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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Why Do We Compare Ourselves to Others? A Relational Perspective
Comparison is an almost universal experience. Whether scrolling through social media, observing colleagues at work, or hearing about a friend’s success, we often measure our lives against others. But why do we do this, even when it leaves us feeling diminished or unworthy? From a relational lens, this behavior is not merely superficial or competitive; it reveals deeper psychological dynamics rooted in our sense of self, early relationships, and societal pressures.
The Roots of Comparison in Early Relationships
In psychoanalysis, our early relational experiences shape how we perceive ourselves and others. As infants, we develop our sense of self in relation to caregivers, absorbing their responses to our needs and emotions. When caregivers mirror us positively—reflecting back warmth, love, and validation—we develop a secure sense of self-worth. But when this mirroring is inconsistent, critical, or absent, we may internalize feelings of inadequacy or unworthiness.
Comparison often arises as an extension of this early relational dynamic. If we didn’t receive consistent validation, we might look outward to others as a way of assessing our value. This external reference point becomes a survival strategy to answer internal questions like: Am I good enough? Do I measure up?
The Role of the “Ideal Self”
Psychoanalytic theorists like Donald Winnicott and Heinz Kohut explore the concept of the ideal self, an internalized image of what we believe we should be. This ideal is often shaped by parental expectations, cultural norms, and societal standards. When we compare ourselves to others, we are often measuring ourselves against this idealized version of who we think we ought to be, rather than embracing who we are.
For example, a person might feel inadequate when seeing someone with a successful career or a seemingly perfect family. Beneath the surface, this may reflect unresolved anxieties about meeting internalized expectations of success, competence, or relational fulfillment.
The Cultural Dimension of Comparison
Relational psychoanalysis emphasizes that our identities are shaped not only by personal relationships but also by broader cultural and societal influences. In modern society, comparison is amplified by pervasive cultural messages about success, beauty, and happiness. Social media, in particular, presents curated, idealized versions of people’s lives, making it easy to feel as though we fall short.
Ashis Nandy, in his critique of postcolonial masculinity, highlights how societal pressures create rigid ideals of manliness, success, and strength. Similarly, Sudhir Kakar discusses how familial and cultural dynamics in India often place men under intense pressure to conform to societal expectations. This dynamic is not limited to men; people across genders experience societal pressures that fuel comparison and self-doubt.
The Interplay of Shame and Envy
Comparison often evokes feelings of shame or envy, both of which have deep psychoanalytic roots. Shame arises when we feel exposed, inadequate, or unworthy in comparison to others. Envy, on the other hand, emerges when we desire what someone else has but feel unable to attain it.
These emotions are not inherently “bad”; rather, they are signals pointing to unmet needs or unresolved conflicts within us. For instance, envy of a friend’s thriving career might reveal a deep desire for professional recognition or fulfillment that hasn’t been addressed.
Why We Compare—and How We Can Heal
From a relational perspective, comparison is not simply a flaw in our thinking but a reflection of our human need for connection and validation. We compare ourselves because we long to understand where we stand in the world and how we are valued by others. However, this strategy often backfires, leading to feelings of inadequacy and isolation.
Healing involves shifting the focus inward, reconnecting with our own needs, desires, and values rather than measuring ourselves against external standards. Relational psychotherapy offers a unique space to explore these dynamics. Through the therapeutic relationship, clients can examine how early experiences, societal messages, and internalized ideals contribute to their tendency to compare.
Practical Steps to Move Beyond Comparison
While deep healing takes time, there are steps we can take to reduce the grip of comparison in our daily lives:
Cultivate Self-Awareness: Notice when you are comparing yourself to others and reflect on what triggers these thoughts. Are there patterns tied to specific areas of your life, like relationships, work, or appearance?
Reconnect with Your Values: Ask yourself what truly matters to you, independent of societal expectations. Focusing on your own goals and values can reduce the pull of external comparisons.
Challenge the “Ideal Self”: Reflect on whether your internalized ideals are realistic or even your own. Are they rooted in your true desires, or do they reflect someone else’s expectations?
Practice Gratitude and Self-Compassion: Instead of fixating on what others have, acknowledge your own strengths, achievements, and growth. Treat yourself with the kindness you would offer a friend.
