What does it look and feel like to find your voice after being silenced? What does it mean to be empowered, when the majority of your life has been controlled by external forces? And is it even possible to imagine a life where you are abundantly free and powerful, when the situation you are currently in is the complete opposite?
One woman who can answer all the questions above is Chanchal Garg – a speaker, author, executive coach, and conscious leadership facilitator. Today, Chanchal has facilitates Stanford University’s Graduate School of Business’ most popular elective course on interpersonal dynamics, impacting over 500 future business leaders. As the founder of Real Space—a thriving six-figure coaching business—she guides leaders to transcend cultural and societal constraints, harnessing their personal power in both work and life.
But her professional expertise comes from a place of personal experience, utilizing harrowing events and personal struggles in her own life to model what breakthrough looks like.
As a dutiful Indian daughter raised in America, Chanchal was taught the importance of traditional values. She devoted herself to her religion and culture, and the idea of one day becoming a good wife. But, when she sought belonging in the teachings of a charismatic spiritual guru, Chanchal found herself trapped in a pattern of abuse that would take years to unravel.
This year, she is releasing her first memoir, titled ‘Unearthed: The Lies We Carry and the Truths They Bury‘, out June 1st. Chanchal was taught never to question authority-until a transformative moment during a yoga class, while pregnant with her daughter, awakened a truth she could no longer ignore.
That realization set her on a solitary journey, as she lost her faith, community, and the life she had always known. Without the support she had once relied on, she had to learn to trust herself, reclaim her bicultural identity, and redefine what it meant to be both Indian and American-on her own terms.
‘Unearthed’ is a powerful call to every woman who has ever felt silenced-an invitation to trust your inner voice, reclaim your story, and return to yourself. This call-to-arms is something we were excited to share with our community, as we had the chance to go deeper into Chanchal’s story, hear what her message is for readers, and understand how vital it is for every woman to live life on her own terms and set her own course.
What called you to write your new memoir, and how did you prepare – mental and emotionally?
I wrote this book for my children. I’ve watched generations of women in my family stay silent about their struggles, their violations, and their dreams deferred. It’s hard to speak when there’s no model for what it sounds like. I wanted my kids to know me, not just as their mother, but as a full human being. I wanted them to know that using your voice matters. That truth isn’t something to hide, it’s something to honor.
It wasn’t just for them. As I began to heal, the story started rising in me. Even the most accomplished women I coach often carry quiet doubt about their decisions, their instincts and their worth. I’ve been there. That internal questioning shaped so much of my own story My story is extreme, but the themes are not. Power, obedience, identity, silence…these are wounds so many of us carry, even if the shape of the story looks different.
I wrote ‘Unearthed’ to say: You’re not alone, and you’re not imagining it. I know there are women around the world who cannot speak because the systems around them make it dangerous to do so. I also know there are women who can speak, but don’t realize it yet because they’ve never seen someone like them do it. I wrote this book for both.
I’m not the first South Asian woman to reclaim her story and I won’t be the last. I just wanted to throw mine into the ring, in case it helps someone else take the leap. As for preparation, emotionally and mentally, I don’t know that I was ever fully prepared. I just began. I wrote through it and paused when I needed to. I let the process stretch me.
It took four and a half years. Even now, as the book enters the world, I’m still meeting parts of myself I hadn’t expected. I’m not doing it alone though. I have an incredible therapist, honest and supportive friends, and a deep relationship with myself that I’ve fought hard for. That’s what has carried me through.
What was your ultimate goal in sharing your story with readers today, and who do you especially hope this book will reach?
It might sound cliché, but I want people, especially women, to know they already have everything they need inside them. Mentors and guides can be powerful mirrors, but no one can give you your truth. Only you can feel what’s right for you.
I was taught to constantly look outside myself for permission, for someone to tell me I was okay, or that my choices made sense. Even after everything I’ve lived through, I still find myself learning that lesson again and again. That’s why this book isn’t just about my past, it’s about what it takes to come back to yourself and stay there.
Taking ownership of your voice, your power and your freedom is not always graceful. It’s messy, confronting and still incredibly beautiful. My hope is that this book reaches the women who’ve been told to perform strength while staying silent, the ones who’ve carried so much and questioned themselves anyway. I want them to feel less alone and more like they’re coming home to themselves.
Abuse within a system of power is something many people are familiar with. Looking back at your own experience, how did the people around you fail to protect you from this happening?
