Tag: relationships

  • Cancerians: The Emotionally Intelligent Achievers

    (Born Between June 21 to July 22)

    Cancerians are perhaps one of the most fascinating zodiac signs. Often misunderstood as overly emotional or sensitive, they’re actually among the most complex and balanced personalities, masters at navigating both personal and professional worlds.

    In relationships, Cancerians can be a dream to be with. Caring, loyal, and deeply invested in the emotional well-being of their loved ones, they go far beyond the stereotype of being “just emotional.” They don’t just say things, they do.

    They’re also incredibly ambitious and hardworking. Many Cancerians are fiercely goal-oriented and take pride in excelling at what they do.

    The problem solvers

    What sets them apart is their deep desire to solve problems not just at work, but emotionally too. Even when they’re feeling stuck, their minds are quietly working on a way out. Before you’d suggest them to seek therapy for their mental health, they would already be done with 2 sessions.

    Ironically, this drive can sometimes lead them to suppress their feelings and throw themselves into work as a distraction. This emotional bypassing can eventually lead to burnout or numbness. So one of the most important lessons for Cancerians is to prioritize emotional healing just as much as their career.

    The overworked Cancerian

    They’re fully capable of balancing work and life, but only when things are going well. Their perfectionist tendencies often push them to put themselves last. They want to be the best at everything, and when things don’t go as planned, it can cause deep internal stress. Still, they rarely show it outwardly.

    Professionally, they maintain a composed and strategic front. They are always trying to hone their skills, and learn new things which makes them a wonderful asset to any organization.

    The social hero

    Their emotional intelligence also makes them loyal friends and nurturing partners. However, this can turn into overprotectiveness. And since they tend to hide their own emotions, they may sometimes come off as distant or cold. But beneath that exterior lies a heart that is always thinking of how to make life better for the people they care about. Their love is quiet, consistent, and powerful, even if it’s not always obvious.

    Cancerians are typically non-confrontational. They dislike loud fights or drama and value peace.

    Naturally diplomatic and wise, they thrive in people-centric careers,marketing, public relations, counseling ,anywhere their empathy and social skills can shine.

    In the head of a Cancerian

    At their core, Cancerians are deep thinkers. They overanalyze, reflect, and constantly seek meaning beyond the surface. Once they’ve checked the boxes of material success, they begin to search for something deeper like purpose, truth, fulfillment. They are always deeper than they seem to be, they may act humble but they have already made an opinion about things you haven’t even started thinking about.

    But this depth can sometimes be misread as arrogance. They hold themselves to high standards and expect the same of others, which might come across as controlling or distant. Despite being humble and helpful, they don’t always open up easily or engage in surface-level connections.

    The one who bounces back

    Because they give so much mentally, emotionally, spiritually, they’re vulnerable to disappointment when others don’t reciprocate. And even though they may not ask for help or show their wounds, they often carry silent emotional burdens.

    Still, Cancerians tend to know how to live well. They value stability, success, and reputation. They work hard to earn, maintain their image, and care for their health. They are gritty by nature.

    They are usually surrounded by many friends, though only a handful get close to their heart. Kind, helpful, and emotionally intuitive, they’re also smart enough to know when they’re being taken advantage of.

    They are natural leaders who are systematic, strategic, and excellent team players. They’re often great at research and analysis, thriving in intellectually stimulating environments. Many also excel in sports or physical health because they know how to care for their body and mind and have an ability to focus and train fiercely when required.

    The charming one

    They usually enjoy being quietly famous, admired by many because of their well rounded persona.

    Because they’re generally good at everything, you’ll find Cancerians succeeding in both athletic and academic fields. That doesn’t mean they never fail or fall sick, it just means they are gritty and determined. They don’t like staying stuck. They always find a way to move forward.

    Friendship and Social circle

    Cancerians are different from other sun signs, in terms of having a particular sense of people they want to be friends with. Cancerians are feelers, and they love talking, sharing their ideas and having conversations of all kinds. Hence, they need people who can keep up with their curiosity and are as diverse and keen as they are. They usually befriend people who are at least on the same IQ level, but definitely not less. They are also more civil and sophisticated than their surroundings and want to act in a way that doesn’t attract unwarranted and negative attention. They inherently always work on looking elegant and behaving more appropriately than where they come from.

