Dear Reader,
Welcome to a space where hope meets healing, and where every story — including my own — is a testament to the human spirit’s boundless capacity for growth. If this is your first time visiting, I’m Omid, a name that means ‘hope’ in my native tongue, Persian. I made a commitment to live up to my name, which at times is nearly impossible. But hope, really has been a guiding light throughout my journey. As a Persian (Iranian)-Australian, life for me has often felt like living as a “guest in two vibrant”, yet distinct, worlds. I can best describe it as though you are never quite truly a citizen in either world, almost as though you’re an “imposter”. Navigating life this way can also lead to some of us developing “two distinct consciousness” that embody their own distinct identities, worldview, philosophy, values and beliefs.
Roots: Navigating Two Worlds and a Legacy of Resilience
I was born and raised in Sydney, Australia, my earliest memories are steeped in the warmth of a Persian Australian home, a unique blend of two cultures. I am proud and grateful for being Australian but my heritage traces back to Iran, an ancient land which my parents bravely fled due to the 1979 Revolution led by a corrupt regime that systemically & institutionally oppresses and persecutes Baha’is and Iranian Women to this very day. Overtime this plight that was mainly felt by these two particular groups, has now been felt by all Iranians for the last 50 years, irrespective of religious beliefs, gender, identity, ethnicity, creed, and political views. As such, this profound displacement faced by all Iranian diasporas can be best described as an “Exodus” & “Living in Exile” which instilled in our families a unique resilience, but also, as I’ve come to understand through the therapeutic process, a quiet undercurrent of generational trauma. In childhood, this manifested as an unspoken weight, a sense of being perpetually “other” even in my own home country.
Adding another layer to this early experience, was my diagnosis of the ADHD – Inattentive Type at just five years old — the signs were so obvious. At that time, such a diagnosis carried a heavy social weight; it wasn’t as openly discussed or widely recognized as it is today. For my mother, in particular, having her firstborn “labeled” with a neurodevelopmental condition brought a profound sense of shame and concern within our cultural context. This early diagnosis meant that academic tasks were often inherently difficult for me, especially due to struggles with limited working memory and shifts in mood, setting me on a different path than that of my peers from the very beginning.
Growing up as an individual from a minority group within a Western Society, was quite unsettling as you never knew where you stood against your peers. This was quite apparent due to the narratives in popular culture, the press, and media, which often distorted perceptions of Iranians, adding another layer of complexity to my identity. During those earlier years I almost felt ashamed of being a child of immigrants, I was only one of four or five students that I can remember who were from similar cultural backgrounds in my primary school. Persian (Farsi) was my first language, and I was only exposed to formal English until I started Kindergarten. I knew I had to assimilate and blend in, to ensure I was accepted; this led to the development of the twin consciousness. My worldview was shaped by this constant negotiation, learning to see nuances where others saw stereotypes.
Compounding this, multiculturalism in Australia often felt tokenistic – a shallow acknowledgment of diverse faces on posters, perhaps, but rarely a true integration into the fabric of daily life or deeper understanding. The suburb where I grew up was predominantly Anglo-white, not as diverse with people of varied cultures, races, and religions as it is now. It was quite liberal and conservative, and the school landscape mirrored this—like a white canvas with a small smudge of color. I often felt inherently different from other students, an outsider looking in. This sense of exclusion wasn’t limited to me; my mother frequently recounted being left out of certain groups, where she was never truly included by the other school-moms. Highlighting a broader pattern of cultural isolation.
From a young age, I found solace, safety, and self-expression in visual arts and fashion. I felt empowered and confident through my creativity and my public personas. My appreciation for a human being’s capacity to imagine and think creatively became deeply ingrained in my worldview. As my imagination served as the main refuge for me to escape in times of need and struggle. As an artist at heart, I always felt that my creative practice was the main avenue in which I could invite audiences to the unseen worlds. The places I imagined. I used stories — stories that, whether written, verbal, or visual, delved into the deep recesses of the human condition. My hands found their truest expression working with graphite on paper, ink, clay, and watercolor.
