The Healer with Hidden Wounds

Quiet Hands

By the time Dr. Aryan Verma reached his office, his shirt was already damp.

The cool, sterilized air of his clinic barely made a difference. It clung to him—the worry, the tension, like an invisible coat he never removed. He took a long, silent breath. Then another. His hands, steady with patients, trembled alone in silence.

People called him the miracle man of the slum hospital in Old Delhi. Patients with nothing but broken bodies and hope lined up every morning. He healed with skill, compassion, and calm. No one knew that calm was rehearsed.

Aryan had Generalized Anxiety Disorder, though he never called it that. He called it "just overthinking." A study in The Lancet Psychiatry says GAD affects over 300 million people worldwide—more than diabetes. In India, it’s often dismissed as “tension” or “nervousness,” not a medical condition.

But Aryan knew better. He lived it.

At 8:10 a.m., his first patient, an elderly woman named Shanta, limped in. She was barefoot, her sari wrapped tightly around her knees.

“My chest hurts, beta,” she whispered.

He smiled. “We’ll check your heart, Amma.”

As he examined her, his mind whispered:

“What if it’s serious?”

“What if you miss something?”

“What if she dies and it’s your fault?”

That’s how GAD works. It's not just worry—it’s an intrusive spiral. The mind becomes a courtroom, constantly on trial for crimes not committed. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) calls this catastrophizing.

But Aryan said none of this aloud.

He smiled. Listened. Prescribed. Gave her water.

At 12:15 p.m., his panic attack started. It was always after a rush of patients, like his brain short-circuited under kindness.

Heart racing.

Sweat cold.

Vision tunneling.

Panic attacks are sudden surges of overwhelming fear that peak within minutes. The American Psychological Association lists symptoms that mimic heart attacks—shortness of breath, trembling, chest pain.

Aryan sat on the bathroom floor.

He pressed his fingers to the tiles. Cold. Real. It was his trick to come back to the present. Called grounding, this technique helps reconnect the anxious mind with physical reality.

“You’re okay,” he whispered. “You always are. You just think you’re not.”

But what made Aryan special wasn’t that he fought anxiety. It was that he never let his patients feel it. They believed in his strength, and sometimes, their belief was the only thing that held him up.

At 3:00 p.m., a boy with asthma came in. Ten years old. Wheezing, scared. Aryan taught him to inhale through a paper bag.

When the boy smiled after breathing easier, Aryan felt the familiar shame. How could someone so terrified inside be seen as a savior?

It’s a paradox many in “helping professions” face. Studies show doctors, therapists, and nurses have higher rates of anxiety, depression, and suicide than the general population. The healer is expected to be unbreakable.

But Aryan was breaking.

That evening, while walking home through dusty alleys, he passed a small chai stall. An old friend, Imran, waved.

“You look thinner,” Imran said, pouring tea.

Aryan tried to smile.

“Saving lives. Stressful work.”

“You ever save your own?”

The words hit like a slap. Imran had known Aryan since they were teens—before medical school, before the mask.

They sat in silence for a while. The evening light turned amber.

“I get panic attacks sometimes,” Aryan finally said.

Imran raised his eyebrows but didn’t flinch. “You?”

“I thought it was weakness. Turns out, it’s wiring.”

“Like a bad heart?”

Aryan nodded. “But in the brain.”

That night, Aryan wrote something new on a post-it, stuck it on his bathroom mirror:

“Even the healer needs healing.”

It wasn’t a cure. GAD doesn’t vanish. But naming it—owning it—was power.

He began therapy a week later.

He still healed people. But now, he was learning to heal himself, too.

🌱 Epilogue: Why This Matters

Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) is not just “worrying too much.” It’s a real, diagnosable condition.

Panic attacks can feel life-threatening and are deeply misunderstood in many cultures.

Mental health stigma is especially strong in countries where emotional strength is linked to worth—India being a key example.

Helping professionals often suffer in silence, feeling shame for not living up to the “strong” image others place on them.

If you're a reader who recognized yourself in Aryan, know this: you are not broken. You're just fighting silently. But you don't have to fight alone.