    Hence they also tend to avoid people, who are always crying for attention through their behavior. If they love to be seen in public with you, then pat yourself, it’s an obvious reminder that you are better than you think. You have potential.

    The entrapment

    Their natural talent and strong work ethic often lead to success, and fame. But this ease of material accomplishment can become a trap. They may get caught in the success cycle and neglect their emotional needs or loved ones. That’s why it’s essential for them to slow down, enjoy the present, and spend time with people who matter without always thinking about the “next big thing.”

    Although Cancerians are not selfish, their mental priority list can make them appear that way. They’re headstrong and focused, but they still value input from those around them. They’re high on self-preservation and tend to avoid drama. Fun, but not at someone else’s expense. Idealistic, but grounded. They are particular about the principles they follow, and can’t be dissuaded easily.

    They’re also revolutionary in thought, natural thinkers who challenge outdated ideas and strive to improve life for themselves and their families. When it becomes too much, you will find them protesting on the roads. Yet they’re rarely reckless. You won’t usually find Cancerians engaging in risky behavior. They aren’t addicts or gamblers; they take calculated risks and tend to stick to their values.

    Love me or hate me

    In love, they can get possessive and insecure, but they never let those feelings damage the relationship. They’re not messy emotionally, they just love deeply. However, because there’s so much going on internally, sometimes you’ll need to earn their attention or ask for it directly. Passive-aggression or sarcasm won’t work, just be honest. If they sense they’re unwanted, they quietly retreat. They will give their loved one many chances but once they are done with the negativity, it’s over with them. You won’t want to be on the other side of that emotional detachment. It’s not that they’re vengeful, it’s that once they stop caring, they really stop.

    Their care may seem intense at times, but they’re skilled at reading social cues and usually won’t burden others. Even if they’re hurting, they won’t show it unless they feel safe.

    The curious one

    They are natural learners who love to explore the world, through travel, books, or conversations that open new ways of thinking. Their minds are curious, and their hearts are open. They have no attachment to outdated beliefs or habits that don’t serve them; in fact, they’re often the first to drop what’s flawed and move forward.

    Coconut Cancerian

    While they seem incredibly self-sufficient, Cancerians do need a solid emotional support system. Sometimes, it might feel like they lean on others just to recharge before diving back into their driven, professional world, but that’s only because they feel deeply and need emotional fuel to keep going. At their core, they’re sensitive souls masked as go-getters.

    World is their oyster

    They are also highly motivated by how the world perceives them. Whether it’s fashion, food, tech, or the latest trends within their area of interest, Cancerians love staying relevant not to show off, but to feel connected, capable, and part of something meaningful. They don’t chase attention; they chase alignment.

    In the end, Cancerians are quietly powerful. They might not always shout their strengths from rooftops, but if you pay attention, you’ll see them steadily building, deeply feeling, subtly leading, and always evolving. They’re the kind of people who make life richer through their loyalty, ambition, empathy, and silent determination to do right by themselves and those they love.

    And perhaps that’s what makes them so unforgettable.

    The negatives

    An unhealed Cancerian can come off as emotionally selfish and distant. They speak less, often opening up only to those they feel deeply connected to, and when that connection fades, so does their warmth. Rather than express what’s wrong, they shut down, making others feel unseen despite their efforts. Their emotional intelligence may still be present on the surface, but deep down, they’ve already withdrawn. Over time, they may become completely inaccessible.

    Also, because they are particular about knowledge and behaviour in general, if in the long term, one tends to behave inappropriately and if a cancerian has started to feel embarrassed because of you, they might avoid hanging out with you. They are rigid about outward presentation like that and can’t just be casual about it.

    Word of advice:

    Dear Cancerian,

    You already carry so much with grace, grit, and quiet resilience. You’re not “just emotional,” you’re deeply strategic with a radar for what people feel but won’t say. That’s your gift and your weight.

    So here’s your reminder: You don’t have to carry everything. Let some things unfold without micromanaging the outcome. Let love be light sometimes, not a responsibility to fix. And please feel without always needing to find a solution. You don’t need to earn rest. You don’t need to be useful all the time to be worthy of joy.

    Nourish your own inner world, not just others’. You are allowed to be messy, dreamy, and just be, without an agenda. You’re not failing if you slow down. You’re healing.