Limit Social Media Exposure: Be mindful of how much time you spend on platforms that amplify comparison. Consider curating your feed to include content that inspires rather than diminishes you.
Conclusion
Comparing ourselves to others is a deeply human tendency, shaped by our early relationships, societal pressures, and emotional dynamics. By understanding the roots of this behavior through a relational and psychoanalytic lens, we can begin to break free from its grip. The journey involves not only exploring the wounds that fuel comparison but also cultivating a deeper connection with ourselves—one that honors our unique worth and experiences. In doing so, we create space for authentic growth, self-acceptance, and meaningful connections with others.
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Why Do We Say ‘Yes’ When We Really Mean ‘No’? A Relational Perspective
Saying “yes” when we really mean “no” is a common human experience. At the surface, it might appear to be simply an issue of people-pleasing or not wanting to disappoint others. However, a deeper exploration through psychoanalysis and relational theory reveals a far more complex psychological dynamic at play. These seemingly harmless or, at times, impulsive concessions are often rooted in unresolved emotional conflicts, relational patterns, and deep-seated anxieties. Understanding why we say “yes” when we mean “no” can be transformative in developing healthier relational dynamics and a stronger sense of self.
The Fear of Disapproval: A Relational Root
At the core of this behaviour is the universal desire to be liked and accepted. From a relational psychoanalytic perspective, humans are wired for connection. Our relationships are vital to our sense of self-worth. The fear of rejection and disapproval can lead us to prioritize others’ needs and desires over our own. Saying “yes” when we mean “no” is an unconscious attempt to preserve relationships and avoid the emotional discomfort that may arise from setting boundaries.
This behaviour can be traced back to early childhood experiences. For instance, children may learn that saying “no” or asserting themselves leads to negative consequences, such as parental anger or emotional withdrawal. Over time, these early relational experiences shape the way we interact with others. We may internalize the belief that love and acceptance are conditional upon our ability to please, and as adults, this belief can manifest in an unconscious fear of conflict and disapproval. The relational pressure to please others and maintain harmony can be so intense that we override our own needs and desires in the process.
People-Pleasing as an Identity
People-pleasing, a term often used to describe the tendency to say “yes” at the expense of one’s own desires, is more than just a behavioural trait—it can become part of one’s identity. Psychoanalytically, people-pleasing behaviours often emerge from unresolved relational dynamics. Individuals who were raised in environments where their needs were ignored or undervalued might develop a pattern of pleasing others in order to feel worthy or loved.
This people-pleasing behavior is often a coping mechanism to avoid feelings of anxiety, guilt, and fear of abandonment. When someone feels that their worth is contingent on the approval of others, they may say “yes” even when it contradicts their true feelings. This dynamic can be seen in both personal and professional relationships, where individuals suppress their authentic desires in order to meet the expectations of others. While this might seem like an effective strategy in the short term, it ultimately leads to feelings of resentment, burnout, and a loss of self-identity.
The Role of Childhood Conditioning
The psychoanalytic theory of transference, where unconscious patterns from childhood are projected onto current relationships, plays a significant role in why we say “yes” when we mean “no.” In early childhood, children may have learned that saying “no” or expressing their own needs could result in emotional withdrawal, punishment, or rejection from caregivers. This formative experience shapes how children later engage with authority figures, peers, and loved ones in adulthood.
For instance, a child raised in an environment where emotional needs were ignored or met with conditional love might learn that saying “no” leads to feelings of abandonment. To prevent this, they may begin to prioritize others’ needs over their own. This conditioning may carry over into adulthood, where an individual might struggle to assert themselves in relationships for fear of repeating past relational wounds. These internalized messages are so deeply embedded that we may not even be fully conscious of them, yet they significantly impact our behaviour in relationships.
Anxiety and the Unconscious Need for Connection
Saying “yes” when we mean “no” is often an unconscious attempt to manage anxiety. The discomfort of asserting ourselves, particularly in emotionally charged situations, can be overwhelming. Psychoanalytically, we might interpret this anxiety as a fear of emotional disconnection. We fear that saying “no” might jeopardize a relationship, whether it be with a partner, friend, family member, or colleague. The fear of emotional abandonment can be so strong that we override our true feelings to maintain a connection, even if that connection ultimately comes at the cost of our own well-being.
