Tag: mentalhealth

  • Rules & Roses – On Building a Compassionate Society

    Tulsidas wrote:
    परहित सरिस धर्म नहि भाई।
    पर पीड़ा सम नहि अधमाई॥

    There is no virtue greater than helping others. There is no sin greater than causing suffering.

    Centuries later, Fyodor Dostoevsky wrote:
    “Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him.”

    Imagine a person, X, who has never felt sadness, grief, loneliness, or heartbreak. Yet somehow, they have learned to recognize these emotions perfectly in other people.

    They can identify pain. They can read your face. They can predict what is happening inside you. They can understand when someone is struggling.

    But they have never personally experienced those emotions.

    Now compare them to the rest of us.

    Most of us learn emotions the traditional way. We feel them first. We are helped to name them while experiencing them. We are taught by our elders what circumstances create what emotions.

    We suffer. We grieve. We get rejected. We get abandoned.

    We experience joy, shame, envy, fear, and love.

    And because we have lived through those experiences, we begin to recognize them in others. We try to predict how someone might feel based on the circumstances they are going through. And sometimes we are surprised when they do not respond the way we expected.

    The more we live, the more we learn.

    The more stories of pain we encounter, our own or borrowed from others, the more we understand what brings suffering to ourselves and those around us.

    Our empathy often comes from memory.

    We know what hurt feels like, so we become sensitive to it. But does that necessarily make us better at caring?

    Or does it simply make us more familiar with suffering?

    I am not entirely sure.

    Because feeling an emotion, understanding an emotion, and acting because of that emotion are three very different things.

    In fact, sometimes our own emotions make us worse observers.
    We project. We assume other people feel exactly what we would feel. We mistake our story for theirs.

    Sometimes the same projection that makes us dismiss our own pain also makes us dismiss the pain of others.

    Sometimes our emotions become noise. We become so busy relating that we stop listening.

    In this situation, someone who understood emotions purely intellectually would be less biased.

    Less reactive. More objective.

    Coming back to our person X.

    If someone could perfectly understand emotions without ever feeling them, would they actually care enough to act?

    Would they comfort someone? Would they sacrifice for them? Would they protect them?

    Or would emotions become nothing more than information?

    A set of data points to be analyzed.

    Rules and roses

    This leads me to another, even bigger thought experiment.

    Imagine a world where people could only feel their own emotions.

    They had no ability to sense the feelings of others.

    No empathy. No emotional resonance.

    Instead, they were given a book of rules.

    Follow these rules, and you will never hurt another person.

    Would that society be better than ours?

    In some ways, perhaps it would.

    Rules are predictable. Rules are consistent. They do not depend on mood.

    But something important would still be missing.

    Compassion.

    Because compassion is what often motivates us to go beyond the rules.

    Sympathy is feeling concern for another person’s suffering.

    Empathy is understanding their emotional experience.

    Compassion is the desire to relieve that suffering.

    When I have compassion for someone, I want to do something about their pain.

    A rule may stop me from harming you. Empathy may inspire me to help you.

    A rule tells me what I must not do. Empathy often tells me what I can do.

    And that is why emotional understanding matters so much.

    Not because it makes us morally correct. But because it connects us.

    Yet I am not convinced empathy alone is enough either.

    People can deeply understand suffering and still cause harm. They can recognize pain and weaponize it. They can read emotions perfectly and use that knowledge to manipulate others.

    Maybe what creates a healthy society is neither emotion nor rules alone. Maybe it is the combination of both.

    The heart reminds us that other people matter.

    Rules remind us that our feelings are not always reliable.

    Empathy without principles can become chaos. Principles without empathy can become cruel.

    Empathy is not valuable because it makes us moral. It is valuable because it prevents us from treating people like abstractions.

    Rules tell us,”Do not hurt people.” Empathy reminds us,”These are people.”

    Perhaps humans need all three.

    Principles to guide us. Empathy to understand suffering. Compassion to act. Being human is the lifelong challenge of holding all three together.

    This reminds me of something Maithili Sharan Gupt wrote:
    वही मनुष्य है कि जो मनुष्य के लिए मरे।

    A true human is one who lives, and, if needed, sacrifices for fellow humans.

    I hope none of us ever has to die to prove our love for another human being.

    The greater challenge is to create a world where people do not have to suffer to experience compassion.

    A world where living itself becomes a little more beautiful because we choose to understand, to care, and to act.

  • The Lesson I Could Not Rush

    I don’t know why, but one feature in the human behavior manual seems to be this: we learn late.