    Disclaimer

    This post is meant to be a light-hearted and fun exploration of Cancerian traits based on sun sign astrology. It is not intended to hurt, stereotype, or generalize anyone. We are all unique, and astrology is just one lens among many to understand personality. Please take it with a pinch of salt and enjoy it in the spirit it’s written-with curiosity and good humor!

  • Seeing the Driver Within: Self-Awareness as a Way of Life

    This is an essay about something we hear daily, in every motivational video, every honest podcast, even in conversations with friends, partners, or children.

    It’s self-awareness.

    Everyone talks about it, but few truly engage with it. It’s often mistaken for a punishment , considered a burden, a summit to conquer, a painful confrontation with the self.

    People assume self-awareness is anti-ego, a punch to one’s pride.

    How can I have issues? Aren’t I a decent human being? Why should I worry about how my behavior affects others? Am I not troubled by them too?

    We tell ourselves, “We can just move past it. Forget it. Shove it. Drink on it. Sleep on it. Everything but deal with it? Why bother?”

    We’ve built a culture of zero accountability. A myth that our personalities are fixed at birth, that children act out because it’s in their genes, that adults are how they are because God made them that way. So why change? Why even try?

    I believed these things once. But then I learned.

    There’s extensive research on this, human behavior isn’t just a random trait; it’s largely acquired. Yes, acquired, not “owned,” not “innate.”

    Our behaviors are deeply influenced by:

    1. Where and when we were born – the country, the city, the traditions, the safety or danger level of our environment.
    2. Our family structure – how we were raised, whether the home was loving or dysfunctional, healthy or chaotic.
    3. Financial conditions and parental health — how much stress existed in the house, how much care children received.
    4. Education and peer groups — the kind of schooling and societal pressures we were exposed to.
    5. Safety and trauma — including exposure to crime, abuse, or neglect.

    Even in good homes, other subtle forces shape us:

    1. The food we eat, the boundaries set, the moral values passed on.
    2. Whether we were taught to handle emotions or suppress them.
    3. If we had access to safe adults or relied on friends and media for guidance.
    4. If we were encouraged to ask questions or silenced for being difficult.

    And then there are the negatives:

    1. Did we grow up in chaos and develop coping mechanisms just to survive?
    2. Were we expected to raise ourselves – or worse, our parents and siblings?
    3. Were our choices constantly shamed, our emotions dismissed, our voices unheard?
    4. Did we watch our caregivers ignore their health, never take breaks, or suppress their own feelings with addictions?

    Hence, even the tiniest patterns in daily life come from this early conditioning. A child who was never nurtured may grow up not knowing how to care for themselves.

    Whether you take a bath every day or not , yes, even that, might trace back to your upbringing.

    Children who weren’t taught how to deal with emotions may end up looking fine on the outside, but are numbing on the inside. They might throw themselves into books, sports, or art, not out of passion, but as a survival technique.

    Others may go down darker paths like addiction, crime, or dangerous behavior. Some are calling for attention. Others are trying to silence their own minds.

    But all of them need guidance – until at least the age of 25 – to make sense of life.

    As adults, our personalities ,be it good and bad, are shaped by these early scripts.

    They influence our career choices, relationships, addictions, emotional patterns, even how we handle food, rest, or routine.

    So does this mean we’re off the hook? Not at all.

    It means: if someone asks you to look into your behavior, take a pause. Don’t defend or attack. Reflect.

    If you grew up in a home with an unstable food situation, you might now overeat, undereat, cling to certain foods, or feel disconnected from food altogether. That’s not shameful. It’s a story. A root.

    And self-awareness means noticing it, not blaming yourself for it.

    You can still have personal preferences, but if a behavior is hurting you or your relationships, wouldn’t it help to understand why?

    Self-awareness is not an apology letter. It’s not a TED Talk you deliver to everyone around you.

    It’s a personal manual you quietly update. It means you choose knowledge over ignorance, introspection over projection.

    It doesn’t make you better or worse than anyone else. It just makes you a work-in-progress, like all of us.

    It creates space for kindness, because once you see a trait in someone, you begin to ask: “What story does this belong to?” Instead of judging, maybe we offer a little grace.

    And even if we decide to step back, we don’t carry resentment.

    This isn’t abstract talk. Self-awareness is one of the most powerful tools we have to live an intentional life. In tough times or big decisions, a little backtracking into our behavioral roots can change the game.

    And if we can’t decode it ourselves , that’s why professionals exist.

