results, or where a parent starts to understand the importance of emotional support. These moments keep me going, but they also highlight how much work remains to be done.
In Kota, the lives of students hang in a delicate balance between hope and despair. They come here with dreams, but too many leave as cautionary tales. This city, and the systems that support it, must reckon with the human cost of its success. Only then can we hope to create an environment where students can thrive not just academically but as whole, resilient individuals.
This issue is deeply personal to me, not only because of the work I do but because I see in these students a reflection of our collective values and priorities. Their struggles are a mirror to our society, urging us to confront uncomfortable truths and take responsibility for the environments we create. It is not just their dreams that are at stake but their lives—and that demands nothing less than our full attention and commitment.
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Reclaiming Your Voice: The Journey to Expressing Needs Through a Relational Lens
For many, the idea of expressing personal needs feels uncomfortable, even selfish. Whether it is saying “no” to something draining or “yes” to a long-desired opportunity, articulating our needs often stirs feelings of guilt or shame. These struggles are not just individual challenges but are rooted in relational and societal dynamics that shape how we perceive ourselves and interact with others. Through the lens of relational psychoanalysis and psychoanalytic theory, we can understand the deeper forces at play and learn how to reclaim our voice for improved emotional well-being and healthier mental health connections.
The Roots of Need Suppression
From the moment we are born, we learn about ourselves and the world through relationships. Early interactions with caregivers play a pivotal role in shaping our sense of self-worth and our capacity to express needs. In environments where children’s needs are met with empathy and understanding, they grow up with the confidence to voice their desires and set boundaries. However, for many, the reality is far from this ideal.
In households where expressing needs is met with dismissal, criticism, or even punishment, children often internalize the belief that their desires are burdensome or invalid. Statements like “Stop being selfish” or “Think about others first” can leave a lasting impression, teaching children to prioritize others over themselves. Over time, this can lead to chronic suppression of needs, driven by a fear of conflict, rejection, or being labeled as selfish.
From a psychoanalytic perspective, the internalized voice of authority figures—known as the superego—further reinforces this dynamic. When caregivers or cultural norms emphasize self-sacrifice, the superego internalizes these values, creating a critical inner voice that shames individuals for prioritizing themselves. This inner critic often manifests in thoughts like “I’m being selfish” or “I should just tough it out.” Such beliefs, ingrained over years, make expressing needs feel not just uncomfortable but morally wrong.
The Consequences of Suppressing Needs
Suppressing personal needs takes a significant toll on emotional well-being, mental health, and relationships. Emotionally, it can lead to feelings of resentment, burnout, and disconnection. Individuals who suppress their needs often feel invisible in their relationships, as their silence prevents others from truly understanding them. This invisibility breeds loneliness, even in the presence of loved ones.
In relationships, the inability to express needs creates an imbalance. Partners, friends, or colleagues may unknowingly overstep boundaries because those boundaries were never communicated. Over time, suppressed needs can lead to misunderstandings, unspoken tensions, and even relational breakdowns.
From a mental health perspective, prolonged suppression of needs can contribute to issues like anxiety, depression, and low self-esteem. The inability to assert oneself can also exacerbate stress, leading to physical health problems like chronic fatigue or gastrointestinal discomfort. Addressing these patterns is essential for fostering emotional resilienceand mental well-being.
Reclaiming Your Voice
The journey to expressing needs is not just about individual growth; it is a relational process that transforms how we connect with others. Relational psychoanalysis offers valuable insights into this journey, emphasizing that our sense of self is co-created in relationships. This perspective teaches us that expressing needs is not an act of selfishness but an invitation for mutual understanding and respect.
Healing from need suppression often involves addressing the inner critic, which echoes the voices of past authority figures. Psychoanalytic therapy can help individuals identify the origins of these critical voices and challenge their validity. By separating their own desires from the internalized judgments of others, individuals can begin to see their needs as valid and worthy of expression.
