Meet Pooja Gade | Henna Artist and Owner of Healing Henna Studios, LLC

We had the good fortune of connecting with Pooja Gade and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Pooja, what led you to pursuing a creative path professionally?
Well the thing is, I didn’t really have an option. I tried everything else first; I played violin for 8 years, started school for engineering, dabbled in materials science, then business and nonprofit work for home and abroad (COVID frontline-what a trip, learned a lot about people); meandered over to the local political scene working on a congressional campaign (boy what an interesting room to be in), worked retail and restaurants, and I think it was the hardware store that was my first experience working a more creative job, helping others make and create. After that, I worked at my first art studio for some months. It was a small business, singular owner and her couple employees, making magic connecting with people through creation for over a decade. People would leave Eye Candy Art Studio with much more than they’d come for. It felt beautiful, like a calling, but one that I had to set out on my own to see through. I called upon my skills in henna and small business management to rebrand my sleeping little side gig as a henna artist. I rebranded and rebirthed it into what it is today – a growing community of healing souls, creating and moving together. Art runs in the family, I always found it healing, henna especially so for my soul at least. I realized I wanted to communicate to people a message, that henna is a medium like many others; learn to use it to heal. I began to integrate the teaching of the aromatherapeutic benefits of henna into my services, as well as somatic movement.

To tell you the truth, that was never the plan. “Somatic movement” was never the plan. The purpose, that never changed though; the pivot into entrepreneurship and the arts was just a result of life. The purpose was always to help people. Now I saw a couple of your questions talk about success, and I had a clear idea of what that was to me very early on (shoutout to my gradeschool literature teachers), and this idea has pulled me through a lot of darkness; that to succeed is to “laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition” – and it was this last part I truly focused in on with every step – “to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.” I felt magic when I made somebody smile because I’d held the door open for them, the same magic I’d feel as an adult working at a nonprofit, brainstorming ideas for postnatal healthcare in rural Rwanda. I felt Emerson’s words in my bones, as much here as I had in India, where watching suffering people of my color, complexion, and features call me “sister” made me realize the truth in it. We are only so healed as our most suffering pieces.

So unfortunately, I didn’t get much time or have much energy to focus on these magical pursuits of mine. Come college, and neurological inflammation had started to create a difficult environment for neural pathways to function as they should in my brain. After a while, the math literally would not compute inside my head. Seizures made it difficult to focus, to communicate, to think. Around the same time as the onset of my neural symptoms, I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder and anxiety. Gastrointestinal troubles with debilitating chronic pain followed, as well as respiratory issues. I was relieved with the Hashimoto’s thyroid diagnosis, because that explained more of the pain and debilitating fatigue, and, more importantly, in an addressable way. I am still learning to manage ptsd, to eat healthily, and to think like I used to; to use my body and my fingers like I used to, they don’t always listen to me. Hoping to make a healthy weight and thyroid remission by my next birthday in February; as of this past July, I’m halfway there.

I say all this to point out how my story mirrors that of many. I’m not unique or special. I want to share my knowledge of how I turned my pain into my purpose. I have had many hesitations with sharing my health journey; then I think about what it was that fueled the light that I followed in my soul, my Self, when things had grown dark. It was the light of others. Growing up, I did not, however, see the light of too many from my own demographic. And when I did, it was so bright, clear, and healing. I wanted to provide that for whomever I could, show these brown, tatted, queer, neurodivergent girls they’re not alone and it can be worth it to stick it out here, and we can do it together. Maybe provide a light for somebody, like my hairstylist did for me when I had cut my hair for my health, as she recited the Bible and prayed over me. Religion, color, gender, ability, orientation, age, and other useful descriptions are not boundaries to togetherness and healing. And through trial and error, this is the sustainable way that I’ve found to fulfil my purpose – through sharing my journey and my henna.

Can you give our readers an introduction to your business? Maybe you can share a bit about what you do and what sets you apart from others?
To mention my career pivot without mentioning the reasoning, I think, would be to ignore the divine interventions that have steered me to my path of purpose. My health journey has very literally changed the way I walk, the way I talk, and the way I breathe. Through my healing and recovery process, I realized that every major factor to my health was something I could change, or try to change – something that had been unnecessarily, intentionally albeit unconsciously, and chronically present. The immigrant need to blend in, then the hustle culture, and many other factors created an environment where I was constantly ignoring my body’s attempted communications with me. I didn’t move enough, I didn’t feel enough, so my body brought me to my knees to make me listen. I can’t count the number of hours I’ve spent in pain on the ground. But boy did I start to listen. I started to gravitate towards the light, towards things that felt like light – like magic. Like, henna – aromatherapeutic in nature, it helped to stimulate and regulate my nervous system. It was a nostalgic practice, something I’d learned from the women of my family. We would sit on the ground together during times of celebration in India, music of traffic and rain outside. Like a holy arts and crafts project, we’d decorate each other with mehndi (that’s what I grew up calling it, in my mother tongue of Marathi). Still immortally etched in my brain damaged mind is the scent that wafted from the plastic bags my sister and I untied from our wrists the following morning; henna, eucalyptus, and sweat. Never did I guess that that same pattern work, years later, would help my hands to steady through the trembling from neurological illness. Henna became a healing practice through my recovery. Line by line, circle by circle, I am rewiring and rebuilding my brain. And I want to teach others to do the same. Don’t get me wrong, I know henna ain’t it for a lot of folks. That’s why I am incorporating somatic movement into my services. This is something I learned through my illnesses and recovery; I learned it for me first. I think of it as a coding language (can take the girl out of tech, can’t take the tech out the girl). It’s a way to talk to my body; I have also used the languages of yoga, of tai chi, of eft tapping, and of dance. You see, there are many mediums of self and community healing. I want to show people how to learn, how to find the right languages for them. Ultimately, I would like to turn my art studio and services into a 501(c)(3) and offer health management services as well. If it’s one thing my years being undiagnosed and chronically ill have taught me over the years, it is that my community are my strongest healers, literally. I owe so much to my support groups. Truly, together we go far; alone, I could barely crawl. Especially for certain demographics, we are our own greatest healers and resources – communities of POC, WOC, black, queer, immigrant, blue collar folks, and other communities lacking resources of time, energy/health, and/or money. I’d also say the same for any demographic – finding one’s relevant health statistics is far more beneficial than considering general, “national” stats. In a time with overwhelming genetic variety and constantly updating “information,” it seems beneficial to pursue a reliance on the statistics, information, and resources that we have solidly within our own communities. I don’t know what I want the world to know about my brand, because I don’t think I know it yet. I’m not trying to convince anyone of anything necessarily, I believe that not all energies are healing to all people. The tribe will come. But me – I’m here to stay until I’m finished.