From a relational perspective, this behaviour is rooted in our need for emotional safety. Humans are social beings who thrive on connection, and relational bonds are integral to our emotional health. However, when these connections feel threatened by the potential of rejection or conflict, we may prioritize the relationship over ourselves. This relational anxiety can make it difficult to say “no” because doing so would mean risking vulnerability and the possibility of disconnection.
The Emotional Cost of Saying “Yes” When We Mean “No”
While saying “yes” to others may seem like a path to maintaining harmonious relationships, it often comes with emotional costs. When we repeatedly suppress our own desires to accommodate others, we begin to lose touch with our authentic selves. This disconnection from our true needs leads to feelings of frustration, resentment, and emotional burnout.
Over time, the accumulation of unexpressed desires can result in a deep sense of dissatisfaction with one’s life. For example, an individual who consistently says “yes” to additional work responsibilities may begin to feel overwhelmed, stressed, and unappreciated, eventually leading to burnout. Similarly, in personal relationships, repeatedly sacrificing one’s own needs to please others can lead to feelings of emotional depletion and a sense of disconnection from one’s true self.
Reclaiming the Power of “No”
One of the most empowering steps toward healing is learning to say “no” in a way that feels authentic and respectful of both oneself and others. Therapy, particularly relational psychoanalysis, provides a safe space to explore the unconscious patterns that contribute to this people-pleasing behaviour. Through the therapeutic process, individuals can begin to uncover the root causes of their anxiety and fear of disapproval and work to develop healthier ways of asserting boundaries.
Relational psychoanalysis emphasizes the importance of understanding how our early relational experiences shape our current interactions. In therapy, the therapist-client relationship itself becomes a space where the client can begin to practice saying “no” in a safe and supportive environment. By doing so, individuals begin to rebuild their sense of self-respect and autonomy.
Moving Toward Healthy Boundaries
Learning to say “no” is an essential aspect of developing healthy boundaries. Boundaries are not about rejecting others or pushing them away; they are about creating a clear distinction between our needs and the needs of others. Healthy boundaries allow us to prioritize our own well-being without the fear of rejection or disapproval. In doing so, we honour our emotional needs and cultivate more authentic, balanced relationships.
Saying “no” when we mean “no” is not a selfish act; it is an act of self-respect. It is a way of honouring our own emotions and asserting our needs in a way that promotes both personal well-being and relational health. By reclaiming the ability to say “no,” we begin to nurture healthier, more fulfilling relationships—starting with the one we have with ourselves.
Conclusion
In conclusion, saying “yes” when we mean “no” is a complex behaviour that is deeply rooted in relational dynamics, early conditioning, and unconscious fears. By exploring these dynamics through psychoanalysis and relational theory, we can begin to understand the underlying causes of our tendency to prioritize others over ourselves. Therapy provides a valuable space to explore these patterns and develop the skills necessary to assert healthy boundaries. Learning to say “no” is not only an act of self-preservation; it is a profound step toward building more authentic and fulfilling relationships with others and with ourselves.
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Men’s Mental Health and Masculinity in India: A Relational and Cultural Lens
In the evolving discourse on mental health, men’s struggles often remain underexplored, particularly in culturally complex societies like India. This neglect stems from deeply ingrained notions of masculinity that shape men’s inner worlds and their relationships with society. The intersection of masculinity, marginalization, and mental health in India offers profound insights into the relational and societal forces at play. The societal norms and expectations surrounding masculinity have undergone significant shifts, especially during and after colonization. By integrating insights from psychoanalysis and cultural studies, we can better understand how these dynamics impact men’s mental health today.
Before colonization, Indian masculinity was deeply intertwined with relational and spiritual aspects. Sudhir Kakar, in his psychoanalytic explorations, describes how traditional Indian men maintained close emotional ties, particularly with their mothers, fostering a form of masculinity distinct from the Western ideal of independence and detachment. These bonds often allowed for a greater emotional expression and intimacy within familial relationships, where vulnerability was not necessarily viewed as weakness. However, Ashis Nandy offers a contrasting narrative, highlighting how British colonization reshaped Indian masculinity. Colonial rule imposed Western ideals of manliness—rationality, emotional suppression, physical strength, and dominance. The colonizers framed their version of masculinity as superior, casting Indian men as effeminate and weak. This not only eroded indigenous understandings of masculinity but also stigmatized emotional vulnerability. In post-colonial India, these colonial ideals persist, with men striving to embody a hyper-masculine identity that validates strength and stoicism while dismissing vulnerability. Men who fail to meet these standards often face ridicule or social exclusion, further isolating them and worsening their mental health struggles.