Breaking the cycle of suppression also requires understanding its generational roots. Many of us inherit these patterns from caregivers who were themselves conditioned to suppress their needs. By learning to express ourselves, we not only heal but also model healthier behaviors for future generations.
Practical Steps to Expressing Needs
Reclaiming your voice begins with small, intentional steps. First, acknowledge that your needs are valid and deserving of attention. Reflect on past instances where suppressing your desires led to negative outcomes, such as resentment or burnout. Recognizing the consequences of silence can motivate change.
Start practicing in low-stakes situations. For example, say “no” to a social event that feels draining or “yes” to something that excites you. Frame your needs using “I” statements to center your experience without blaming others. Instead of saying, “You never consider my feelings,” try, “I feel overwhelmed and need some time to myself.” This approach fosters understanding and reduces defensiveness.
Creating relational safety is also crucial. Surround yourself with people who respect and encourage your self-expression. Safe, supportive relationships provide a foundation for practicing vulnerability and asserting boundaries.
Therapy, especially relational therapy, can be a transformative space for this work. A mental health professional can help you explore the roots of need suppression, challenge internalized beliefs, and experiment with new ways of expressing yourself.
Finally, reframe the concept of selfishness. Prioritizing your needs is not selfish; it is an essential part of maintaining healthy, balanced relationships. When your needs are met, you can give to others from a place of abundance rather than depletion.
Challenges and Resistance
As you begin expressing your needs, you may encounter resistance from others, especially those accustomed to your silence. Friends, family members, or colleagues may interpret your newfound assertiveness as selfishness or rebellion. Understanding that their reactions stem from their discomfort—not your worth—can help you stay grounded.
Discomfort is a natural part of growth. The process of reclaiming your voice may feel awkward or even painful at times, but it is a sign that you are challenging old patterns and creating space for authenticity.
The Broader Impact
Reclaiming your voice has ripple effects beyond personal relationships. It challenges societal norms that value compliance over authenticity, paving the way for a culture where diverse needs are acknowledged and respected. By expressing your needs, you contribute to a broader movement that values individual agency, mental health awareness, and relational balance.
Conclusion
Expressing needs is not an act of selfishness but one of self-respect and relational integrity. Through the relational and psychoanalytic lens, we see how deeply these struggles are rooted in early experiences and societal dynamics. By understanding and addressing these roots, we can reclaim our voice, heal old wounds, and foster deeper connections. This journey may be challenging, but it is also profoundly liberating—a step toward a life where authenticity, emotional well-being, and mutual respect replace silence and self-sacrifice.
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Why We Avoid Difficult Talk: A Psychoanalytic and Relational Perspective
Difficult conversations are an integral part of human relationships. Yet, many of us find ourselves hesitating—even resisting—when faced with the need to address uncomfortable topics. Whether it is confronting a friend about a misunderstanding, telling a partner how they hurt us, or discussing failures with a mentor, these moments evoke a range of emotions that compel us to avoid rather than engage. This avoidance isn’t merely about discomfort; it is deeply rooted in our psyche, shaped by unconscious fears, relational dynamics, and ingrained patterns of behavior.
From a psychoanalytic and relational perspective, the reasons behind our avoidance of difficult conversations reveal profound truths about our inner worlds and interpersonal connections. Understanding these dynamics can provide not only insight but also a pathway toward more authentic relationships and personal growth.
The Role of Unconscious Fear
Psychoanalysis teaches us that much of human behavior is governed by unconscious processes. When it comes to difficult conversations, one of the most potent forces at play is unconscious fear. This fear can manifest in several ways:
Fear of Rejection: At its core, humans are social beings, wired to seek connection and belonging. Pschoanalysts described how early attachment experiences shape our need for acceptance. Difficult conversations, however, often involve expressing vulnerability or challenging another’s actions—both of which carry the risk of rejection. Even if the threat is imagined, the psyche interprets it as a danger to the self, prompting avoidance.