This creative foundation wasn’t just a hobby; it was a sanctuary, a place where my authentic self could exist without the pressures of external perceptions. My values were implicitly formed by the Baha’i principles of unity and service, principles that, though not fully articulated in childhood, were the bedrock of my upbringing. Mental health discussions, however, were virtually nonexistent, a quiet understanding that struggles were to be endured privately, if acknowledged at all. In my community, we assumed faith and tradition was the only thing you had that could be relied on. So, in a way, this creative foundation would prove invaluable in unexpected ways.
Waves: Surviving the Slaughter and Finding My Voice
The transition from primary to high school, an already daunting period, was for me, a brutal initiation into a new kind of isolation and relentless challenge. The high school environment often felt akin to a real-life ‘Hunger Games’. Everyone seemed to be fighting for themselves, just trying to get by through any means necessary. It was a fierce game of social influence and pursuit of popularity, where cliques operated like powerful guilds vying for control. The bigger and more dominant the clique, the more influence they wielded. If you weren’t accepted as a ‘guild member’, you were left to fight for yourself, navigating a treacherous social landscape alone. The bullying was relentless, I endured physical, emotional, and psychological abuse that left deep scars. There was no escape; the torment often followed me home like a shadow and it had its grip around my neck. The school system’s response to these issues often felt profoundly inadequate. Interventions frequently left victims more exposed, with perpetrators facing minimal, if any, consequences – a deeply frustrating and disheartening cycle that perpetuated the abuse.
Internally, I was battling undiagnosed clinical depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). While I instinctively knew these intense emotional and mental experiences were far beyond typical adolescent angst, access to mental health support was non-existent. Cultural and religious factors within my family unfortunately perpetuated a silence around these issues, making open discussions or seeking professional help feel completely out of reach. I had a very limited support system, which at times was quite fragile. I was always very self-reliant and resilient, for me and others in our community it was a requirement. Showing any kind of vulnerability was risky and there was always a chance that your private dilemmas would become the talk of the community if it was leaked. A phrase that we had in our community for “gossiping or to gossip about someone” was called, “Back-Biting or too Back-bite”. It is a toxic and corruptive quality that infects anything it comes into contact with.
As such, Loneliness became a chronic companion. I had no friends—acquaintances sure, but true friends were a valuable commodity, like natural gemstones and minerals. I had very little, if any. As such my reality echoed my primary school years, nothing had changed. Recess and lunch periods, for many a time of connection, became hours of dread and intense isolation. It felt like I was on my own island, where each school term felt as though the water surrounding was rising inch by inch; at some point It was going to be all underwater. That perpetual fear was agonizing; I was always worried, and I never felt safe. To cope, especially in my later high school years, my visual arts teachers offered me a refuge. They allowed me to work on my personal projects and school assignments during those dreaded break periods if they fell after an art class on that day. This wasn’t just about art; it was a lifeline, a protective bubble where I could immerse myself in creativity and avoid the hallways teeming with other students. Some of the teaching staff became true advocates. Their belief in me, their quiet support, and the safe spaces they created within their classrooms, or the library made an immeasurable difference, often acting as the only glimmers of hope during profoundly dark times.
In my family, my grandmother (father’s side); became the truest form of a caregiver—a mother. She was the only ‘secure attachment’ relationship I had; we became companions. Others often labeled us as codependent, a judgment I now understand stemmed from a lack of comprehension regarding the depth of our bond in the face of a profound ‘shared isolation’. Overtime as I got older spending more time with her, I became more connected to my culture and heritage. I decided that I wasn’t going to feel ashamed for being different. It was at that moment I also discovered that my innate relationship with the arts was rooted in the very essence of being Persian (Iranian). We embody all aspects of the arts in every fiber of our being, notably in our ancient language, music, historic literature and poetry. I rediscovered my love and admiration for my favorite Iranian singer, Googoosh, whose music was always the soundtrack for my life. I listen to her music every day. Her voice and lyrics express how I feel and reflects my life, at any given moment in time.