Masculinity and Mental Health: A Complex Interplay
Masculinity in India is tightly bound to cultural expectations that emphasize emotional stoicism, physical endurance, and financial success. From childhood, boys are told to “man up” and suppress vulnerability, creating a rift between their emotional experiences and external behaviors. This disconnection, often described as “toxic masculinity,” does not arise in isolation but is shaped by relationships, societal structures, and historical legacies.
Relational psychoanalysis offers a compelling lens to understand this dynamic. According to this perspective, our early relationships with caregivers and societal messages profoundly shape how we see ourselves and others. For many men, the constant pressure to conform to ideals of masculinity creates a fragile sense of self. They may internalize a harsh inner critic that punishes vulnerability and celebrates hyper-independence.
Men often internalize the voices of authority figures—parents, teachers, or societal norms—as “inner critics” that demand conformity to masculine ideals. These internalized voices can create a split in the psyche:
- The ideal self strives to embody strength, control, and success.
- The real self often feels inadequate, vulnerable, or overwhelmed.
This split creates an internal conflict that manifests in symptoms like guilt, shame, or feelings of failure.
For instance, a man struggling to meet societal expectations as the sole provider for his family may experience feelings of inadequacy when he cannot meet these demands. However, instead of acknowledging these emotions, he might resort to anger, withdrawal, or substance abuse to cope.
Cultural and Societal Pressures
In India, the added layer of socio-economic disparity amplifies these struggles. Men from marginalized communities face systemic oppression that intersects with the pressures of masculinity. The expectation to be strong providers and protectors becomes doubly challenging when access to resources, employment, and dignity is systematically denied.
For example, a migrant laborer working in urban India not only grapples with financial instability but also experiences alienation from his family and community. This isolation compounds his emotional distress, yet seeking therapy might feel like a distant luxury, given societal stigmas and financial constraints.
Even within the urban middle class, the modern pressures of performance—be it academic, professional, or relational—are immense. Men are often caught between traditional ideals of masculinity and modern aspirations of equality and emotional intimacy. This tension creates a psychological burden, often leading to anxiety, depression, or burnout.
The Role of Relationships in Healing
Relational psychoanalysis emphasizes that healing occurs through relationships rather than in isolation. Men’s mental health challenges are not merely individual struggles; they are relational and societal in origin. Therapy, therefore, provides a unique space where men can explore their vulnerabilities, process their relational wounds, and rebuild healthier connections.
Take the example of a man who hesitates to show affection to his partner due to his upbringing, where emotional expressions were labeled as weaknesses. In therapy, he might uncover how his father’s distant behavior shaped his belief system. Through relational exploration, he can begin to reframe his understanding of intimacy and connection, enabling more meaningful relationships.
Such healing, however, cannot be confined to individual therapy alone. Societal change is equally vital. Campaigns promoting emotional literacy among boys and men, workplace policies encouraging mental well-being, and community support systems can foster an environment where vulnerability is no longer a liability.
Dismantling Stigmas and Moving Forward
The path to addressing men’s mental health lies in challenging harmful stereotypes and fostering a culture of openness. This means redefining masculinity to include emotional depth, relational intimacy, and the courage to seek help. It also means addressing systemic barriers that prevent men, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, from accessing mental health services.
In India, mental health care must be made affordable, accessible, and culturally sensitive. This includes initiatives that integrate mental health discussions into schools, workplaces, and community spaces. Peer support groups for men, particularly those in rural or economically disadvantaged areas, can also be powerful.
Ultimately, men’s mental health is not just about treating symptoms but about reimagining societal norms. It is about creating a world where men are free to express their full range of emotions, build meaningful relationships, and embrace their humanity without fear or judgment.
As we strive for this change, the words of psychoanalyst Nancy McWilliams resonate deeply: “Healing emerges through relationships, not through isolation.”. By addressing men’s mental health relationally and culturally, we can pave the way for a more inclusive and empathetic society.
