Herstory

My story begins with the Goddess I was named after; Radhika, or Radha, the Goddess of unconditional love, compassion and devotion; the ultimate, supreme lover; she who gives love freely and is left pining when it is gone.

At 20, I was the archetypal lover girl who fell in love with the tall, dark, handsome older man. We married, and I had three children before turning 30. The perfect fairytale ending for the lover. In reality, it was not. 

I am neurodivergent; becoming a wife and a mother at such a young age was far from easy. I tried my best, but felt overwhelmed and cursed the lover girl naiveté and sociocultural conditioning that led me to abandon my youthful independence for this lifelong fate of responsibility I was unprepared and ill-equipped for. 

But in many ways, I had to admit I was indeed blessed - we had three healthy children, and despite our shared emotional immaturity, there was an undeniably strong bond and deep love between my husband and I. Our marriage was always going last until death did us part, which it did after 22 years together when my husband died suddenly and I became a widow and single parent of three children overnight. 

With no family in the UK, I felt alone and terrified. An indescribable, cold and silent void now existed in place of the space, time, warmth and energy of this giant 6'3" strong, fit, healthy, hyperactive, talkative, inquisitive, funny man with a loud voice. He took up so much space! This protector, provider and partner of mine who had been a defining factor in my life for over two decades. 

When we first met, I was small, vulnerable and quiet and he was huge, vulnerable and loud. In grief, I reverted to my past state; feeling completely destabilised. The security, support and co-regulating, grounding nature of our longterm partnership that I took for granted, and had even resented many times, had vanished permanently, without any warning. I felt permanently cold, frozen and still without the warmth and familiarity of his huge presence; the sound of his nonstop chatter next to me; texts and phonecalls when we were apart.

I suffered bitterly in pain, anger and silence while trying to complete the never-ending stream of urgent, upsetting and exhausting tasks that came with the sudden death of the man who had handled all responsibilities; I was younger than him when we met; a child who knew nothing at 20, a wife at 21 and a mother at 22. 

Now, at the snap of sudden death's cruel fingers, I had to somehow become a responsible adult and single parent of three without the support of the one person who would have tried his best to take away my pain. 

Outwardly, I always held things together. I am used to masking very well and never looked like I was struggling. For a while, I thought I could fool myself. I was fine because everything was fine; I had learned quickly. I had become the responsible adult I should have grown into long ago; all the boxes were ticked, the bills were paid and I had done everything to ensure that our children's lives remained as stable as possible. I had also somehow managed to survive in the aftermath of the sudden death of the man who was so full of life. 

Underneath a high functioning mask, I was in a very dark place; breaking and falling without the person who would have seen me, caught me and saved me; which he had done when he found me at 20. 

A year after his death, I had to admit to myself that I was relying on my mask far too heavily and was still faking survival. I knew I had to process my grief, and sought therapy, which finally provided the support I needed to begin to come to terms with my trauma. This was not the first sudden death of a loved one for me, nor was it the second or third. In therapy, I fell apart piecing together the fragments of  grief and trauma from years before.

Outside of sessions and back in the world of responsibility, I continued to keep my mask firmly on and hid my ongoing despair whilst in a state of constant hyper vigilance, bracing myself for more shocks and loss. 

By chance, I discovered Kundalini yoga; practising the breath of fire, I felt something shift internally. However, at the time, I was unaware of what had begun, but Kundalini energy had arisen, like a serpent, uncoiling slowly inside me. 

Over time, I began to feel more confident, positive and open to new experiences. I was drawn to dance and movement as creative, dynamic, feminine energy, Shakti continued to rise and flow through my body. I instinctively danced every single day, and made playlists reflecting the themes and intensity of my emotional energy. The numbness, suppression and weight of grief and pain carried by my body for years fell off as I danced and danced and danced, shedding what I had outgrown and what kept me small and vulnerable. 