They didn’t protect me because they didn’t listen. When I tried to speak up, I was met with spiritual bypassing. I was encouraged to focus on the ‘good intentions’ of those who made me uncomfortable, instead of trusting the very real messages my body was sending me. I was taught to doubt myself before I ever questioned a man.
Every time I expressed a desire or dream, I was asked: Did you ask your guru? Your father? Your husband? It was never about what I wanted. It was about who had given me permission. My voice was only valid if it echoed what the men around me had already said.
I was groomed to follow, to obey and to silence myself. Since that pattern was so normalized, even those closest to me couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, see it as harm. That’s how systems of power work. They condition us to call obedience love and to call silence respect. By the time you realize it’s neither, the damage is already done.
Spiritual abuse can be a new concept to people, especially if they were never involved in any religious setting. Can you explain what it is, and a little of what you experienced that allowed for the abuse to happen?
Spiritual abuse happens when someone uses religious or spiritual beliefs, roles, or teachings to manipulate, control, or violate another person. It doesn’t always look violent from the outside, but it distorts your relationship with yourself, your body, and your sense of truth. In my case, I was taught that the guru should be placed even higher than God because he was the one guiding me to God. That meant his actions were never to be questioned.
There was a saying I heard often: Once you bow your head, getting up is forbidden. That kind of conditioning gets into your bones. So, when my ‘guru’ insulted me, humiliated me, and eventually raped me, I didn’t see it for what it was . . . at least not right away. I thought maybe it was beyond my understanding. That somehow, I just didn’t get it yet.
It’s still hard to digest. I’m an American-born, educated woman. The idea that I would allow that kind of treatment felt unthinkable, and yet, it happened. That’s the insidious nature of spiritual abuse: it works by severing your trust in your own inner voice. When that trust is gone, anything can be justified and silenced. Naming it now is part of reclaiming that voice and it isn’t just for me. It’s for the many others who’ve endured harm wrapped in holiness and were told to stay quiet about it.
How did you sexual abuse reshape your idea of religion and spiritually overall?
When I finally let myself feel what was happening and really listen to my body, I stepped away from religion. For a while, I wanted nothing to do with it. My new mantra became: You have everything you need inside of you. I’ll be honest, I didn’t fully believe it at first. I repeated it anyway. Over time, I proved to myself that it was true. I did have what I needed, and that became sacred.
Religion left a bitter taste. Even now, I don’t call myself religious. But spirituality is different. For me, spirituality is about relationship. It’s about how we show up to ourselves, to one another, to the earth, to our ancestors, and to the thread that connects us all. It’s not about hierarchy or rules, it’s about connection, presence, and remembering.
I don’t believe we need someone else to grant us access to the divine. I believe we carry that divinity inside us. All of us. It lives in our bodies, in our lineage, and in our stories. The more I’ve trusted that, the more free I’ve felt.
Losing your entire community after going through something so traumatic can make it so much harder. How did you find a new support system and redefine your own identity through this?
It was hard. I felt very alone. I didn’t find a new support system right away. Honestly, I think I had to walk that stretch alone because if I’d had someone trying to rescue or comfort me too soon, I might never have discovered the full depth of my own power.
Strangely though, my first companions were rage and grief. I often say I kept them on my altar as they were holy to me. They helped me survive when no one else could. While they were intense and sometimes terrifying, they were also protective. I often worried they might destroy everything around me, but in many ways, they saved me.
Over time, though, I had to learn how to hold those emotions differently so that I didn’t destroy the relationships I was starting to rebuild. I began sharing pieces of my truth in spaces that felt safe enough, and slowly, I found people who could meet me there. They didn’t try to fix me, and they didn’t flinch. They witnessed me with full presence.
The truth is, I’m still finding my people. I’m still building the kind of support I never had. As I do that, I’m also redefining what strength means to me. My book is part of that transformation. It’s the place where my rage has become clarity, where pain has become purpose, and where my voice is no longer something I carry quietly just to survive but something I offer with honesty and presence. I’m not trying to convince anyone. I’m only trying to live in alignment.”
Although we see so many messages about women being empowered and speaking up, there are so many ways where some women cannot and get blamed if they don’t. What message do you have to anyone in a situation where they are struggling to find their voice or feel afraid of the potential consequences?
First, let me say this: you are not crazy. We live in a world that tells women to speak up and be empowered but then punishes us when we do. You can get blamed for being too quiet, or too loud, too trusting, or too guarded. If you feel afraid, hesitant, or unsure, it doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re paying attention.