Rebirth: The Dawn of Understanding and Authentic Connection
The shift from the “Hunger Games” of high school to the world felt like emerging from a long, tumultuous storm into a vast, open sea. This was an era of profound liberation and terrifying possibility, where the rigid structures of my past gave way to boundless horizons. It was a period defined not just by academic pursuits, but by a “great scattering” – friends or acquaintances alike venturing on divergent paths, prompting me to redefine what connection truly meant. This new landscape became the fertile ground for deep self-discovery, for confronting the long-held shadows, and for beginning to truly understand what it meant to live authentically. I felt it in every fiber of my being; it was refreshing despite being overwhelming. This was it: all of life’s responsibilities now rested on my shoulders; there was no hand-holding. I didn’t have the lingering fear and pressure of a competition hanging over my head. I was focused on my own lane; I didn’t care who was behind me, beside me, or in front of me.
To be honest though, with all the freedom that came from the “great scattering,” a whole other concoction of emotions bubbled away inside. I was feeling loss and anger. I was grieving for not being able to see some of my teachers anymore, attending class lessons for my favorite subjects, and not being able to return to the library which was a safe haven. As I started to reflect on those six agonizing years, I spiraled. I was resentful that I had to endure so much from other people, whether it was microaggressions, the bullying, the stress and pressure from the academic experience. When I got to the bottom of the rabbit hole, I felt dirty. It was as if I blamed myself for all the things that happened to me.
Through this resentment, I felt that I had to take three actionable steps:
One. I began to reevaluate my social media accounts; I purged my friend lists and followers. I decided that only people who valued, respected, and cared about me got invited into my life. It wasn’t going to be a free show.
Two. I burned the majority of my schoolwork; none of it brought me joy, only angst. It did not serve me anymore; it meant nothing to me. The marks. The comments. The shame of not being good enough. It had to go.
Three. I donated or tossed my old school uniforms; I only kept my year 12 jersey and a jacket—I loved fashion but trust me when I say this: the uniforms were hideous, and don’t get me started on how expensive it was. In the end, it all went literally down a rubbish bin.
Once all was said and done, I turned to what was to come, and I knew it was just the beginning of an even more challenging journey. This period of young adulthood marked a powerful intertwining of academic pursuit and profound personal healing. While my Bachelor of Design Studies honed my creative lens, it was the courageous step into personal therapy and the rigorous study in my Master of Psychotherapy and Counselling that truly reshaped my understanding of self and the human condition. These were not separate endeavors, but complementary forces propelling me towards deeper insight and purpose.
My artistic spirit, kindled in early childhood and nurtured through my Bachelor of Design Studies, proved to be an unexpected, yet profound, foundation for empathy. I was exposed to a deeply intuitive language, a powerful means through which I began to process the unspoken traumas and pain of younger years. Especially when we were tasked to produce social advocacy projects which commented on the state of the world. It taught me about nuance, perspective, and the unspoken narratives held within every human experience. My work became a voice for the voiceless, for the Baha’i people, for Iranian women, and for anyone that had suffered at the hands of people in power and places of authority. Through creativity, I was given permission to manage overwhelming emotions, channel pain, or express something I couldn’t articulate verbally. I noticed that this informal “art therapy” experience, which organically occurred through my creative work, influenced my later understanding of healing through an experiential process.
As I entered my early twenties, the intuitive lessons from my creative work propelled me to venture deeper, committing myself to personal therapy. It was through that experience that led me to question my purpose in life. While creativity provided a lens, it was the courageous and often challenging dive into the therapeutic process that allowed me to truly begin to understand the self. I found my calling through the completion of my Master of Psychotherapy and Counselling, which offered the essential academic framework, providing language and theory for the very experiences I was unpacking in the therapist’s chair. This dual journey provided an unparalleled opportunity to bridge the gap between abstract psychological concepts and the raw, lived reality of human suffering and resilience.
