Thought Pudding, 402, 4th floor, Thought Pudding, Sorrento Building, High Street, Hiranandani Gardens, Powai, Mumbai (2025)

We share stories, best practices and provide affordable resources for your mental health.

13/07/2025

From desk job to couch talk - emotional promotion unlocked here 🌼

29/06/2025

You’ve seen a tissue box before. Of course you have.

On desks. In hotel lobbies. At the corner of a restaurant’s washroom sink. Tucked into your bag for them emergencies.

It’s always there, quietly doing its job. Ready for a spill, a sneeze, a smudge of something we don’t want to leave behind.

Useful. But forgettable.

Except… in therapy.

In a therapist’s room, the tissue box doesn’t just do its job. It holds a place. It waits.

Not to clean up, but to make room.

It sits close, never too far. On the side table, the low stool, the armrest. Sometimes it’s passed to you without a word, other times it just sits, letting you decide. But either way, it’s not neutral.

In therapy, that little box carries quiet permission.

It says: This space can hold your feelings.

And that might feel strange at first. Especially because you’ve spent most of your life wiping tears before anyone sees. Especially because you’ve grown used to saying “sorry” before reaching for softness.

So when the tears come maybe a few minutes in, maybe a few sessions in they might surprise you. You might reach for the tissue like it’s damage control. Something to make the feelings go away.

But that box, in this room, is not here to tidy up your sadness.

It’s here to hold it. Without trying to fix it.

Therapy is one of the only places where a tissue doesn’t mean “pull yourself together.”

It means: All feelings are welcome here. No permission needed.

When your therapist hands it to you, it’s not a cue to hide the mess. It’s a quiet kind of care. The kind that doesn’t ask you to explain.

Sometimes, the biggest shifts don’t come from what advice is given. They come in these small moments. A hand reaching out. A pause. A silence that holds.

So next time you reach for that tissue in therapy not to erase, but just to be with what’s there remember: this box is different.

It’s not here to clean up the mess.
It’s here to say, feel freely my friend.
Let it all out ✨

25/06/2025

5-second reels. Swipe-left soulmates. Groceries in ten minutes. Everything is faster now. Simpler. Wrapped in clean UX and next-day delivery.

And honestly? Who doesn’t want to skip traffic and small talk?

But then we walk into therapy. Carrying years of hurt. Patterns shaped in childhood. Relationships that left their mark. And somewhere between session two and session three, we wonder: Why don’t I feel better yet?

Scroll through your feed and you’ll see it:
“5 steps to overcome your trauma.”
“Rewire your brain in 30 days.”
“Here’s how to stop overthinking in 2 weeks.”

It’s snackable. Repostable. And it gives the illusion that change is just one carousels-long swipe away.

But when you’re up at 3AM with that familiar ache in your chest, the kind that doesn’t care how many self-help accounts you follow you know: the quick-fix stuff doesn’t stick.

That quiet skepticism you feel when a therapy platform promises “fast results”? That’s not your cynicism. That’s your wisdom.

Think about the last time you tried to break a habit. Like not checking your phone first thing in the morning. Or not texting someone you know isn’t good for you.

Hard, right?

Now imagine trying to shift something deeper, like how you deal with conflict. Or how you receive care. Or how, somewhere along the way, you learned that being loved meant being smaller.

That’s not surface-level work or a podcast-worthy “transformation story.” That’s rewiring. And rewiring takes time.

Until one day, you realise -
You don’t flinch at that thing anymore.
Or you finally said the hard thing.
Or you cried without apologising for it.

In a world that profits from your impatience, choosing slow healing is quietly radical.

And this hourglass at our therapy clinic is that reminder for us.

It’s saying your pain deserves more than a pep talk. That your story can’t be collapsed into a listicle. That your becoming is not a brand campaign.

It’s saying: I’m not here for quick. I’m here for true.

And true? That takes exactly as long as it takes.

P.S. According to therapy studies, it takes minimum six months of consistent therapy to begin seeing changes.

23/06/2025

We put this up at our clinic last week.

Most of our clients don’t wake up one day and think, “I should probably start therapy.”

They come because something finally broke. The relationship that finally ended. The job that became too unbearable. The anxiety that stopped them from getting sound sleep. The day they couldn’t stop crying in the auto and didn’t understand why.

Our clients come because they’ve hit a wall they can’t climb over, around, or pretend isn’t there anymore.

As therapists, we’ve sat with people who apologize for crying, who say “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess” as if falling apart disqualifies them from deserving care. Who worry they’re “too broken” for therapy to work.

So this poster is our quiet reminder, outside of that one session a week, that it’s okay to fall apart. And yes it is quite scary too!

But if there’s any place that that’s allowed a 100%,
it is definitely our therapy room.

[therapy, support, therapist, care]

Address

402, 4th Floor, Thought Pudding, Sorrento Building, High Street, Hiranandani Gardens, Powai
Mumbai
40076

Website

http://www.blog.thoughtpudding.com/

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