On being unwell

by kawrage

I wonder how I came to internalise that therapy is for the bourgeoisie. What are the implications of such a belief?

In fact I think boredom too is the affliction of the bourgeoisie.

My main apprehension on therapy is that our mothers and grandmothers survived through the violence and impunity of patriarchy, colonialism and poverty without therapy

Though in our mothers’ times, these ‘modern’ ailments weren’t so categorised and pathologised.

Reminds me of Lorde’s “give name to the nameless so it can be thought”. What if I had no name for anorexia or depression?

To continue chain of thoughts on therapy for coloured women: I wonder about the ways the “strong woman” archetype continues to haunt us

And how the expectation of being a “strong woman” negates and invalidates our pain and experiences.

Meanwhile, we have to be wary of speaking of our weakness and fragility because of the misogynistic history associates with it.

So what’s at stake here is both our right to get unwell and our right to get well.

(these thoughts were originally tweeted out and I’m too bummed out to turn them into a coherent piece, hence the abrupt nature of the post)