During this dynamic shedding and transformation process, I was no longer who I once was, but was not yet who I was becoming. I engaged with Hekate, guardian of threshold states; the betwixt and between. My artwork and poetry reflected themes of liminality and imagery of a serpent; either moving, or still, shedding her skin, transforming or coiled; always dangerous and fiercely protecting what was vulnerable:

Between life and death

Light and dark

Seen and unseen

Noise and quiet

I am black and red striped

Coiled, ready and watchful

Forked tongue flickering

Defensive to most

Protecting and sorting

Sifting and shifting

Revealing precious things to keep

Jewels and small soft mice

In Jungian psychology, a serpent appearing vividly and repeatedly in dreams and artwork is a symbol of deep healing and transformation. This was a Kundalini awakening triggered by trauma and accelerated by yoga and the breath of fire. However, at the time, I was sceptical and had not not given the concept of Kundalini energy much thought, but over weeks, months, years, I have experienced surges of clarity, heightened intuition, and growth. Something did awaken and I felt it happen at the time. 

Western psychology may term what I experienced as post-traumatic growth, but Hindu and Tantric philosophy know this to be a Kundalini awakening; profound spiritual, physical and mental transformation that takes place when coiled feminine energy, Shakti, is awakened. This metamorphosis can occur either through deliberate practices, or can be triggered by severe trauma and shock to the nervous system. I had experienced both.

After many dark nights of the soul, I finally felt mentally, physically and emotionally stronger, and no longer powerless, frightened and vulnerable. This internal shift led me to let go of everything and everyone that did not align with my ethics, values, standards or conscience. As a 1977 fire snake with awakened Kundalini energy, I did not just shed, I destroyed and burned; layer after layer of identities and roles that no longer fit me and never would again. 

I was delighted to be on this doctoral programme and engrossed in research that I loved. 

Unfortunately, during a lecture on working with race and diversity, I witnessed racial harm and psychological distress caused to several trainees when two white lecturers were unable to safely facilitate discussion due to their lack of knowledge on the very topic they were supposed to be teaching us. 

The statement "I don't see colour" was repeated several times. When I questioned the lecturer's repeated colour blind ideology, I was met with dismissal and silence instead of the reflexivity and repair we are taught to practise. The lecture and discussion was extremely poorly facilitated; raised voices and racial tensions were running high with almost 90 trainees in a very unsafe teaching environment; on a counselling psychology and psychotherapy doctoral programme, no less. 

After leaving the lecture in shock and disappointment, I expressed my concerns about attending future lectures and discussions facilitated in this manner to the institute. I was invited to attend an "informal meeting" with the newly appointed head of the doctorate programme, whose research topic of interest, ironically, is moral injury.  I was interested to hear his thoughts, considering I had sustained a moral injury from experiencing the betrayal of witnessing two academics' poor standards of teaching, lack of academic knowledge, use of outdated and harmful colourblind ideology and complete loss of control over a lecture that resulted in oppressive behaviour from white trainees towards black and brown trainees, including myself. 

However, this expert on moral injury did not acknowledge any harm caused to several trainees including myself, nor did he take any institutional accountability for the moral injury I had sustained, but instead he proceeded to make several highly unprofessional and inappropriate remarks. I can only imagine this was a pathetic and unsuccessful attempt to intimidate and silence me into accepting substandard, unethical and incorrect training on a counselling psychology and psychotherapy doctoral programme. Listening to me raising serious and valid concerns, in response, this man felt the need to remind me that I was still a trainee, not a "professional" like he was. He was right, I was nothing like him and never will be, thank goodness. What a horrifying thought; to spend four years of training as a mental health professional and expert on moral injury, only to end up morally bankrupt. 

I am not intimidated by people who are emotionally weaker than me, and this person clearly was. Those who feel the need to throw their weight around instead of taking accountability are bullies; I learned very young that bullies do what they do because they are frightened and insecure. This person accepted a tokenistic position of power in order to boost his fragile ego and was now serving his master like a good little boy; visibly stressed now that the penny had dropped that he was the right coloured sitting duck facing backlash from all sides. A desperate attempt of an institute hiding its immoral agenda behind the colour provided by people like this as well as its deliberate attempt to recruit diverse cohorts; leaving them to suffer; powerless under oppression and whitewashing. A toxic breeding ground that will continue to operate unscathed and unchecked as long as black, brown and white people stay silent and accept the unacceptable.

I had to walk away; not in defeat, but in in disgust. 

