Have you ever felt trapped in a mental health struggle, surrounded by well-meaning people who just don’t understand? That was me, caught between the weight of my depression and the cultural expectations of my Mauritian heritage.
The Spiritual Solution
“Clearly, someone has done something to him,” I overheard my mother whisper into the phone, her voice laced with concern as she spoke to a relative back in Mauritius. In our community, mental health challenges aren’t seen as medical issues—they’re spiritual warfare.
The proposed solution? A series of prayers to cast out the “evil” that had supposedly taken hold of me. Never mind that I’m not religious. Never mind that my struggles might have roots in childhood trauma or lived experiences. No, according to cultural wisdom, I must have been the target of black magic, a lingering belief tied to our proximity to African spiritual practices.
The Burden of Repetition
Every conversation with friends and family became a broken record. I found myself repeating the same explanations, the same assurances that I was “fine,” even as I crumbled inside. The weight of these interactions became unbearable. I was exhausting myself, and I could see the fatigue in their eyes, too.
It was then that I realised nobody was coming to rescue me. If I wanted change, I had to initiate it myself.
I hated feeling like this. I couldn't remember the last time I woke up and felt happy, content, and ready to take the day on.
The Therapist Hunt
Admitting I needed help was just the first step. Finding a therapist felt like diving into a bizarre dating site. I scrolled through countless profiles, scrutinising photos and CVs, wondering, “Will this person judge me? Can they handle my darkest thoughts?”
The process was both exciting and intimidating. What specialities was I even looking for? I didn’t know what was “wrong” with me—how could I choose the right professional to “fix” me?
I remember staring at one therapist’s profile picture, a kind-faced woman with greying hair, and thinking, “Could I tell her about the time I…?” before shaking my head and moving on.
The First Step
After what felt like hours of searching, I finally found someone with availability. As I booked the appointment, a wave of relief washed over me. I had cleared the first hurdle, but now I faced the unknown journey ahead.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I confirmed the booking. Was I really doing this? Going against everything my culture had taught me about dealing with mental health? Yes, I was. Because sometimes, breaking cultural norms is necessary for healing.
A New Chapter
As I write this, I’m bracing myself for my first session. I don’t know what to expect, but I know this: I’m taking control of my mental health narrative. No more whispered phone calls about evil spirits. No more repetitive, draining conversations.
If you’re struggling like I was, know this: seeking help isn’t admitting defeat. It’s the bravest battle you’ll ever fight. Don’t let cultural stigma or fear hold you back. Your mental health journey is uniquely yours, and you have the right to seek the support you need.
Remember, the first step is always the hardest. But trust me, it’s worth taking.
Need help?
If you are thinking of going to Therapy for the first time, may be worth checking out this article by Tanya J. Peterson on how to prepare for your first Therapy Session.