    Not according to our timelines. Not according to our plans. We learn when we learn.

    And when we truly learn something, it stays.

    So why do we rush the process so much?

    What are we afraid of missing?

    Is it death? Age? Opportunity? Regret?

    Why is timing so important to us?

    I keep coming back to love.

    I think it is love that makes us rush.

    Love for a dream.

    Love for comfort.

    Love for security.

    Love for the people we care about.

    But perhaps fear plays an equal role.

    Maybe we are not only running toward something. Maybe we are also running away from something.

    Love creates the desire to reach a goal.

    Fear creates urgency.

    I can think of many examples.

    I want to build a home for my loved ones. I want them to feel secure. I want them to have comfort. I want to bring that comfort to their life as soon as possible.

    At the same time, I fear the instability that comes from not having a home of our own.

    So I chase.

    Partly because of love. Partly because of fear.

    And somewhere in that push and pull, life keeps trying to teach me faith.

    Perhaps that lesson is being thrust upon me.

    Or perhaps I am secretly looking for it.

    Either way, I have slowly realized that I want peace more than I want speed.

    Because the chasing was exhausting me. Running or chasing both are not sustainable after a point.

    While I was running from fear, I grew tired of running.

    While I was trying to create comfort for my family, I was sometimes creating tension around them.

    The dream was good.

    The urgency was not.

    And slowly I realized something uncomfortable:

    I had become the center of the very tension I was trying to eliminate. I was choosing comfort for them, over the negativity and pressure I was bringing to their life everyday.

    That realization forced me to change.

    Or at least begin changing.

    Maybe that is how lessons are learned.

    Not when life explains them.

    Not when someone wiser tells us.

    But when the consequences of not learning become impossible to ignore.

    For me, the discomfort I was bringing to the people I loved became unbearable.

    And that pain taught me what advice never could.

    It makes me wonder whether the pain we create for others is sometimes life pointing toward what we need to correct.

    And perhaps the pain we create for ourselves serves the same purpose.

    Maybe both are invitations.

    A lesson waiting to be noticed.

    Of course, not everyone learns from pain. Sometimes people simply collect more wounds, more resentments, more triggers.

    Learning is still a choice.

    But humans do learn.

    Slowly.

    Repeatedly.

    Often reluctantly.

    We often think understanding comes first and change follows. More often, suffering accumulates first, and understanding arrives later to explain what our heart already knows.

    Life keeps asking the same question in different forms until we finally answer it.

    And when the answer truly settles into your heart, something changes.

    The chase becomes quieter.

    The fear loses some of its power.

    The lesson stops feeling like information and starts feeling like wisdom.

    Lessons take time

    Perhaps that is why lessons take time.

    Not because life is withholding them from us.

    But because some truths can only be understood when we are finally ready to stop running long enough to hear them.

    Keep searching for your answers.

    Keep engraving your learnings into your heart.

    One day, the peace you spent years chasing may arrive quietly and decide to stay.

    And when it does, perhaps you will be able to help someone else find their way too.

    All in good time, my heart!

  • When Faith Feels Like Music

    Worshipping God should feel like having a favorite musician.

    Think about it.

    You have a favorite band. You love their music. There is that one song you play whenever you are feeling low, and somehow it makes you feel better. When they release a new song, you get excited. If they perform in your city, you attend the concert. You find other people who like the same music, and suddenly there is a community around something you love.

    You enjoy talking about the band. You enjoy discussing their songs. And when you see someone wearing their merchandise, you feel a strange excitement. This person likes something you like too.

    You like deep-diving into the lives of the band members, what they were going through when they wrote a particular song, what inspired a certain lyric, or what heartbreak gave birth to an album.

    Their stories inspire you, bring you comfort when you are down, and sometimes even make you shed a tear in silent support of struggles you never witnessed yourself.

    But here is the interesting thing about being a fan.

    You do not hate people who listen to different music. Typically.

    You do not think less of people who have never heard of your favorite band. You do not spend your day worrying about why they are not listening to the same songs as you.

    You simply think, “I like this music. This is my favorite band. Not everyone has to like it.”

    A song does not become less beautiful because someone else does not enjoy it.

    You wait for the next album. You continue listening to the music. Your relationship with the songs remains untouched.

    Even if nobody else in the world liked that band, you would still listen to it.

    You are perfectly capable of being the only fan in the room.