Fear of Conflict: For many, conflict represents a destabilizing force. Carl Jung, in his exploration of the shadow self, noted how individuals often project their unwanted or negative emotions onto others. This can make us hesitant to confront those emotions, fearing that a difficult talk will escalate into irreparable discord.
Fear of Exposure: Difficult conversations often require us to admit personal flaws, failures, or insecurities. The psychoanalytic concept of defense mechanisms, such as denial or repression, helps explain why we shy away from these admissions. Protecting our self-image can feel more important than pursuing truth or resolution.
Early Attachment and Its Legacy
Relational perspectives, particularly those informed by attachment theory, offer additional insights. Our experiences with caregivers shape how we approach emotional vulnerability and conflict. For instance:
Secure Attachment: Individuals with secure early attachments are more likely to approach difficult conversations with confidence and trust. They see conflict as a normal, manageable aspect of relationships.
Insecure Attachment: Those with insecure attachments (whether avoidant, anxious, or disorganized) may struggle more. Avoidantly attached individuals might dismiss the need for the conversation altogether, telling themselves, “It’s not worth it.” Anxiously attached individuals, on the other hand, might ruminate on the potential outcomes, but their fear of abandonment can make initiating the talk feel impossible.
The Relational Lens: Power and Vulnerability
From a relational standpoint, every conversation exists within a web of dynamics that include power, vulnerability, and reciprocity. Difficult talks often bring these dynamics to the forefront, challenging both parties to navigate them delicately.
Power Imbalances: When one party perceives themselves as having less power in a relationship, they may avoid confrontation out of fear that it will further reinforce their subordinate position. For example, a student might hesitate to tell a teacher about unfair treatment, or an employee might avoid discussing workload concerns with a boss.
Reluctance to Appear Vulnerable: Vulnerability is a cornerstone of meaningful relationships, but it also exposes us to potential hurt. Brené Brown, a researcher on vulnerability and courage, writes, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of connection and the path to the feeling of worthiness. If it doesn’t feel vulnerable, the sharing is probably not constructive.” However, our relational instincts often equate vulnerability with weakness, leading us to avoid situations where we feel emotionally exposed.
Fear of Losing Control: Difficult conversations require emotional honesty, which can sometimes make us feel as though we are losing control over how we are perceived. Psychoanalysis highlights the human tendency to resist relinquishing control over our narratives, even when doing so might foster growth.
Social and Cultural Conditioning
Beyond individual psychology and relational dynamics, societal and cultural norms also shape our tendencies to avoid difficult conversations.
Cultural Norms Around Politeness: In many cultures, there is a strong emphasis on maintaining harmony and avoiding direct confrontation. The concept of “saving face” can discourage people from engaging in talks that might lead to embarrassment or shame, for themselves or others.
Gendered Expectations: Gender roles can further complicate matters. For instance, men may be conditioned to avoid emotionally charged conversations because they are taught to prioritize stoicism over vulnerability. Women, on the other hand, might hesitate to engage in difficult talks for fear of being labeled as “too emotional” or “overreacting.”
Individualism vs. Collectivism: In individualistic societies, people may avoid difficult conversations because of an underlying fear of jeopardizing personal autonomy. In collectivist cultures, the concern often lies in disrupting group harmony.
Avoidance as a Learned Coping Mechanism
From a psychoanalytic perspective, avoidance of difficult conversations can also be understood as a learned coping mechanism. When faced with emotional pain, the mind often seeks ways to protect itself. For instance, if an individual grew up in a household where expressing emotions led to punishment or ridicule, they may have learned to suppress confrontation as a survival strategy. Over time, this becomes an automatic response.
However, while avoidance may offer short-term relief, it often leads to long-term consequences. Unresolved issues can fester, creating resentment, misunderstanding, and emotional distance. As Carl Rogers, the founder of client-centered therapy, once said, “What is most personal is most universal.” In avoiding difficult conversations, we deny ourselves the opportunity to connect on a deeper, more human level.