    But we must understand: self-awareness is an investment. Its effects are subtle, but lifelong.

    It won’t transform you overnight, but it will transform your life.

    And if, as families or communities, we begin to live this way, the ripple effect would be magical. A near-utopia.

    Imagine if we truly understand ourselves. We’d know our emotional switches. We’d know what version of us needs to show up, and when.

    We’d respond, not react.

    We wouldn’t be living on autopilot. We’d be manually cruising.

    And how cool is that?

  • May Be We Meet Again: Parallel Lives and the Journey of the Soul

    We live under the illusion of closeness, but perhaps no two souls ever truly meet. We orbit, we intertwine, we collide in emotion, in time, in memory, yet remain untouched at the core.

    Like parallel lines, we move close enough to feel fused, yet never lose our separateness.

    Love, friendship, marriage and even ‘bhakti’/devotion to god ,they promise union. But is union ever real, or is it a longing? 

    A dream of dissolving into someone else, only to return to ourselves more aware of the space that separates?

    In the dance of destiny, maybe it’s not about merging but witnessing, walking beside, never within. The ache we feel isn’t always from disconnection, but from the illusion that connection must erase the self.

    The geometry of relationships

    As children, we seek fusion. We want to be held so closely that there is no boundary between us and the world.

    But adulthood demands a quiet reckoning: that no matter how deeply we love, how long we stay, or how fiercely we feel, we remain distinctly ourselves. 

    This is not a failure of connection, but perhaps its highest form, to be known without vanishing, to be loved without dissolving.

    Relationships then become less about becoming one, and more about walking parallel, close, attuned, affected, yet sovereign.

    Romantically, we often chase the fantasy of completion. When we fall in love, there’s a hunger, to be engulfed, or to engulf.

    We want to devour and be devoured, physically and emotionally. 

    But even the most intense love can end in a painful fallout. Hearts shatter. The pain feels irreparable, and sometimes, maybe it is. Yet even if there is no falling out, even when passion is shared, yet there is a feeling of emptiness. 

    It feels even after pouring your cup completely, something in you still remains, untouched, undisturbed, unspilled.

    And that what remains is the ‘I’ which never loses itself, no matter how much we try to give it away.

    Sometimes we come across those friendships that make us believe we can’t function without the other. We cling. We depend. Our happiness and sadness depend on the existence of others.

    These siamese twins are not conjoined physically, but in emotion.

    And then the lore of marriage. The popular belief that marriage is the goal which will lead to the bliss that everyone has the right to. But even when love fades in a marriage, we hold onto the belief that this person is our eternal anchor, still our savior, the messiah. 

    And despite this yearning and this effort to keep the relationship intact, this bond frays, the warmth goes away. The hope to attain this ultimate bliss quietly diminishes.

    We may emotionally be hanging on by a thread, even if, officially, the relationship stays intact.

    When I try to reach God

    Spiritually, when we speak of merging with a higher power or becoming one with all, this idea rests on a profound paradox. In non-dual traditions like Advaita Vedanta and certain schools of Buddhism, the individual soul is not separate from the ultimate reality, it is the higher power. The boundaries between “I” and “other” dissolve; there is only oneness. 

    The self is seen as an illusion, and awakening means realizing that soul and divine are one and the same. Probably this is where our present form of amorous love takes inspiration from.

    At the same time, dualistic traditions such as Sufism and Vaishnavism speak of an eternal coexistence with the divine, where the soul remains distinct yet forever united with the ultimate source of love.

    In these paths, the “I” does not disappear but lives in a loving relationship with the beloved, the divine, never losing its identity even in transcendence.

    This tension, the paradox of unity and individuality, deeply shapes the spiritual journey. 

    How can personal bliss flourish when the self both dissolves into oneness and yet must remain distinct? 

    The very essence of personal joy and love seems to depend on the presence of a unique “I.”

    Is there an absolute answer?

    True bliss is found not in choosing between these different spiritual views but in embracing their coexistence: being one with everything, coexisting amicably with everything and also the one, yet profoundly oneself. 

    It is the delicate dance of merging and standing apart, finding peace in the mystery that the self can be infinite and intimate all at once.

    And that brings me to the metaphor of parallel lines. Lines that are impossibly close, running together for infinity, and yet, never meeting.

    This, I feel, is the nature of all human connection. We may walk side by side, but we do not merge. Our identities never fully dissolve.