    That is how devotion should feel. Ideally.

    song of god

    You may talk about God. You may share what you love about Him. You may enjoy being around people who worship the same way you do. But your love for God should not depend on whether everyone else loves Him too.

    As long as you are allowed your space, and others are allowed theirs, love can exist peacefully.

    As a fan, you buy merchandise. You wear the T-shirt. You put up posters. You collect little things that remind you of the artist because they bring you joy.

    Perhaps prayer beads, temples, books, pictures, and rituals are meant to do something similar. They are reminders of someone you love.

    And there is another thing I find fascinating.

    When you listen to a song you love, it often feels as though the artist is speaking directly to you. Rationally, you know they wrote that song for millions of people. Yet somehow it feels personal.

    It feels like they understand something about you.

    Many people struggle with God because they think, “Why would God speak to me? I am not special.”

    But if you think of God the way you think about your favorite musician, something changes.

    The song was not written only for you, yet it still reaches you.

    The book was not written only for you, yet a sentence suddenly feels personal.

    The prayer was not spoken only for you, yet it comforts something inside you.

    Maybe devotion is not about being special.

    Maybe devotion is about feeling understood.

    And perhaps that is why people keep returning to God, just as they keep returning to their favorite songs.

    Not because they are forced to.

    But because every time they return, they feel a little less alone.

  • Building a better past- One memory at a time

    Memory has always been my nemesis.

    My perception of my childhood memory is like living in a house surrounded by monkeys. The moment you start to think something good about that house, you remember one dangerous encounter with that big red-faced monkey! Suddenly you are 6 again, being chased, alone and scared.

    You don’t want to go back to that house again.

    I envy those with good childhood memories. I hear these lucky people reminisce about the good old days, about how they would always want to relive their childhood. I sit there tasting the bitterness of relationships, the swelling of my cheek my childhood brings me.
    I wonder how they hate today. I wonder how they are not scared of being tiny again, when someone else decides how your day went.

    How are they not worried about whether they will be served a slap or food for dinner. Also, whether they miss the game night at their friend’s place, or only remember the weird brother who tried to touch you inappropriately when nobody was watching.

    Nobody would believe that story, especially because I haven’t told anyone. I don’t want to be held responsible for my 6-year-old self now, you see. I am not sure if I somehow invited it with my flat child body wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

    I was ugly according to my family.

    We don’t talk about that memory ever, yet it pops up every time I see a child playing with an adult. It must be my brain’s fault, tainting anything good it sees.

    I listen to those with beautiful memories with wondrous eyes, just like a child thinks about unicorns. Yet it is very rare for me to encounter those who want to forget as much as I want to. We still remember everything too vividly. It doesn’t seem like something that happened a long time ago.

    The people in my memory may not exist anymore, maybe not even on this Earth or just not in my life anymore, but I have to live with those faces till death. I remember their eye color and even their gait, yet I am uninterested in learning new faces now.

    What if I would have to strive to forget them too?

    The burden of memory, especially the bad ones, is immense. You are combing your hair and bam! You remember how your grandmother oiled your hair when you were young. There is a smile erupting at the thought of those fingers on your scalp. And then suddenly this memory becomes a ghost, and you remember how your hair was pulled when you made the tiny mistake of rubbing shoe polish on the floor. Maybe the oil strengthened the hair and the spirit too.

    Today I don’t let anyone control what I paint with my shoe polish.

    Eventually, I started taking matters into my own hands. I made my money and made new good memories the first chance I got.

    Better past

    The moment I learnt I am not automatically blessed with good ones, neither memories nor people, I decided to find new people for my new and better past.

    I was born cursed, but I can bless myself too.

    When I embarked on my journey of owning my life, I was made to feel ashamed for those attempts. But I have tried to live because I have stopped trusting anyone else, especially time. I’m scared of giving that control to anyone now.

    I find my people and my resources. My time has to keep up with me. I will not let them disappoint me again.

    I only want to indulge in good and meaningful moments, making memories with only those who are worthy of it. I want to invest in memories for my old age.

    I want, in my final moments, when the movie of my life plays in my head, no matter how painful the start is, for my final memories to be full of love and warmth.

    I may be the weak child, but I shall not remain so.

  • Not a Mirror, But Water — The Opposite of Trauma is Safety

    To calm the chaos, the nervous system needs steadiness.

    It needs predictability.

    It needs someone who stays the same, like there is a tomorrow.

    Someone who is not conditionally there.
    Someone who does not leave because it becomes too difficult to stay with you.

    Someone who understands that being present matters more than being right.