Embracing the Growth Potential
At its core, a difficult conversation is an opportunity for growth—both personal and relational. As Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and renowned psychiatrist, observed, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” Facing the discomfort of these talks forces us to confront not only the issue at hand but also our own fears, biases, and limitations.
In my experience as a counselor, I’ve seen how avoidance often leads to more pain than the conversation itself ever could. Students who fear telling their parents about academic struggles, for example, often suffer in silence, letting their anxiety spiral. Yet, when they muster the courage to speak, they frequently discover compassion and support that they hadn’t anticipated. Similarly, in my own relationships, the hardest conversations have often led to the deepest connections.
The truth is, avoiding difficult conversations doesn’t protect us; it isolates us. To engage in them is to embrace our shared humanity—flawed, vulnerable, and endlessly striving for connection. As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, “Perhaps everything terrible is, in its deepest being, something helpless that wants help from us.” Perhaps the very discomfort we fear holds the key to the understanding and closeness we seek.
Tragic Case of Atul Subhash: Why Discrediting Feminism Fails Men and Women Alike
The recent tragic suicide of Atul Subhash, who left behind a harrowing hour-long video blaming his wife and in-laws for his suffering, has sparked heated debates across India. His death has become more than a personal tragedy—it has evolved into a flashpoint for conversations around men’s mental health, familial abuse, and gender-based struggles. Yet, amid calls for justice, another troubling narrative has emerged. Many people have seized the moment to attack feminism, asserting that men suffer far more than women and that the women’s rights movement is somehow responsible for men’s struggles. This reaction reveals a deep misunderstanding of both patriarchy and feminism, turning a critical mental health crisis into a gendered blame game.
Men’s Suffering Is Real, But Not Unique
There is no denying that men suffer. Statistics show that men are more likely to die by suicide, face incarceration, and struggle with expressing vulnerability due to societal expectations. Influential figures like Jordan Peterson—whose views often seem designed to provoke rather than enlighten—frequently highlight how men disproportionately bear the brunt of certain societal pressures. Men’s issues—mental health struggles, emotional repression, and societal shame—are pressing concerns that need visibility and action.
However, framing men’s suffering as proof that women are somehow less oppressed ignores the broader context. Men are not the only victims of societal structures. Women, too, face systemic injustices, from domestic violence and workplace harassment to gender-based discrimination. Historically, women have endured a longer legacy of marginalization, making them a more vulnerable social group. This is not to diminish men’s struggles but to acknowledge the multifaceted nature of suffering.
Patriarchy Hurts Everyone
The root cause of this suffering lies in patriarchy—a system designed primarily by men but perpetuated by all genders. Patriarchy enforces rigid gender roles: men must be stoic providers while women are confined to caregiving roles. This system suppresses men’s emotional expression, leaving them isolated, while simultaneously denying women autonomy and agency.
Men’s higher suicide rates often stem from the intense shame they experience when they feel they have failed societal expectations. Similarly, women frequently grapple with guilt tied to the burdens placed upon them. These emotional patterns, though not absolute, reflect how patriarchy weaponizes emotions differently against men and women.
A recent visit to Ajmer Dargah brought this reality into sharp focus. Among the thousands of devotees seeking solace, women outnumbered men, visibly burdened by emotional and psychological struggles. Many women knelt in prayer, eyes glistening with tears, their postures heavy with unseen burdens. Their presence served as a poignant reminder that mental health issues transcend gender. Both men and women suffer—albeit often in different ways—and both deserve compassion and support.
The Fallacy of Discrediting Feminism
The backlash against feminism following Atul’s death reveals a deeper societal misunderstanding. Many critics of feminism claim to advocate for men’s rights, but their arguments often devolve into gendered blame games rather than constructive conversations. Discrediting women’s struggles in the name of men’s rights does nothing to ease men’s suffering—it only deepens divisions.
