My therapy

Author: Tina Babakishvili

Topic: Children

This project is a tribute to my parents, who gave me everything. I have nothing but love for them.

My parents are not in love anymore. I don’t remember a time when they ever were. As I grew  up, their beds moved apart. First, they were side by side, later they were two meters away, and now  they sleep in two different rooms. I know it’s not my fault, but my mom took my bedroom when I moved out, and it feels like I enabled her to do so. 

This is not the only thing I feel guilty about. I have so many more opportunities in life and more freedom of choice than they ever had; sometimes, it makes me feel guilty. What if they had ignored all their social responsibilities and followed their dreams instead? Would they still be  together? Or would they have moved apart not only emotionally but also physically? Could they have been  happier?  

Despite everything, my gratitude for them and their dedication to family increases as time goes by. I cannot help but appreciate the family values they stood by or the care they have provided for my  brother and me all of these years. As I seek to understand them and their  decisions, I find myself going deeper in my mind and finding the roots of my judgments and attitudes in my personal life. 

And the more emotionally attached I am to my parents, the more I feel the need to break through  this dependency, find my voice, understand what I want, why I want it, or what I don’t want.  

There are generational traumas that are passed on to my parents and me, and in a way, it’s not  anyone’s fault. And this is the most important thing to realize, as is this question: How can you  change the things in your life that don’t serve you anymore? 

The family sofa, a place where every member of the family can go to isolate themselves from time to time, to be alone and at peace with themselves

Acts of care

My dad caring for my dog, GG.
Mom helping my dad to organize old physics journals, which she would throw away in a second, if she could.
The three of us together: my flowers from eight years ago, my mom’s shirt and my dad.


 As different as they are, I see them in an identical way, each  in their own world.

Together, but apart.

Acts of care

Mom preparing food for my fiancé and me, made precisely according to our diets.
Dad washing my car.
Watching an old family film, shot with a 16mm camera.

Self-portrait in my mom’s jacket.

This photo essay was produced as part of the workshops led by photographer Heba Khamis, with the support of the Thomson Reuters Foundation. 

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