    It needs someone whose presence does not constantly shift.
    Someone who does not make you toss a coin again and again.

    Someone like a parent, but what a parent could not be.

    Someone like God, except I treat Him the way I learned to treat my parents:

    with hesitation, with doubt, without complete trust.

    And yet this person stays.

    To prove me wrong.
    To build trust brick by brick.

    Trauma healing

    Trauma takes away the agency to choose.

    To choose what to feel.
    What to express.
    How much of yourself is safe enough to reveal.

    Safety brings expression back.

    It gives you the freedom to become who you truly are, no matter how messy that may look.

    Trauma is fast.
    Trauma is lightning.

    Safety is slow.
    Safety is the sun rising quietly until it becomes midday.

    Trauma feels like standing on a tiny, shaky wooden plank in the middle of an ocean with violent waves around you.

    You could fall any moment.

    Safety is childish.
    Safety feels magical to those who never had it.

    It feels like jumping into a puddle on the road, knowing you are going to get dirty, but also knowing it will be fun.

    You do not worry about falling.
    Nor do you worry about who will pick you back up.

    Because you can handle both.

    You own your body there.

    Trauma takes away that feeling of ownership.

    So I want someone solid as a rock.

    Not a mirror.

    More like water.

    So calm that I can finally see myself in it without hating what I see.

    And even when the ripples disturb the reflection, my flaws no longer scare me.

    When I cry, this person—this water—washes my tears away with softness.

    Even when I immerse myself in it, I do not get lost.

    It gently pushes me upward and leaves me on the shore of sanity when I am ready.

    Being safe feels like walking on the beach.

    You are no longer trying to survive the waves.

    You are finally able to listen to them.

  • My own words of wisdom- Running collection of some fleeting thoughts

    2.

    We learn by surrounding ourselves with people who are better than us. If we surround ourselves with those who lack understanding as compared to us, then we will have no inspiration to be better.

    It is not about who has more money or fame, who is stronger or smarter, but overall who has better values and skills in facing a certain type of situation.

    A child learn swimming faster by looking at people who know how to swim, as compared to those who are standing on the side.

    1.

    “Every day, it is a struggle to return to your thriving state when all you have managed to do is survive.

    Every time you struggle to keep yourself together, a part of you breaks.

    Why is all my strength used only to hold myself together?
    Why is the only mountain I am expected to move the one inside my mind, instead of the ones outside?

    Why can I not show my battle wounds to anyone and still feel like a winner, simply because my battle was with myself and not with an enemy the world could see?

    Every time life pushes me to my knees and I pull myself back up again, people only witness the version of me that fell.
    They never see the fighting.

    Why are all my battles fought alone?”

  • The Discomfort of Having a Friend

    I worry about having a friend.

    The discomfort of depending on them.
    The discomfort of relying on their presence to complete conversations you do not want to have alone.

    I can wait for years just to complete that conversation.

    The conversation waits within me.
    The grief holds itself carefully inside me.
    The pain stays safely stored in my heart, waiting for its release.

    Is my friend the place where I seek redemption?

    It started as nothing, and somehow became everything.

    In a world obsessed with defining love through the physical, this platonic crush became my holy grail for peace and fun.

    The urge to talk to them in the group while still remaining courteous.
    You cannot reveal that every conversation quietly seeks their emotional validation.

    The subchat.
    The side group.
    The secret extra details.
    The expressions you need to share with them before the day can end peacefully.

    I stay with the comma until I talk to them, and they become the period of peace.

    They turn the page for me.

    I did not know that my urge to add subtitles to every conversation was the kind of love I needed during this mundane life.

    Subtitles only they would understand.
    Subtitles you cannot say out loud, because others would notice.

    Love holds very little power when it comes to overly territorial friendships.

    You cannot cross that line.
    You cannot come between that bond.

    The closeness becomes territorial.
    Almost sacred.

    Where love sometimes comes with fragility, disturbed as easily as sand touched by waves, friendship feels carved in stone.

    Not a handmade carving, but something shaped slowly through time.

    Not just what waves do to underground rocks, but what a rope does to a stone wall after years of friction.

    Friendship endured what hurt the most.

    It saw your friend withering in pain, and still you stayed.

    It tests your stamina.
    Your appetite for love.
    Your ability to remain.

    Discomfort of a friend

    But sometimes, you have to cut this cord yourself.

    Untie this seemingly unbreakable knot with your own hands.

    To break a friendship, you have to break the stone.
    The very stone you carved your promises into.