True advocacy for men’s mental health requires dismantling the very structures feminism seeks to change. Feminism is not about denying men’s pain; it’s about creating a world where no one is confined by outdated gender expectations.
Moving Forward
Atul’s death should be a wake-up call—not a battleground for ideological wars but an opportunity to address mental health and dismantle patriarchal norms. Justice for Atul means more than punishing those directly responsible; it means creating a society where men can express vulnerability without shame and women can live without fear.
Blaming feminism for men’s suffering is a simplistic and harmful response. Genuine concern for men’s rights must involve advocating for systemic changes that benefit everyone—changes that feminism has long championed. True justice will come not from dividing genders but from building a world where all can thrive, free from the constraints of patriarchy.
Addressing men’s mental health requires collective effort. This includes better mental health services, reducing societal stigma, and fostering supportive communities. It means challenging harmful stereotypes, supporting emotional literacy from an early age, and recognizing that strength comes from vulnerability. Men, women, and all genders suffer under patriarchy in different ways. Recognizing this interconnected struggle is the first step toward meaningful change.
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Why You Should Not Always Be a “Good” Child?
In today’s world, where mental health awareness is on the rise, discussions about emotional well-being often overlook the pressures tied to being a “good child.”From childhood, being a “good” child is presented as the highest virtue. Parents, teachers, and society often praise children who are well-behaved, responsible, and emotionally self-sufficient. These children avoid conflict, fulfill expectations, and rarely make trouble. But behind this socially valued image lies a complex psychological narrative that psychoanalysis and relational theories have explored for decades. Being “good” all the time is not a sign of emotional well-being—it can be a survival strategy rooted in emotional suppression, unresolved trauma, and a distorted sense of self. It can shape a person’s identity and affect mental health outcomes.
The Hidden Reality of the “Good” Child
Being labelled a “good child” is often tied to family dynamics. Good children are often thought of as “easy” because they don’t demand much. They are seen as mature, selfless, and dependable. However, what appears as maturity may actually be emotional over-adaptation—a response to unstable, emotionally unavailable, or overly demanding caregiving environments. They learn that expressing negative emotions like anger, frustration, or sadness might disrupt fragile family dynamics or result in rejection.
From a psychoanalytic perspective, this kind of adaptation stems from early relational experiences. When caregivers are unable to tolerate the emotional complexity of a child, the child learns to suppress their needs and feelings to maintain the caregiver’s stability. This survival mechanism helps preserve attachment but comes at the cost of the child’s emotional authenticity. Donald Winnicott, a key figure in psychoanalysis, called this adaptation the formation of a “false self”—a socially acceptable version of oneself that hides true emotional experiences.
Becoming the Parent’s Emotional Caregiver
Many good children unconsciously become emotional caregivers to their parents. This is especially common when parents are depressed, anxious, or dealing with unresolved trauma. For example., a child with a depressed parent might become overly responsible. The child senses that their emotional outbursts or expressions of need might overwhelm the parent, so they suppress these impulses. They become caretakers instead—providing emotional stability in a way that no child should ever have to.
In such cases, being “good” is not a choice but a psychological necessity. It is driven by the belief that “if I stay quiet, helpful, and perfect, things will be okay.” They carry this belief into adulthood, often assuming responsibility for others’ emotions, which leads to their emotional neglect. This pattern is deeply relational and shapes how they approach friendships, romantic relationships, and even professional roles.
The Emotional Cost of Being “Good”
Being perpetually “good” can lead to significant emotional consequences. These individuals may struggle with anxiety, depression, and feelings of emptiness later in life. Their emotional world can feel muted, as though they are always living on autopilot, fulfilling obligations but rarely feeling truly alive. They may excel academically or professionally but struggle with self-worth.
