Normalising Counselling: A Story About Breaking Stereotypes ...

   “ Sunday Stories: The Success Secrets of Extraordinary”

It started on a Tuesday morning—one of those bright but restless days at Vidya Valley School in Pune. The corridors buzzed with chatter, shoes squeaking against polished floors.

In the quiet corner beside the school office sat a blue chair. Most students walked past it without a second glance. But those who had sat there knew—it wasn’t just any chair.

They called it The Whispering Chair.

Why? Because every student who sat there whispered something they’d never said aloud before.It was placed in the school counsellor's room.

That’s where Sumit’s story begin.

Sumit was in Class IX. Sharp mind, quick with Math & Science, and always ready with a joke. But lately, his notebooks were blank, his temper sharp, and his sleep broken. 

Teachers noticed his behavioural change.His Math teacher handed back a test, expecting his usual neat solutions. The paper was almost empty. ‘This isn’t you, Sumit,’ she murmured.”

So did his best friend, Nitin. “You’ve changed, Sumit,” Nitin finally said. “Why don’t you talk to the school counsellor?”

Sumit flinched. “What am I, mad? You think I’ve lost it?”

“No,” he replied gently. “But you look like you’re carrying too much in your head. A lot of questions and confusion always....  Maybe it’s time to take someones help you unpack it.”

He laughed it off. But that night, alone with the ceiling fan whirring above, he whispered to no one, “I wish I could tell someone how heavy this feels.”

The next week, he stood outside the counsellor's door, pretending to be there “by accident.” Inside, a soft voice said, “Come in.”

He hesitated. But then the chair caught his eye—that same blue one. It looked…safe.

He sat.

The counsellor didn’t ask, “What’s wrong with you?”
She asked, “How’s your week been?”
She didn’t label. She just listened calmly .
She didn’t judge. She understood.

In those 40 quiet minutes, she used gentle pauses, giving him space to speak at his own pace. She asked open-ended questions that helped him untangle his thoughts.

Sometimes she reflected his own words back, so he could hear what his heart was really saying. She slid a glass of water toward him, as if to say: Take your time. I’m here.

She guided him through a few deep-breathing exercises when his voice trembled, and encouraged him to keep a small “thought diary” to spot patterns in his feelings.

By the end, Sumit told her about the pressure to score high, the fights at home, the constant noise in his head, and how smiling felt like acting. And the Whispering Chair held it all.

Week by week, he came back—not because he was “mad,” but because it felt good to speak without being told to “man up,” “be strong,” or “stop overthinking.”

News spread. First, silently. Then openly.

Nisha visited counsellor after losing her grandmother. Nisha’s tears weren’t about grades—they were about an empty chair at the dinner table.

Rishi, the school’s star athlete, came in with post-injury fear.

Even Siya, who never stopped talking, came to talk about the thoughts that made her silent at night.

Parents were the last to understand.

One day, Vidya Valley organised "Mind Matters: A Talk with Our Counsellor." The room filled slowly. Hesitant parents. Curious ones. Some with furrowed brows.

The counsellor began with a question:
“If your child had a fever, would you wait until it became unbearable before going to the doctor?”
Heads shook.
“Then why wait when their mind shows signs of pain or confusion?”

She explained how behaviour, anger, academic drops, even silence could be signs—not of madness—but of a mind asking for help. She spoke of growth, not weakness.

Then Sumit stood up and shared his story.

"I used to think going to a counsellor meant I was broken. If others found out, they’d take it the wrong way. Friends might keep their distance, thinking I was a lost cause. But now I know—it meant I was brave.Seeing a counsellor didn’t make me weak. It helped me find myself again."

 There was silence. Then, applause.

That evening, Sumit walked back to the counsellor’s room. The corridor was empty, the chair waiting. He didn’t sit this time. Instead, he bent down, slipped a folded note beneath the cushion, and let his hand rest there for a moment. For the next student. For the next secret. For the next storm.

It read:
“To the next one who sits here—
You’re not alone. You’re just getting stronger.”

And the chair, as always, kept the whisper safe and importantly confidential. 

💬 Moral of the Story💬

Counselling isn’t a last resort. It’s a healthy choice.
Psychologists don’t “fix mad people.” They help students understand themselves, build resilience, and manage the emotional storms of growing up along with academic excellence.

Let’s replace the whisper of shame with the voice of courage.
Because asking for help isn’t weak—it’s wise.

📝 Reflection for Parents & Teachers📝

Just as we treat a fever early, let’s respond to signs of emotional strain with care and support.

🌟 Campaign Note 🌟

Mental health matters as much as physical health.

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