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The Healing Power of Psychotherapy: More Than Just Uncovering the Past
Understanding the Essence of Psychotherapy
Psychotherapy is often seen as a powerful tool for healing, yet the nature of this healing is frequently misunderstood. While many believe that our mental struggles stem from past experiences we have repressed or forgotten, the truth is that healing is a multifaceted journey. The conventional view posits that traumatic moments from our past—be it neglect, humiliation, or emotional abuse—linger in our unconscious, disrupting our lives. The therapeutic journey then resembles a detective story, where the therapist guides us in uncovering these buried traumas to find relief.
The Detective Analogy: A Limited Perspective
In this narrative, it’s commonly thought that identifying the root cause of our pain—perhaps a belittling father or a mother who struggled with depression—will lead to healing. This perspective is appealing because it suggests a straightforward solution: uncover the trauma, and we will be free from its grip. However, while this view holds some truth, it overlooks a critical aspect of psychotherapy’s benefits.
Healing goes beyond merely understanding the past; it involves experiencing a new kind of relationship with another person—one that may have been absent during our formative years. Knowledge alone is insufficient for healing; we cannot simply grasp the facts about our painful experiences and expect to feel better. True recovery occurs when we have the opportunity to redefine our emotional landscape in the presence of a therapist who embodies the qualities that our original caregivers may not have provided: presence, kindness, empathy, and understanding.
The Role of the Therapist: A Reparative Relationship
The therapist’s role is not solely to unearth painful memories; it’s also to fill the emotional void created by past traumas. Through sustained interactions characterized by warmth, patience, and generosity, clients can begin to heal from fear, loneliness, panic, and shame. This reparative experience is essential for overcoming the scars of earlier wounds.
The therapeutic relationship provides a unique opportunity to rewrite our emotional narratives. It allows clients to experience what healthy, supportive relationships look like, helping them understand their worth and fostering a sense of safety that may have been missing in their earlier experiences.
The Challenge of Authentic Connection
However, this approach complicates psychotherapy significantly. It requires a genuine and authentic connection between the client and therapist—something that is not easily achieved. If a therapist is cold, judgmental, or emotionally distant, the healing process can falter. Unlike traditional medicine, where one can dislike a doctor but still benefit from their treatment, psychotherapy relies on a profound sense of trust in the therapist’s goodness, maturity, and kindness.
This level of connection is rare and often requires multiple sessions to develop, much like the bond with a true friend. Finding a therapist who embodies these qualities is crucial; without this bond, the therapeutic process can feel ineffective or even counterproductive.
The Long-Term Commitment to Healing
Additionally, this understanding of therapy tends to make it more costly and lengthy than many might prefer. If we view therapy as a mere quest to uncover hidden trauma, we may hope for quick fixes, believing that resolution is just a few sessions away. However, if we embrace the notion that healing is a process rooted in a reparative relationship, we may need to engage in therapy consistently over a longer period—perhaps weeks, months, or even years.
This extended commitment can create challenges, particularly for those navigating busy lives or seeking to avoid the complexities of emotional healing. Insurance companies and employers often favour quicker solutions, leading to a temptation to view therapy solely as a means to discover and address trauma.
The Danger of Superficial Healing
Yet, if we allow this temptation to shape our approach, we risk settling for a superficial understanding of therapy—one that seeks immediate relief without recognizing the need for a nurturing and supportive therapeutic relationship. True healing comes from shifting our perspective from the therapist as a detective to the therapist as a reparenter.
This change in perspective is essential for fostering genuine growth. We must recognize that healing is not merely about discovering past traumas but about creating a new foundation for emotional health and well-being. By prioritizing the quality of our therapeutic relationships, we set ourselves on a path to deeper understanding and lasting change.
Conclusion: Investing in the Healing Journey
Ultimately, by investing in a therapeutic relationship that genuinely supports our emotional growth, we honour our healing journey and set the stage for profound transformation. In seeking a therapist who embodies the qualities of an ideal caregiver, we can hope to find a solution that repays our trust and investment—a path toward a more fulfilling and emotionally healthy life.