One of the most damaging effects is the internalization of perfectionism. Good children learn that making mistakes or being difficult threatens their relationships. As adults, they may hold themselves to impossible standards, striving for excellence in every area while feeling perpetually inadequate. They become hyper-responsible, assuming that their worth is tied to what they can offer others.
Another common outcome is difficulty with boundaries. Good children grow up believing that saying “no” is selfish or hurtful leading to constant people-pleasing. They feel responsible for others’ well-being and struggle to assert their needs, fearing rejection or conflict. This can result in one-sided relationships where they give far more than they receive, leaving them emotionally drained and resentful.
The Need for Emotional Healing
Healing from the legacy of being a good child involves reclaiming emotional authenticity and developing a more integrated sense of self. This process often begins with recognizing that being “good” was a survival strategy, not a personality trait. It was a way of navigating a relational environment that could not tolerate emotional complexity.
Therapeutic work can play a crucial role in this process. In therapy, individuals can explore the roots of their good-child patterns, process unresolved emotional pain, and begin to reclaim the parts of themselves that were suppressed. They can learn to tolerate emotions like anger and sadness without fearing abandonment.
Developing a “true self,” as Winnicott described, involves learning to express needs, set boundaries, and accept one’s imperfections. It means embracing the full range of human emotions, not just the socially acceptable ones. It also requires redefining relationships—not as spaces where perfection is demanded but as spaces where authenticity is possible.
Moving Beyond the “Good” Child Role
Breaking free from the “good” child role is not about becoming rebellious or self-centered. It’s about embracing the complexity of being human—imperfect, emotional, and relational. It means understanding that being loved does not require being perfect and that expressing genuine emotions is not a threat but a gateway to deeper, more meaningful connections.
The journey out of excessive compliance involves unlearning the belief that self-worth is tied to pleasing others. It is about finding balance: being kind but also assertive, being responsible but not overburdened, and caring for others while honoring one’s own needs. It means moving from being “good” to being real.
Ultimately, the work of undoing the good-child narrative is not about rejecting the values of kindness, empathy, or responsibility. It’s about recognizing that these qualities are only sustainable when they come from a place of emotional freedom, not emotional obligation. Healing means learning that you are worthy of love—not because you are good, but because you are human.
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Why Do We Feel Tired All the Time? A Relational Perspective
In our increasingly fast-paced world, fatigue is a common complaint. But often, chronic tiredness goes deeper than a lack of sleep or a busy schedule—it’s rooted in emotional, relational, and cultural dynamics that silently weigh us down. From a psychoanalytic and relational perspective, fatigue can be seen as the body and mind’s way of signaling an imbalance or a cry for deeper self-awareness.
Fatigue as a Mirror of Emotional States
Fatigue often reflects what we’re holding onto emotionally. Think of it as a symptom of carrying too much invisible weight—unresolved conflicts, suppressed feelings, or unspoken fears. For instance, a fear of failure might make someone overwork themselves, while avoiding rest due to guilt can lead to relentless fatigue.
Take Arjun, for example. A young father juggling a demanding job and family life, Arjun feels exhausted every day. On closer reflection, he realizes his tiredness isn’t just physical. It stems from his unresolved anxiety about providing for his family, driven by an unconscious fear of repeating his own childhood experience of financial instability.
The Cultural Context of Fatigue
In India, where interdependence often takes precedence over individual autonomy, fatigue is closely tied to cultural dynamics. Indian society places immense value on roles like being the “ideal son,” “selfless mother,” or “strong breadwinner,” leaving little room for emotional rest or personal exploration.
A recent trend among urban Indian men showcases the emotional toll of modernity and tradition colliding. For instance, men who work in corporate environments often struggle to reconcile professional aspirations with traditional family expectations. This dual pressure can leave them feeling drained, not just from physical labor but from the emotional load of navigating conflicting identities.
Relational psychoanalysts note that fatigue in such cases arises from the tension of holding two selves: the one striving for external validation and the one yearning for authenticity.