I understand that academics need jobs and that trainees need training. It is difficult to leave when you have career aspirations and financial responsibilities. I had these too, of course. Meeting with the token exacerbated my moral injury by destroying any remaining trust I had left in this institute. Supposedly qualified mental health professionals registered with the BPS and HCPC were lacking the basic professional and academic standards and ethics required of them. The thought of such wide scale harm caused to vulnerable clients and trainees sickened me. Not to mention the waste of time and money being taught by people like this. There was nothing for me to learn from them. I was there to do my research, but I did not want or need their input. 

The shock of moral injury caused my nervous system to collapse into burnout. In this exhausted state, I grieved the loss of the research project I had invested time, effort, finances, and also my heart and soul into work that was the essence of my own healing process I was gladly offering for evaluation by experts in psychotherapy and psychology because of the respect and trust I had. Nothing about this institute made sense to me; I had been offered a place on their doctoral programme to conduct four years of research focused on decolonising psychotherapy!  I felt confused and saddened withdrawing under such incomprehensible circumstances. 

I launched a formal and ongoing complaint against the institute. I will see to it that the relevant governing bodies investigate this institute in due course. Counselling psychology and psychotherapy is serious work that has the ability to change lives. It is work that I took seriously as a trainee on a supposedly rigorous dual doctorate programme at a prestigious training institute. 

Five senior academics are currently engaged in a class action against this institute citing numerous serious allegations relating to racist and oppressive treatment of staff and trainees. 

I applaud their bravery and fully support their fight for justice. 

Kali's lesson was loud, harsh and clear. Known for her precision in destroying the ego, in one fell swoop, she destroyed my dream and told me it was fear and perfectionism; driven by ego. 

In my state of burnout, this was not the message I wanted to hear. I had wanted to achieve this goal for decades; long before my husband's death. It was not ego! Was it?

When my children were small, I chose to be a stay at home parent. As they grew, I tried to catch up and worked to build a career; working, parenting and commuting to university for two years to complete a psychology conversion MSc, in the hope that one day, I would achieve my goal of the doctorate needed to practise as psychologist. I completed my MSc at UCL one month before my husband's sudden death. My life had no choice but to stop in its tracks; the priority was simply survival to support my children. 

I had done this, and now that they were young adults, it was finally time to achieve my goal of a doctorate. This was a huge financial and time commitment for me, but I felt ready and able to commit; having achieved a master's, undergone years of personal therapy, then three years of rigorous postgraduate training at the University of Cambridge in integrative psychotherapeutic counselling. I finally felt ready to pursue a professional doctorate in counselling psychology and psychotherapy, which would take four to five years to complete.

 My supervisor at the time asked me why I didn't just work with women now and why I felt the need to to achieve a doctorate.  I replied that I wanted to achieve the highest qualification one can achieve in psychology and psychotherapy so that my research and work was tried, tested and stood on these credentials before I could work with women. I wanted to offer the depth and integrity of doctoral research alongside creativity and embodied practices, and I wanted to offer trauma-informed therapeutic care as a mental health professional. 

But after experiencing what I did during my doctoral training, I knew that achieving these credentials did not prove knowledge, depth, integrity, ethics or professional standards. There was no point in me wasting any more time. I had to move on and get on with my work. 

It wasn't that simple though. I felt enraged and bitter. I had to be the one to give up my dream and my research, meanwhile qualified psychologists and psychotherapists causing harm were free to continue? Kali's words rang in my ears: "you do not need yet another degree! Something will burn and that something is you." 

She was right. I did not need a piece of paper to prove the value of my work. Seeking validation and approval by achieving the highest qualification that exists was actually fear and ego driven; the archetypal "good girl" trying to prove my worth by having someone or something confirm it for me; a trauma response I thought I had let go of years ago. However, growth and transformation is not a linear process; it is cyclical. Important life lessons repeat time after time until the lesson is finally learned. 

Meanwhile, I was still burning. Rage, pain and bitterness were burning inside me; fuelling my burnout from the moral injury I sustained, and prolonging my withdrawn state; vulnerable from neurodivergence and complex trauma with a history of depression and descent into darkness. 

I had to make use of all the tools I had at my disposal to channel this burning energy before it consumed me. Shakti is not passive, she is active, creative, fire and power; an energetic force to create something new. 

I channelled the potency of my rage to create something far better than what I would have been able to under the constraints of counselling psychology and psychotherapy training at an institution:

SNAKESHED