    And while smashing it against the ground would be easier, you still want to be delicate about it.

    So instead, you break it on your own feet.

    While your friend cries, you bleed.

    But you still do it.

    Because staying hurts more.

    Yes, you will make new friends.

    But the piece of heart they took with them stays there forever.

    And eventually, you stop hoping to get it back too, because you would not know what to do with that piece even if it returned.

    Some memories are not erased.

    Only buried.

  • The House the Brain Becomes

    Language is more important than we think.

    If we cannot speak, express, or label something, we cannot build the quintessential community every human being needs. And I don’t just mean the outer world communities like friendships, families, societies , but an inner world too.

    The inner world community is the harmony between the nervous system and all the other organ systems. It is the one that quietly decides our overall wellbeing. The one that decides what feels safe, what feels threatening, and what feels impossible to touch.

    When something inside us has no language, it exists in isolation.And isolation, even internally, is unbearable, and unhealthy.

    How it starts

    This usually starts during childhood. If we don’t teach children how to name what they are feeling, the feeling doesn’t disappear. As children, the world is new, and so are the emotions that come with it. Understanding them, naming them, and allowing them to be felt is a crucial part of growing up. It becomes a skill that carries through life.

    If humans don’t learn how to name their emotions, it can feel like being put inside a box they cannot come out of. 

    A box full of emotions

    Emotions are overwhelming by nature; they flood the body before the mind can make sense of them. And when there is no language to hold that flood, the only strategy left, especially for children, is to push it down. Acting out emotions is often inconvenient for the adults around such children, which makes the child feel unsafe expressing them. So they suppress it. 

    Not because suppression is healthy, but because it brings temporary safety and apparent relief.

    Over time, the nervous system learns this: don’t try to understand- just shove it away.

    Why shoving it down seems like nothing is wrong when actually everything is

    Shoving down often looks harmless. It looks like a distraction. Watching TV. Reading books. Staying busy. Overplaying. Oversleeping. Avoiding stillness. Avoiding people. Avoiding themselves. Talking too much or talking too little. We tell ourselves it’s alright, that it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s just passing time.

    But shoving down is actually like filling your brain with waste polythene bags.

    Each one feels insignificant. Each one polybag (emotion) light enough to ignore. So you keep adding them, telling yourself it’s fine, it’s nothing, you’ll deal with it later.

    The weight of keeping – the interior design of your brain

    One day, you open the bag and realise it’s no longer many small things. It’s one large, tangled mass of useless and not-so-useless things. Some of it you may have needed once. Some of it mattered at one point. But all of it has already done its work. 

    It has left its imprint on your nervous system – on how your body reacts, how quickly you get overwhelmed, how unsafe certain emotions feel without you even knowing why.

    If your brain were a house, you would eventually stand there wondering why you placed so many bags in one corner. They’ve taken up the space of everything else. The sofa. The almirah. The space to sit, rest, and live.

    The dilemma becomes absurd – should I remove the useful things from my house just to make room for this waste?

    The tragedy is not just that these bags are useless. It’s that they are toxic too.

    Even if each one is light individually, imagine how old they are. Polythene bags from vegetables. Milk packets. Clothes covers. Years old. Decades old. Rotting quietly.

    Just like emotions – decades old.

    When you finally start scrummaging through them, you are shocked by what you have kept, and why. And strangely, you don’t know what to do with it anymore. You don’t know where it belongs. You don’t know how to sort it. You don’t know why it’s still here.

    But the truth is simpler than we make it. Throw it. It is not your responsibility to preserve waste.

    Language

    They are not just bags but your emotions!

    Except emotions are not disgusting and toxic. They are meant to be met. They are how the body communicates safety, danger, joy, and connection. 

    Emotions are a language – one we must learn to understand.

    Learn to speak the language of emotions

    This is where outer language comes in. Language is the bin. Language is the door through which things can exit. When you can label an emotion, when you can put a word to it, its job is done. It no longer needs to live in the body or haunt the nervous system. It can move on.

    But when there is no word, no name, no language, you are simply shoving another polythene bag into the next room of your brain. And that one, over time, becomes even more toxic.

    Perhaps language is not meant to explain us, but to release us.

    What remains unnamed does not disappear , it waits, settles, and slowly becomes structure, shaping how we relate, react, and retreat.

    In that sense, language is not expression but movement, a way for inner life to remain fluid instead of fossilised.

    And maybe freedom is nothing dramatic at all, but simply the ability to let experience pass through us without having to become it.