Any places to eat or things to do that you can share with our readers? If they have a friend visiting town, what are some spots they could take them to?
Alright, let’s say they arrive on a Thursday, happens to be the last Thursday of the month. We’re going to karaoke at Estoria, it’s a bar in Cabbagetown; the studio I’m at shares the building with it, and the community there is super diverse and homey. They also have some bomb vegan wings and fries. Before that though, my friend had accompanied me to the evening class that I teach at the Doraville Art Center, an Adults’ Henna & Somatics class – I poured them a glass of wine while they learned henna and did some free movement; it was a wonderful, relaxing, and recharging start to their visit. Friday morning we go paint some pottery at Eye Candy Art Studio in Duluth, then head to the Pride event at the HIGH Museum where I’ll be sharing henna, and then to MSR-My Sister’s Room in the evening, my go-to queer bar and safe space. Saturday, brunch at Breakfast at Barneys, I love the floral and black and white decor, definitely getting that pineapple smoothie bowl, don’t want anything too heavy before our afternoon yoga session with Safia at Urban Sprout Farms, where we pick wildflowers and I share henna with our community. Afterwards, we head to one of many local artist-hosted markets to support other small and POC businesses. Sunday, brunch at Atlanta Breakfast Club, hope they still have that peach chicken and waffles thing. We then head to a narcan workshop and info session hosted by SFQP, then spend the remaining afternoon at Dr. Bombay’s Underwater Tea Party sipping tea surrounded by books, knowing our purchase is helping young women in Darjeeling. Monday, Royal Spice in Dunwoody for its vegan Indian options, because we’re getting old and our bodies don’t handle dairy the same way anymore. Tuesday, they come with me to Edgewood to meet some henna clients at Aureole, my host, a metaphysical supply store. Towards sunset, we head over to Whitewater Creek or one of the Palisades Trails with my german shepherd, to watch the sunset along the talkative river. Maybe we pick up some vegan chocolate mousse from Intermezzo on the way home. And that’s their visit here to Atlanta. Next time, we’ll head over to Jekyll Island or Savannah at the least.

Who else deserves some credit and recognition?
My family. This life has not been what we had imagined, hoped for, when we came to America. It’s been cruel, taunting, it’s kept us apart physically, mentally, spiritually. They have shown me what it means to fight for those you love, as I have shown them. It is not easy for a conservative, traditional, immigrant family to receive diagnoses of invisible and psychiatric health conditions. Not easy to watch one’s youngest baby go through an invisible opponent, one that you cannot fight for her. Coming from a family that embraced western medicine and authority figures, the prescription pills were all the treatment that made sense, especially when all basic tests came back clear. This was the deepest spiritual valley we had ever had between us, and it almost broke and separated us. When the symptoms got too disabling and I moved back in with my folks a few years ago, my folks saw me through a bad pain episode for the first time. I swear the next morning, my dad looked like he’d seen a ghost; my mother said it sounded like I was going through labor without the epidural; it was my Tuesday. That was a turning point in their central nervous system, in their neural wiring. They showed me that loved ones would confront for you their own fears and biases, not just others, to fight for you. Together, we found a clinic that would test deeper, that would give us a team of healers to help figure things out. My dad, mom, and sister dipped into savings, and the clinic gave me over 3 diagnoses I didn’t know about, and I got treatment. It’s a long treatment though, as holistic healing is, and it depends heavily on my ability to make life changes to see it through. My family, souls tired, running out of time above the water, made the biggest leap of faith in trusting me to do not one but three miraculous things: to heal myself, to relaunch my business and become financially stable, and to do it at the same time. And I’m doing it. I’m halfway to remission, my business is growing, our lives stabilizing. They’ve shown me what’s important; what’s worth fighting for; where the real work lies – within – and if you keep working at that, the outer work won’t be so hard. I, they, we have made tremendous progress through our valley, together, and we continue to move, flow, and heal together.

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