Through this understanding, we empower ourselves to embrace the complexity of healing and to recognize the vital role of relationships in our journey toward emotional wellness. The path may be longer and more intricate than we initially envisioned, but the rewards of such an investment can lead to a deeper sense of self and a richer, more connected life.
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Childhood: Why Does it Matter?
For over a century, we’ve accepted a compelling idea about human nature: that our childhoods set the tone for our adult lives. According to psychotherapists, those early years influence how we love, trust, and relate to ourselves and others. Yet, despite the intellectual appeal of this concept, many of us struggle to feel its truth deeply. Can those distant, hazy years really hold the key to understanding who we are today? How much of our present lives are shaped by fleeting memories, old photos, and family holidays? Could this theory of childhood’s profound influence simply be a widespread misconception?
To explore this further, let’s consider some of the most common questions—and challenges—surrounding this idea:
How Can Childhood Be So Important When Nothing Major Happened?
It’s easy to accept that traumatic childhoods, marked by abuse or neglect, can leave lasting scars. But what about the rest of us, whose childhoods involved nothing more than a few arguments or emotional ups and downs? Can these relatively uneventful years really shape us?
This question is reminiscent of the scepticism people had about microbiology in the late 19th century. At the time, many couldn’t believe that something as tiny as a microbe could contaminate an entire city’s water supply. They thought only big problems could have big causes. Similarly, we might underestimate how seemingly small or subtle experiences can deeply affect our psychological landscape. Just as an invisible bacterium can make us sick, small emotional dynamics in childhood can ripple through our adult lives in ways we don’t always recognize.
But My Parents Were Good People?
Even loving and well-meaning parents can unintentionally set off patterns that lead to challenges later in life. It doesn’t take overt abuse or trauma for us to feel the effects of difficult dynamics. A parent’s anxiety, emotional distance, or overprotectiveness can shape us in ways we might not even realize, leading to struggles in how we relate to ourselves and others.
Isn’t It Normal for Everyone to Have a Slightly Messed-Up Childhood?
Many people assume that difficult childhoods are just a part of life. Since everyone seems to have their share of struggles growing up, it might feel like there’s no point in reflecting on our own experiences. However, this mindset is similar to how people once viewed dental health in medieval times. Back then, tooth decay and pain were so common that they were considered a normal part of life. Yet today, we know these issues can be largely prevented with proper care.
Likewise, just because many people experience difficulties growing up doesn’t mean those struggles are inevitable or “natural.” With the right understanding and effort, we can address the emotional impact of our childhoods and reduce the prevalence of certain psychological challenges.
My Childhood Feels ‘Normal.’ What’s the Point?
We often struggle to question what we know best. Our families and early experiences are the backdrop of our lives—they feel normal because they’re all we’ve ever known. However, just like scientists use microscopes to detect things the naked eye can’t see, psychotherapists have tools to uncover the hidden influences of childhood on adult behaviour. In therapy rooms, connections between early experiences and present-day struggles become clear. Through patterns observed in countless individuals, therapists witness firsthand how childhood experiences often shape adult emotional landscapes.
I Don’t Remember My Childhood Having That Big of an Effect on Me?
Just because we don’t consciously remember how childhood shaped us doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. We don’t recall learning to speak, yet language became ingrained in us early on. Similarly, our emotional habits—how we handle relationships, process emotions, and view ourselves—are learned unconsciously during our formative years. These emotional patterns are often as fixed as our native tongue, which makes them difficult but not impossible to change.
If the Past Can’t Be Changed, Why Dwell on It?
It’s true that we can’t go back and change our childhoods. But by examining how the past continues to affect us, we can start to reshape its impact. Understanding the roots of our fears, anxieties, and patterns of behaviour can help us break free from them. Over time, we can learn healthier ways to interact with the world, opening up paths to greater creativity, openness, and self-acceptance.
Isn’t It Easier to Just Move On and Forget About It?
Avoiding these topics is understandable. Most of us have developed ways to protect ourselves from the pain or confusion we encountered growing up. But reflecting on the past isn’t about getting stuck there—it’s about finding a way to move forward. By exploring how our early experiences shaped us, we can let go of old defenses and embrace a more authentic, peaceful present.
The invitation to look back at childhood isn’t about assigning blame or dwelling on the past. It’s about understanding where we’ve come from so we can live more freely and fully in the present.
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