  • The Warm Wisdom Of The Wounded

    When Healing Meets the World Again

    There comes a moment in every healing journey when you must return to life; not as the person who broke down, but as the person who survived.

    After a long period of healing when you try to get back into society (family, friends, community, work, anything which involves people), a lot of things which seem normal to an ordinary individual, would seem alien like to a healing soul.

    Re-entering society can feel strangely delicate.

    The Strange Fragility of Re-Entry

    Simple interactions suddenly require courage. Ordinary days feel like new terrain.
    It’s a quiet truth of healing that once you change internally, the external world must be learned all over again.

    For healthy/not deeply traumatised people, just attending an event is an everyday part of life. Meeting, interacting like “a socially fluent human being” is part of their daily grind.

    The Memory of Who You Were

    There is one very interesting thing about healing. If you have healed a bit, somewhere you are willing to give humanity and yourself a chance again, and then you remember you still are the same person who went through the dark tunnel, just to see the light today.

    A healthy individual likes to live, being around life, in general. Hence, even the slightest healing nudges you towards forming your community again.

    Learning to Live Life Again

    For a mending brain who is learning to be human again, all these efforts of becoming a part of the community, sometimes may seem like running a sprint.

    They know they’d probably finish it but would they feel competent rather than exposed?
    Would it further tarnish their confidence?

    And even if they do win, would they be willing to run again?
    Would they be willing to put up so much effort again?
    Would they find the struggle worth their mental energy?

    No one can answer it until it happens.

    Broken people trying to mend their wounds have been told to keep trying, to stumble, to fall and get up again, at their own pace, just like a child learning to walk. They have to learn how to participate in life for the first time, after a long time.

    But how hard that process is, only the person going through it, or the one who has survived it truly knows.

    And yet, healing has its quiet miracles. Something in it keeps pulling you forward, urging you to try again, to reach again, to believe that life can still soften around you.

    When the Mirror Feels Heavy

    When trauma runs deep, it doesn’t just change how you feel, it changes how you see yourself standing in the world. It makes you shrink from your own reflection. It makes the body feel unfamiliar, undeserving.

    And because trauma often pushes you out of the community and into isolation, that physical self-doubt grows stronger. You start overthinking how you look, how you appear, how you are perceived.

    Every small gesture feels loaded, every silence feels like rejection.

    And when healing finally asks you to step back into society as your true self, it feels like stepping out without armour. It becomes one of the hardest parts of recovery, trying to feel like a “normal person” again, when nothing inside you has felt normal for years.

    What Trauma Leaves Behind

    Trauma brings out the beast in some and saint in another. Trauma can harden some, soften others, and leave some in between. It fractures people differently. And probably the one of the most remarkable qualities of being human is adaptability.

    If you have healed right, with no more grudges towards the world and the self, you retain the good qualities and also the ones which are required for this big bad world.

    But one thing about healing is, it is never linear. Even the strongest, most self-aware person will slip into old patterns sometimes. But slipping is not failing, it’s part of the recalibration.

    Each return to old wounds teaches you something new about your strength. And once you know how to navigate these slip-ups with grace, you naturally become someone who can steady others when they feel themselves falling.

    The Strength Hidden in Old Wounds

    There are many strengths asociated with healing, if done right. If the trauma taught you to be assertive for self protection (in fight mode), stand up for yourself, then now it’s just a superpower waiting to be used, whenever needed.

    You just need to switch it on, wield that hidden sword whenever you want. You see some wrong doing, you know you have the power and the assertive energy to stand up for anyone, only now you are intentional about it.

    The gear is manual now, you are not on autopilot mode anymore.

    When Kindness Becomes a Choice

    If your trauma tilted you toward fawning, a people pleaser, you will always know what hurts others. Being nice becomes a choice, not a necessity. You become kind and nice because you know the world is very harsh and you don’t want to hurt another traumatised soul.

    Some unhealed souls may call you a “doormat,” but you know it’s a choice. Healing teaches you when to step forward with warmth and when to step back with boundaries. Even your niceness becomes a form of strength, something you offer intentionally, not out of fear, but to bring a little healing into a harsh world.

    You want people who need some warmth and need some unsolicited kindness to get it from you.

    To me healed traumatised people make the world kinder.

    God only knows how much unsolicited kindness has healed the world!

    Hypervigilance – Reimagined as Wisdom

    And then you meet a hypervigilant, anxious person, who always thought we are all gonna die tomorrow because of the apocalypse or an earthquake or climate change or a bomb blast, or a fire accident. This person in their healing phase becomes an impeccable planner and risk assessor. They by choice tell people of any pitfalls that they are ignoring, in whatver domain they are able to assess risk.