Your safety is the most important thing. Always. You don’t owe your voice to spaces that can’t hold it with care. If you are safe, and still struggling to find your voice, begin where your truth is met with care. Find one or two people you trust. I had a few friends who never got tired of hearing my stories.
They not only let me repeat myself, but they invited it. They told me I could tell them again and again. And every time I did, they reminded me that it wasn’t my fault and that I am more than enough. Their steady presence helped me hear myself and each time, I began to feel my voice return as power in my body.
Finding your voice isn’t a moment, it’s a muscle. You don’t have to build it all at once. What matters is knowing your voice is still there. It’s waiting, it isn’t broken or gone. It’s protecting you until it’s safe to come forward. When it is, when you’re ready, you will speak in a way that you didn’t even know was possible. Until then, you are still whole. You are still powerful. You are still you.
What message do you have to people who paint victims, especially female victims, of sexual abuse as “imperfect” victims as a way to lay the blame at their feet?
The idea of an ‘imperfect victim’ is rooted in a deep cultural need to maintain the illusion of safety and control. If we can point to something she did: how she dressed, what she believed, how long she stayed, we get to believe that abuse only happens to those who make poor choices. It lets people feel protected by their distance. But that illusion protects perpetrators, not survivors.
In truth, abuse is never about the worthiness or ‘perfection’ of the person who endured it, it’s about the misuse of power. Often, those most targeted are the ones who were trusting, seeking, or devoted. These are the traits we tend to celebrate in women until they become inconvenient. Humans are inherently imperfect beings.
So, when people blame victims for being ‘imperfect,’ what they’re really saying is: Your humanity disqualifies you from being protected. Healing begins when we stop requiring purity and perfection as a prerequisite for empathy. My story, and the stories of so many others are not cautionary tales about what we did wrong. They are reflections of what power can do when it’s not held with integrity. And they are calls to look deeper, listen better, and protect more bravely.
What impact do you hope to have in sharing your story today?
I’m sharing it because I know how many women have carried similar truths in silence thinking they were alone, or that their pain was too complicated, too inconvenient, or too imperfect to be named. I hope that they see themselves more clearly and begin to trust their inner voice again, especially if it’s been buried under years of dismissal or doubt. I hope they understand power not just as something that can be taken but as something that can be reclaimed.
Perhaps most of all, I hope my story softens some of the shame so that someone, somewhere, begins to see that what happened to them wasn’t their fault. I want them to know that it’s possible to return to yourself, even after all the forces that tried to pull you away.
- the culture that taught obedience at all costs;
- the religion that confused devotion with silence;
- the people who saw boundaries as betrayal;
- and the voice in your own head that asked, ‘Was it really that bad?’
As a speaker, coach and leader today, how do you channel your personal experience into your professional experience, with clients and students?
I don’t separate the personal from the professional because real transformation doesn’t happen in neat compartments. How you and I show up anywhere is how you and I show up everywhere. My lived experience informs the questions I ask, the patterns I notice, and the way I hold space when things get tender or tense.
As a speaker, coach, and facilitator, I bring clarity, intention and thoughtful design, but I also bring lived empathy. I’ve navigated systems that expected silence, cultures that demanded performance, and relationships where power was misused. That history doesn’t define me, but it does shape how I lead: with grounded presence, deep listening, compassion, and an unwavering belief that clarity and wholeness are possible, even in the most complex situations.
My work isn’t just about skill-building. It’s about truth-telling. Whether I’m guiding a leadership team, holding space for a difficult conversation, or helping someone reclaim their voice, I’m always tracking the deeper current. I believe that’s where real change begins.
If you could go back in time and tell younger Chanchal something about her future self and who she will eventually become, what would it be?
I would tell her: You’re not bad. Nothing about you is too much or not enough. The things you’re feeling—confused, lonely, like you have to be good all the time to be loved, those feelings make sense. But they won’t last forever. One day, you’ll stop trying to make everyone else happy. You’ll stop thinking it’s your fault when things go wrong. You’ll start listening to that quiet voice inside, the one that knows what’s true.
You’ll say the things you were told to keep quiet. When you do, something beautiful will happen: You’ll help other people speak too. You’ll give your kids a life where they know they’re allowed to be themselves. You’ll bring peace to the women who came before you, the ones who never got the chance.
Keep going, little one. You don’t have to know who you’ll become yet. Just know this: she’s worth becoming.
You can order a copy of ‘Unearthed: The Lies We Carry and the Truths They Bury’ HERE, follow Chanchal Garg on Instagram, connect with her on Linkedin, and see more of her work on her website.
