The Long Walk: Adity's Journey Through Anger Management, Healing and Connecting with her Inner Child

Foreward

With heartfelt gratitude, I invite you to step into the transformative journey of my client, Adity Choudhury. As a therapist, I've been privileged to bear witness to countless stories of self-discovery and healing. Adity's poignant narrative is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, offering a raw and honest account of her journey towards self-discovery and inner peace. Her bravery in revealing her identity boldly asserts that there is nothing to be ashamed of in sharing one's truth. These words are not just a recounting of experiences, they are a powerful reminder of the transformative power of therapy. Join me in celebrating Adity's warrior spirit and the courage to confront the shadows within and emerge into the light of understanding and acceptance.

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Adity Choudhary

Most people think therapy is about few sessions, where you talk to a stranger who is certified to listen and provide solutions to inner turmoil. And in about 8 to 10 sessions (or more), you step out completely changed. Like magic!

Stop. Right. There!

Read that again…

Let’s pause for a bit. Take your time and then let us break it down with a question: Who are these ‘most people’?

They are our parents, aunts, uncles, well-meaning acquaintances, and if you’re lucky to still have them around, grandparents. They are usually wary of approaching the topic of mental health and often move in circles when that rare moment of discussion happens in (otherwise) pleasant dinner table conversations. The tone can sometimes range from curious questioning to fearful whispers. After all, you don’t want the neighbours to know something is wrong, feeding to the idea of a madhouse because “something is not right in his/her head”.

Let me make one thing clear before I attempt to write about my journey in and after therapy – I am not a trained professional and all I can talk about is my experience. 

My attempt to write about mental health begins, first and foremost, with addressing my anger management issues. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an angry child. My anger manifested in silence, when no one was looking… a relentlessly, self-destructive pattern. It pushed people away when I needed them the most. It is self-sufficient, refuses to be vulnerable and has a mental block about crying in front of people. My anger is my inner child who plays hide-and-seek inside the cave I call my mind.

Let’s start with naming my anger. I call her M (Mind, after all). M has phases: A mild angry episode gets me to yell at you if you mean something to me; a strong angry episode will lead to emotional distancing, and rage causes me to cut you off completely. 

Let’s now attach some symbols. The mild phase is M making it clear that something is bothering her… she is a circus clown who may be passive aggressive, depending on the situation. The strong episode is a dark, anxious cloud who keeps to herself, and rage makes me a surgeon who takes the scalpel to cut ties – this version of M is more about calculated moves, calm decision-making, not feeling emotions, and polite small-talk about the weather. She repeatedly tells me, ‘There, there, you don’t need to misbehave. Be patient and behave. This individual is not worth your time or an emotional bond.’

I know where the anger is rooted… specific memories that refuse to go away from my memory. They remain there, like a permanent marker. In my case, early childhood experiences, particularly in school, contributed to M.

Writing this down is both scary and catharsis. Like a casual stroll inside the cave and facing my demons, lurking in the shadows. They jump in front of me when I least suspect them to pounce on me. Initially, it would make me run away from speaking to them. This is where therapy comes in.

Sometime last year, I spoke to Shuchita, my therapist, who I like to call my life coach. We discussed among other things, my inability to let go. The vital act of letting go is an exorcism of sorts. One has to go there, willingly, I suppose. But it’s never easy.

Eight sessions to discuss why I could not/still struggle to let go of people, situations and how I thought I had moved on from bad experiences… the source of my anger. It did not involve my life coach giving me answers. Rather, it became about finding the answers within… a not-so comfortable exercise of playing Q&A with M, with myself. 

Questions like, “Why do you think that is?” or “Why do you see it from that perspective?” became keys to arrive at realisations, if not concrete answers at that moment. After every session, I asked myself, ‘Why do I feel so heavy and light at the same time?’, followed by crying sessions. Thankfully, I lived alone then and it became my safe space to cry, to allow myself to feel as opposed to thinking about feelings. The journey in these sessions felt like a long walk inside my mind that transformed into a forest… the warm rays of the sun complimented the chirp of the birds that became my own voice, learning to embrace myself.

My favourite session was the one where Shuchita made me write a letter to my inner child. I hesitated. I struggled to find the words to address M, and in that moment, felt her silence. If I could draw my inner child, she would have eyes that are curious. I could feel her waiting, watching, reading into my every move. And so, I wrote/continue to write about emotions in my journal – I have named it my ‘Grief and Hope Journal’. I felt M walking towards me. I could feel her breathing near my shoulder, curiously peering at my words. Sleep eluded me that night. Throughout the day, my inner child read and re-read the letter several times.

Among other sessions was the one where I had to write about how I self-sabotage. Before this, my inner child was a punk who knew every twisted path M took. They were/are the same person, after all. They merged and danced while I was self-destructing, shutting emotions along the way – these very emotions I chose to ignore ate me up on the inside. Writing that down had me crying after months of not crying. 

The last session quietened my inner child. She smiled, perhaps, for the first time. This time, I observed her and felt protective of her. To see my inner child gentle was something I didn’t anticipate. There I was, feeling heavy and light at the same time. But this time, this moment did not make me feel uncomfortable. It came with a knowing that I need to be gentle with myself.

After the session, M and I took a long walk to the forest via the cave… you could call it the longer route. Speaking with each other made me realise how I have tools to address my anger without belittling her; that she deserves a respectful conversation from time to time; and that anger is how my inner child learned to survive. I talk to my inner child often. Ask her how her days go and what makes her angry even now.

To those who think therapy works like instant gratification, I would say… the real therapy begins where sessions end, for tools are nothing if you can’t use them to exorcise the self-destructive patterns, self-doubt and self-limiting beliefs. I would tell them that despite the sessions, I still struggle on rough days. I still suffer from the same condition that remains, and in all likelihood, may remain forever: a crippling anxiety that sometimes spirals out of control and the self-doubt returns like a butcher knife to slice me up, to rile me up so I am angry at myself. I would tell them that I am gradually falling in love with my anger, the guiding force that propels me to move ahead as a cautious risk-taker. I would tell them that the forest is endless, perhaps, ever expanding and the walks I take will be a lifelong affair to come to terms with my flaws and accept that I can’t control everything after all. To be kind to myself is and will remain a lifelong challenge. But what I can say is therapy sessions helped me be kind towards my anger. Yes, the path towards therapy and the aftermath of those sessions is lonely… the journey is lonely. I still find myself asking if leaps of faith are meant to be lonely. I have no answer to this. Yet.

What I can say is that M, inner child, phases of anger, and I nod in unison, still learning about each other. We still get mad at each other. On good days, we crack lame jokes in an attempt to smile. On rough days, we give each other space to stay grumpy for as long as we would like to stay that way.

Let’s strive to make dinner table conversations about mental health gentle too, instead of the magician’s swish of the wand. Magic takes years of practice and the grimoire is a document-in-the-making.

What is your story where your anger is concerned?