    The erstwhile hypervigilant self, still notices things but knows how to use that information for benefiting others rather than going in a spiral alone.

    Why Healed People Make Empathetic Leaders

    People who survived chaos can become remarkable leaders. Their insight and resilience make them uniquely capable.
    People who lived through hypervigilance often excel at risk assessment.
    People who fawn often become excellent nurturers and relationship builders.

    Unprocessed trauma can distort a person’s relationship with power.
    But the same person with healed trauma has knowledge of empathy and boundaries, and other important aspects required for becoming a great leader.

    You see the good thing about trauma is if you are truly healed, you operate as a happier version of yourself, yet the teachings remain. You still remain the empathetic version that you truly needed.

    Does this mean everyone should go through deep trauma?
    Does this mean the heroes of your society the leaders should be those who have gone through traumatic events and healed?

    A good topic for research it seems!

    The Danger of Unhealed Power

    Unhealed people could be a menace for sure in leadership positions. We have many examples of such people, especially in political scenarios. The ability to watch the world burn but still be okay with it, is classic unhealed inner child behavior.

    Often, unprocessed childhood wounds manifest in adulthood as emotional volatility or disconnected empathy.

    It raises an important question: should emotional maturity be a prerequisite for leadership, just as education and experience are?

    Because more than anything, I would suggest the leaders we choose to go through a psychological analysis to understand how deep a trauma they have, and will it make them do cruel things to their citizens, without any accountability.

    Leaning On Those Who Have Done the Work

    Now, to expect we have absolutely unbroken people in this world is impossible. But we can lean on people who have learnt to heal. For one, they believe in changing for good, they are self aware, they are adaptable. They know what it means to be broken, yet they believe in living a good life and they know why it is important to heal for living that life.

    The Choice That Changes Everything

    Until we reach the stage, where all are happy and resilient, I would use the superpowers of those who have chosen peace over war any day.

    The power rests in choice, the choice to become a better human everyday.

  • How I Learned to Enjoy the Life I Already Have

    “He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.”
    Lao Tzu

    Scarcity breeds two fears: the fear of never having abundance again and the fear of losing what little you already have.

    There is a Taoist saying, “He who hoards much, loses much”—be it worry or money, I would say.

    This isn’t a note from a financial maestro advising you how to save or spend, but a reflection from someone who believes in thriving mentally, despite the economy we’re living in.

    The fear of abundance means expecting never to find wealth, health, time, or love again, whatever you once lacked.

    This fear can appear as the urge to clutch tightly what you have, no matter how little or much that is, and sometimes it shouts through a vulgar display of excess, stretching your own limits until it backfires.

    The wound that never heals

    This scarcity mindset may be either first-generation or multigenerational. It may have begun after an earthquake that you, or perhaps your grandfather, survived. It could be because of a major event that you or your family went through, something that’s long over, yet still vivid in memory.

    Scarcity trauma can also exist at the community level, even within religion. It may be local or far larger than you think, depending on how many people lived through that catastrophe.
    For example, the trauma of Partition or war is multigenerational and shared across vast regions. It changed people once and for many generations after.

    Sometimes the trauma is not because of any major catastrophe, but as the elder child you were told never to spend a lot, curb your wishes because your father did not make much. You were taught to give up on your wishes because that meant good for the family. You were forced to grow beyond your age.

    Whether that trauma makes you a spendthrift or a tight-fisted person depends on various factors. You may follow the YOLO (“you only live once”) approach or save for the rainy days, sometimes even for your 7th generation.

    The point is, no matter which approach you follow, both are extremes.

    Easier said than done, yes, but if you notice that you’re unhappy either way, whether as a super saver or a super spender, then you’re suffering. You are either always living for the moment or always waiting for the “big day” to enjoy, a day that is not coming anytime soon.

    The brain can’t feel what it never did

    You lash out at your family over a small purchase, fearing the loss of all you have. You lose sleep thinking about that catastrophic event recurring. You try to control every decision, yours and others’ to never “let go.” You might hide financial details, or you may have developed a sharp temper.

    On the other side, the over-spender spoils everyone or only themselves selfishly, like a revenge on the older times. They buy a fancy phone because they never had one but deny their family the abundance, fearing that generosity will invite more demands, which will ‘spoil’ them.

