Tea with Mara: Integrating Buddhist Psychology and Contemporary Cognitive Therapy

What if, instead of resisting discomfort or trying to fix it, we simply made space for it, offering it a moment at the table, not a permanent seat?

In a well-known story from the Buddhist tradition, the Buddha receives a visit from Mara, a figure who personifies fear, urgency, and self-doubt. But rather than reacting with resistance or avoidance, the Buddha meets Mara with calm recognition. Rather than turning away, the Buddha calmly invites this visitor to join him for tea.

This image has become a widely referenced teaching in both contemplative and clinical circles (Kornfield, 2000). Far from a simplistic parable, this gesture reflects a nuanced psychological stance. In Buddhist-informed approaches, difficulty isn’t something to fight or eliminate, but something to meet with awareness, steadiness, and compassion (Analayo, 2017).

Similarly, in acceptance-based cognitive therapies like Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (Hayes, Strosahl, and Wilson, 1999), clients are encouraged to notice and make space for painful thoughts, emotions, and memories, without getting entangled in them.

The following discussion traces the overlap between Buddhist psychological insights and modern therapeutic approaches to emotional difficulty and psychological flexibility.

Mara in Early Buddhist Texts: A Psychological Metaphor

In early Buddhist texts, Mara appears as a recurring figure during moments of psychological struggle. Though traditionally described as an external being, many contemporary interpretations view Mara as a metaphor for internal experiences, like fear, self-doubt, or the urge to avoid discomfort.

Mara often shows up when the Buddha is alone, tired, or uncertain. Rather than resisting, the Buddha simply acknowledges Mara’s presence:

“I see you, Mara. Come, let’s have some tea.”

This response models awareness rather than struggle. Beyond its traditional imagery, Mara can be understood as a symbol of the psychological patterns that interfere with clarity and action. In this sense, the Buddha’s encounters with Mara offer an early example of what we might now call non-reactive awareness, a core process in many mindfulness-based and acceptance-oriented therapies.

Why Use the Mara Metaphor?

You don’t need to be Buddhist, or even consider yourself spiritual, to find value in the metaphor of Mara. The metaphor functions less as a religious story and more as a practical way to talk about how we relate to difficult thoughts, emotions, and urges. Whether we call it anxiety, self-doubt, or avoidance, most people recognize the experience of something showing up internally that pulls them away from what matters.

Mara gives form to that moment, not to mystify it, but to name it, so we can see it more clearly. In this way, the image of “having tea with Mara” becomes a simple, powerful shorthand for turning toward discomfort with openness instead of resistance.

It’s not about belief, it’s about what’s useful.

This is where the metaphor meets modern psychological practice.

In Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), one of the central ideas is experiential avoidance, which is the habit of trying to avoid or suppress unwanted thoughts or emotions, even when that effort ends up creating greater distress or frustration in the long run.

Avoidance can take many forms. Some people set rigid routines, like waking at 5 a.m. daily, pushing through discipline not for growth but to regulate internal chaos, chasing the dopamine hit of control. Others rely on alcohol or substances to simulate the serotonin lift they can’t access otherwise.

We scroll endlessly, not for connection, but to drown out a sense of meaninglessness. We chase fitness highs to override anxiety, or spiritual practices to rise above emotional pain we haven’t processed.

Even silence can be avoidance when it disconnects us from ourselves or others.

Sitting alone doesn’t always bring insight, sometimes, it may just reinforce the wish to be someone else, somewhere else.

Even spirituality can become a way of hiding behind comforting language or practice, especially when what’s needed is honest engagement with what hurts.

Not everything uncomfortable is a lesson. Some things just need to be faced.

There’s wisdom in small, everyday choices, like making yourself a meal that actually nourishes you, not just reaching for the first pack of cookies after a hard day.

There’s care in looking after your body, in noticing what it needs instead of numbing out.

These ordinary acts, choosing presence over autopilot, can be more grounding than any mantra or mountaintop. You don’t need to go far to return to what matters. Sometimes, it starts in your own kitchen.

What helps in those moments is awareness, clarity of purpose, and something that anchors your choices when it’s hard to think straight.

This awareness or noticing isn’t about perfection or control, it’s about knowing what matters to you, and gently returning to it, again and again. Acceptance, in this context, is not about giving in, or giving up. It is not passive. It doesn’t mean agreeing with what’s happening, or liking it, or letting it continue unchecked.

Noticing means recognizing what’s present, how your mind gets caught, how your body feels heavy and, from that awareness, choosing what matters, noticing what’s in your hands, what’s useful, what you care about, even in the presence of discomfort.

Inviting Mara for tea doesn’t mean resigning to your fate. It means being willing to notice when we feel overwhelmed, like we’re drowning, and pausing long enough to consider a different path. This different path might still be hard and uncertain, but it is a path shaped by what we value rather than by fear.

An essential resource available to us in this challenge is our cognitive flexibility, which is the ability to pause, shift perspective, and choose in line with what matters.

From the lens of current neuroscience, this means activating the prefrontal cortex even when the amygdala is staging a full-blown drama.

Therapy can draw from many places: brain science, clinical research, lived experience, and, spiritual traditions.

But you don’t need to follow the Buddha, or Jesus, or the Qur’an to live with purpose. What matters is finding your own compass, something that helps you remember what matters when your mind is loud and your motivation is missing in action.

You won’t always get it right. You’ll scroll past bedtime, eat the cookies you swore you weren’t going to eat, skip your daily walk, snap at the wrong person.

Maybe later you will make yourself a herbal tea, move a little, not because it solves everything, but because it’s a small way of saying, okay, I’m still here.

Choosing in line with your values isn’t about getting it right all the time and it’s definitely not about declaring to the world that you’re now only doing what feels good.

This isn’t about avoiding discomfort or making every choice about you.

It’s about staying connected to what matters, even when it’s hard, even when you’d rather check out. If you manage to do that six times out of ten, great. Even if you only manage to do it twice, that's still progress.

The point isn’t to be perfect. It’s to remember you have a say. That you can pause, notice, and choose something that reflects who you want to be, not just how you want to feel.

You’re not escaping. You’re engaging, with all the mess and beauty that comes with it. And that quiet, clumsy, honest effort is it. That’s the real practice.

So… next time Mara shows up, don’t slam the door or pretend you’re not home.

Let Mara speak as anxiety, guilt, shame, anger, or that low hum of sadness you can’t quite name. Watch how they take the shape of your inner critic, looping the same old script.

You don’t have to fight Mara. And you don’t have to obey, either. Pour the tea. Then, gently, get up. Go for that walk. Make lunch. Text that friend back. Call the plumber. Mara doesn’t stay. You do.

This is how your story gets written, not in perfect calm, but in the middle of the storms, when you remember what you care about, and take one small step toward it.

Laura Mannucci- Psychologist .