Anna Chandy > Anna’s Story

Like many of us girls back then, I was encouraged to get a degree to qualify for a suitable boy from a well-respected family.

I understood and accepted this conditioning whole-heartedly, preparing to be a devoted wife, a good homemaker and a doting mother. I learnt to be an accommodating child, who never said no to anyone.

I carried my pleasing personality into early adulthood, straddling effortlessly between being fun and social, and when needed, the one to confide in. I was extremely popular, among cousins, friends and acquaintances, and seen at all social engagements and parties. Only much later did I realize young Anna was consumed by her need to be needed.

When I got married, I extended my sense of duty not just to my husband, but also his family. In keeping with the culture of our close-knit community, we often invited friends and relatives over. I took my role seriously, playing the ideal homemaker and impeccable hostess to perfection. As a mother, I was strict and obsessively ambitious for my very young children.

They had to be a perfect Anna’s perfect children.

Even though I was a young wife myself, I took on the responsibility of Thomas, my brother-in-law. Thomas has schizophrenia. My daily schedule was consumed with family commitments – towards my husband, my children and Thomas.

I had set the standard very high for myself and was constantly trying to win at exceeding everyone’s expectations.

Until one sudden day, when I first questioned my ideal life.

I was rushed to the hospital in an emergency, with unbearable pain from my burst appendix. I tried to negotiate with the Doctor to push the surgery by a day; I hadn’t even prepared my family for my absence from home. There were uniforms to be ironed and instructions to be given to the cook; the house would be in disorder.

The Doctor, an excellent but tough professional, very calmly informed me ‘We can wait till tomorrow for the operation, but you may not be there. If you are not there, they will cry for a few days, but then, they will move on.’

Maybe it was the physical pain, but in that moment of sheer vulnerability I realised, despite my popularity, I was not indispensable.

Something strange happens when you are first confronted with a realization. The mind goes numb and rejects the possibility of the truth.

Once I recovered, nothing seemed like it had changed. My family still needed me, and I slipped back into my routine. But I began to feel a stir in my gut. I tried harder to be around, to be needed. Each time I felt someone slip away, I over-compensated. Unknowingly, I was subduing a feeling long time coming. The harder I tried, the deeper the restlessness settled in. Till it felt like an endless void within me, that no amount of conversations or laughter could fill. Outbursts at my unsuspecting children, food and quiet tears provided temporary relief.

Meanwhile, having taking on the responsibility of Thomas, I wanted to learn more about schizophrenia and how I could provide for him better.

I stepped out of my seemingly secure

world to train to be

a counsellor.

This was, of course, many many years ago. But when I reflect on my journey into counselling, I remember the feeling on my first day at Vishwas, the counselling centre; that of complete acceptance. The counsellors there didn’t know me, or my perfection. It didn’t seem to matter to them. Despite the brewing turbulence within me, I felt safe.

Training to be a counsellor is a deeply personal journey of self discovery. There are inner demons that surface, and counselling helps you recognize, accept and address them. For me, it was my fear of abandonment, feelings of inadequacy, but mainly, it was shame.

Shame is

conditioned.

I decided to go for therapy. It was there, in the safety of the counselling room, and among people that refused to judge me, that I first acknowledged my past. The child of a dysfunctional marriage, I had deeply internalised my role to ‘fix’ people. I was highly intuitive to the first signs of conflict and quickly jumped in as the saviour. I had built my entire identity around rescuing people, whether they wanted it or not, whether they needed it or not. I had gained everyone’s dependence, but lost myself in conformity.

In therapy I finally acknowledged my most intimate, yet unhealthy relationship – with my mother – as bullying. Once you recognize your childhood shackles, the healing begins.

THERAPY GAVE ME THE GIFT OF SELF REFLECTION.

I caught brief glimpses of Anna, the individual, but she was meek, fragile and afraid. Ignored for so long, she had retreated into a quiet corner holding on tightly to her dark secrets. I started nurturing her, giving her the identity she deserved.

My curiosity fueled my self awareness. Conversations with my counsellor at the time, Uttara, were stimulating, opening up new perspectives. She questioned me, in the process activating an unknowingly dormant side of me. This fueled an insatiable quest for clarity within me. Even today, this quest continues in my therapy sessions with my counsellor.

My journey introduced me to Transactional Analysis (TA), a psychoanalytical method of therapy which I then certified in.

While the humanist method prompted my thinking ability, I channeled my inherent intuition through TA.

TA revealed patterns that were disempowering me, and I finally broke through them. I began to see the veneers I had built around myself, attaching labels that normalized me – Perfect Mother & Wife, Popular Hostess. My veneers allowed me to feel invincible, catch the attention of everyone around me and live a life I fantasised about. I could almost visibly see the distance I had created between who I projected myself as, and the true me.

I finally gave Anna her voice, revealing the most real, authentic part of me. I dropped the veneers and embraced all the fragmented parts of me. She was ready to face the world. I lost some people I thought meant the world to me, but I gained a few who saw me and accepted me for who I was, both light and shadow. It was only then, after years of being on my journey, that I experienced true intimacy.

Beneath the tight spandex of every superhero is a hero, just like you and me.

Each one of us has a few different genes hidden behind veneers we’ve developed over time. This true self often struggles to be heard, afraid of rejection.

What if, you could belong, without fitting in?

What if, you could pursue ambition, while embracing your authentic self?

What if, you could drop your veneer and celebrate a Brave New You?

Start your Journey.

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