    Some buy endlessly for others, mistaking spending for love, raising a family that doesn’t understand money or its meaning. One wound endured while another wound created.

    Whether you hoard or overspend, you’ve likely become friends with the “not feeling happy” way of life.

    And while you are unhappy, remember that those who depend on you, live with you, or love you are unhappy with you too.

    Is this pain real or is your brain still defending you?

    No one is denying your pain! It happened; it surely did! But what you do with your life now matters just as much.

    One reality is that the traumatic event happened, that phase you had to endure. Another reality is that you are doing well today. You have someone you can care for today. And even if it isn’t someone else, it’s you whom you can care for, in a healthy way.

    I’m not asking people to go big or go small, neither to save it all nor to spend it all. I’m asking for objectivity.

    Reconsider how you manage your finances:
    Is there a heavy feeling of fear, shame, guilt, or regret behind it?
    Is it fair to put yourself through this pain?
    Is it fair to deprive those who depend on you or to never teach them how to handle money with balance?

    Neither too much nor too little—just the art of balance.

    Living in circles

    Ask yourself: Is living in the future or the past worth wasting your present?

    People living with the fear of scarcity often forget that the brain remembers not only the past but also the present. The life you’re living now is being inscribed in memory every day, telling your brain how safe or unsafe you are.

    Many people say, “I’ll save up for that big vacation,” and wait ten years before doing any other thing to make themselves happy. And finally, it happens.

    But what also happens is the void that follows.

    The happiness lasted only until the dream became real. And when the time to enjoy came that vacation, they couldn’t. They were never used to enjoying anything, not even a simple visit to an ice cream parlor.

    The dopamine of waiting faded once they arrived. But the other chemicals of happiness, the ones that make you feel joy and relaxation, did not flow, because they were never did. The body doesn’t feel safe enough to relax and experience happiness.

    Overwhelmed by emotions, they might cry, fight, freeze, or leave, not because they don’t want joy, but because they no longer know how to handle it.

    The tyranny of right moment that you missed

    Sometimes it’s the age, the situation, or the people you are, or aren’t with.

    This is when you should realize that certain things make sense only when done at the right time. No amount of money or power can recreate the happiness that needed the right moment and the right people.

    A trip at 21 to an abandoned fort with your friends, funded by pocket money, feels entirely different from a trip at 40 with colleagues to a five-star hotel in a premium city. It might look great on social media, but it does little for your soul.

    The small Saturday ritual of going on a long drive with your family, eating your favorite snacks, and listening to music will do far more for your nervous system than waiting until 50 to travel to New York with kids who have grown up and grown apart.

    Nobody can enjoy life as a family that never learned to enjoy together.

    It’s not the destination, it’s the objective, the process, the practice for the big thing that matters more.

    Imagine out of fear, despite being able to afford more, you always wore inexpensive clothes or ate only at cheap places. What happens when you finally wear a beautifu expensivel outfit or are invited to a Michelin-starred restaurant? In both cases, you’ll feel out of place.

    Out of shame, you might fidget and eat nervously. Or, trying to overcompensate, you might flaunt your money and behave as if you don’t belong there. You will feel like an imposter.

    Either way, you’ll look like someone unaccustomed to this, not just outwardly, but inwardly.

    The point isn’t appearance; it’s your ability to genuinely enjoy what you always wished for.

    We can live, a little everyday!

    That’s why you should stretch a little, in terms of both time and money, for yourself and for your family and friends.

    Keep yourself accustomed to being happy. So even if you never reach your final goal, you’ll have enjoyed the process so much that it won’t matter anymore. And if you do reach it, you’ll enjoy it even more, it will feel truly worth it.

    So live a little every day. Eat that fancy ice cream. Buy that nice watch. Take a day trip to a resort. Get a comfortable chair for your work desk. Hang good curtains in your room.

    Do one good thing every few months that feels slightly out of your budget, just to remind yourself that you can make it.

    Spoil your family a little. Tell them, “We have enough, and we’ll have more, but we’ll enjoy what we have, even if we don’t.”

    Don’t mock those who spend or those who don’t. Stay true to what you can and can’t do. Don’t become a crybaby of jealousy or insecurity.

    And finally

    Tell your brain: All is well. All will be well.
    You are allowed to be happy right now, with whatever you have.

    There is no fixed criterion for happiness, only a mindset.
    And if the heaviness returns, remind it gently that,

    You’re strong enough to handle it. You can make it work.

    Trust the process, and keep going.

    And this makes me think of Philip Doddridge when he said,
    “Let us live while we live.”