No one tells you about the major revelations you encounter through therapy, whether it be the family patterns such as addictions, abuses, or traumas you discover. No one tells you that you might gain an appreciation or sense of acceptance for your life journey. No one tells you that you may have to forgive and let go of past traumas and abuses, not for the perpetrator but for yourself. It is both validating and confronting; it can at times feel conflicting.
Learning about key theoretical frameworks and paradigms such as attachment, human development, personality, and characteristics reshaped my perspectives and gave me opportunities to gain insight into my life and my experiences. Being exposed to contemporary psychodynamic and humanistic modalities also gave me the confidence and the capacity to grow as a human being. This powerful synergy of my innate artistic sensibility, my journey through personal therapy, and the rigorous academic grounding in psychotherapy became the undeniable catalyst for a profound shift. It was the realization that my unique blend of experiences – from enduring early trauma and neurodivergent struggles, to finding solace in creation and ultimately, in therapeutic understanding – positions me uniquely to contribute to the “new era” of mental health.
There were three things that I truly learned from these transformative years:
One. The isolation of my earlier years taught me the profound cost of loneliness, leading me to commit myself to only seek connections rooted in authenticity and mutual respect. This new era is about intentionally building my “tribe” – a network of individuals who truly see and value me and each other. We may be people of different faiths, identities, genders, creeds, ethnicities, values, and beliefs; but we share our humanity. Once we dissolve the borders that separate us, we can all find connections through our stories.
Two. As the layers of past trauma and societal expectations began to peel away through therapy and self-discovery, my core philosophy and worldview solidified. I witnessed an integration in myself; the two distinct consciousness – as a Persian Australian, the artist, and the survivor – all began to come together. Moving beyond the sense of being an imposter or guest in this world. There may be faults or imperfections, but it is a colorful and beautiful amalgamation; all those facets come together to form an exquisite creation.
Three. I made commitments to myself and others. This period will be about actively choosing how I want to live, aligning my daily actions with the values that now truly resonated with my authentic self, and envisioning the kind of impact I wish to have on the world. I identified that in my future; I may or may not want children. I may or may not want to be married to another. I may or may not want to create a family that society deems as ‘normal’. These are choices permissible to me, and I will live with the consequences of the choices I make. Others don’t get a say in any of it.
Emerging from this transformative period led to my vision for the future becoming clearer, infused with both purpose and boundless possibility. The challenges I had overcome were no longer just scars, but profound teachers shaping my path as a psychotherapist and advocate. My aspirations stretched beyond professional success; they encompassed a desire to live a life rich in meaning, driven by empathy, and committed to contributing to a more understanding and compassionate society—a perpetual journey of growth and contribution.
The Newsletter: A Space for Shared Humanity and Ongoing Evolution
This blog is more than just a collection of articles; it’s an extension of my practice, a personal space where I continually reflect on myself, share my life’s lessons, and invite you along on my journey of self-reflection and growth. Here, I’ll explore topics related to mental well-being, share actionable insights that have worked for me, and delve into the complexities of the human experience through a lens informed by both art and therapy.
This space is designed to foster genuine human connections, recognizing that at our core, we are all human beings navigating a shared, complex world. It’s my hope that by sharing my own story, I can make mental health more accessible, less daunting, and illustrate the profound power of embracing our authentic selves, just as I continue to discover mine.
I invite you to connect with me and delve deeper into this journey.
Sincerely,
Omid Ebrahimi
P.S. This story is just the beginning. May it be a testament to the power of hope, the beauty of healing, and the strength we find in authentic connection and our shared humanity. There are always more chapters to write.
Omid Therapeutic Services 