The Role of Unprocessed Trauma
Unprocessed trauma—whether big or small—plays a significant role in chronic fatigue. Relational wounds from childhood, such as feeling unseen or undervalued, often linger into adulthood. These wounds silently influence our choices and behaviors, draining our energy over time.
Consider Nisha, a successful artist who constantly feels the need to prove her worth. Her drive stems from a childhood where her achievements were the only way to gain her parents’ attention. Now, as an adult, she struggles to rest, fearing that slowing down will make her insignificant. Her fatigue is a signal of the emotional wounds that remain unhealed.
Relational Aspects of Fatigue
Relationships are meant to energize us, but when dynamics are unbalanced, they can drain us instead. A one-sided friendship, an overly critical partner, or unresolved family conflicts can leave us feeling perpetually tired.
From a relational psychoanalytic perspective, these dynamics often reflect early attachment patterns. For example, someone who grew up needing to earn affection may unconsciously recreate this dynamic in adult relationships, constantly giving but rarely receiving, which eventually leads to emotional burnout.
Kavita, a single mother, experiences this firsthand. She spends her days caring for her children and her elderly parents, but rarely asks for help. Her exhaustion stems not just from her responsibilities but from the unspoken belief that her worth is tied to how much she gives.
The Modern-Day Paradox: Always On, Never Rested
Modern technology and cultural norms have further complicated our relationship with rest. The constant ping of notifications, the pressure to stay connected, and the glorification of hustle culture create an environment where true rest feels indulgent, even irresponsible.
Ironically, the roots of this predicament can be traced back to the Enlightenment and the scientific revolutions that followed. As machine intelligence and automation began to develop, these advancements were heralded as tools to save time and simplify human labor. The hope was that humans would finally have more leisure, more opportunities for creativity, and a chance to live fuller lives. Yet, the opposite seems to have occurred. Instead of gaining time, we find ourselves running faster on a never-ending treadmill of productivity.
Machines and technology haven’t freed us; they’ve raised expectations. They’ve enabled us to work faster and longer, making us feel that rest is a luxury we can’t afford. In this always-on culture, it’s not just our time that’s being consumed but also our emotional bandwidth. The constant cycle of checking emails, responding to notifications, or scrolling social media doesn’t merely drain our time; it pulls at our emotional energy, leaving us perpetually fatigued.
This paradox highlights a critical relational dimension: how we relate to time, work, and ourselves. Are we using technology to enhance our lives, or are we letting it dictate our worth and identity? Recognizing this dynamic is crucial for reclaiming rest and redefining the balance between productivity and well-being.
Listening to Fatigue: A Path to Healing
Fatigue, when viewed through a psychoanalytic lens, is a message from the body and mind. It’s an invitation to pause and reflect on what might be out of alignment.
Acknowledging Emotional Roots: Start by exploring what your fatigue might be telling you. Are there unresolved feelings you’re avoiding? Are your relationships balanced, or do they require more emotional labor than you can give?
Setting Boundaries: Learn to protect your energy by setting limits in relationships, work, and personal commitments. This doesn’t mean shutting people out—it means recognizing what you can realistically offer without depleting yourself.
Seeking Authenticity: Reflect on whether you’re living in alignment with your true desires or adhering to societal and relational expectations at the cost of your well-being.
Professional Help: Therapy can provide a safe space to unpack these dynamics, helping you understand how past experiences and relational patterns contribute to your fatigue.
Conclusion: Fatigue as a Guide
Fatigue is not the enemy; it’s a signal. Instead of viewing it as a problem to fix, consider it an opportunity to delve deeper into the emotional and relational aspects of your life. By addressing the unspoken conflicts, unmet needs, and societal pressures that contribute to your exhaustion, you can begin to heal. In doing so, you’ll not only reclaim your energy but also foster a more authentic and fulfilling connection with yourself and others.
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