    The “I” always remains

    I may give you everything but still something in me remains, which is mine, forever. And even I can’t erase it.

    Even the most submissive among us still carries an “I” that wants to exist. 

    Romantically, this realization may feel melancholic, never to melt into one with a soulmate.

    But spiritually, it’s almost magical, to feel union, while still remembering who we are.

    If there were no individuality, how would we even experience oneness?

    The vastness of ‘I’

    This sense of “I” is not ego. It’s awareness. The I that chooses relationships or the path to eternal bliss.

    It’s the part that lets us appreciate connection without losing selfhood.

    If I extend this back to earthly relationships, it challenges the fairytale endings that were sold.

    Passionate love is supposed to mean becoming one, souls merging, personalities entwined. But maybe the real bliss comes from preserving awareness. 

    Of being two individuals, consciously choosing to flow together, not disappear into each other.

    The need to understand ‘I’

    At the risk of sounding too rational, sometimes, logic is the gateway to emotional and spiritual freedom. 

    The more I become aware of myself, the more clearly I can hear what my soul longs for, and move toward it, until it’s within reach.

    To understand this ‘I’, one needs inner work, spiritual and psychological. To let go of the ego which inhibits understanding of oneself, a deterrent in attaining true happiness. 

    When we make enough effort to realize who we are and what we want, it’s easier to decide which path to take to reach the ultimate goal that we have defined for our life.

    The evolving journey of ‘ours’

    The takeaway for me is this, life is a personal journey. Not necessarily alone, but always individual. You may want to consume someone, or be consumed. But you never truly can. 

    We co-exist, just like parallel lines. Sometimes infinitesimally close. Sometimes drifting apart. 

    And sometimes, like in non-Euclidean geometry, paths that were never aligned might finally meet, after an eternity.

    And maybe that’s the quiet beauty of it all. In a world where nothing truly fuses, we still reach. 

    That despite the certainty of separation, we still choose to walk, to witness, to love.

    That even if our paths never truly intersect, the nearness of another soul becomes its own kind of grace. 

    We orbit one another, not to complete, but to reflect, to remind, to remember that we were never meant to vanish into someone else, but to fully arrive in ourselves, again and again, alongside those who do the same.

    Perhaps we were never meant to merge, only to meet, like light through glass. Just passing through, never clinging, casting something beautiful in its wake.

  • The Roles We Play-The People We Forget

    She stood in the kitchen, not because she loved to cook, but because being a wife meant she had to. He fixed the pipe, not because he was good at it, but because being a man meant he had to. 

    Beneath their roles, they were just tired people longing to be seen.

    Why do we choose to live as roles instead of just us? 

    Roles that we inherit due to our birth, that are assigned to us or based on what we want to be in a personal relationship, where we come from, our gender , and even our caste or race.

    We don’t just inherit roles, we crave love through them. As a child, we wish our parents would see us beyond performance. As adults, we carry that wish into marriage, friendships, and families. But instead of intimacy, roles offer scripts.

    Because it seems as though we’ve forgotten that beneath these roles, there’s a human being trying to make sense of the world, struggling to keep up with expectations and standards that are not their own, but set by others.

    One instance of our prejudice about roles is menial work. Blue-collar work is not respected as much in India because people are seen for the work they do, not for the human they are. 

    We fail to recognize the privileges we have and how they shape the way we interact with others in a society.

    The emotional burden of performance

    One of the things growing up I have always resented is how easily anybody is insulted when they are not doing the job intended for them as per the standard set by the society, beyond the salary or money involved, but sometimes including that too.

    We are reduced to tasks, roles, and duties, based on time, tradition, culture, location, and gender and are judged by how well we fulfill the expected roles, and this judgment is constant. 

    There’s no room for understanding the complexities of a person’s life or the struggles they face. 

    Instead, we’ve built a system where anyone can become a judge, offering critiques and shame without empathy. 

    The masks we wear

    It’s almost as if every person is a machine, expected to perform at the same level of efficiency and productivity without deviation, without room for humanity. 

    I wonder who said ‘we are all born unique’!

    And when someone doesn’t meet these expectations, it’s easy for society to point the finger. 

    But when those same judges are asked to look inward and examine their own flaws, the room falls silent. 

    Bubbles in my head

    These accountability questions lead to a cycle of shame, hurt, and dejection in the heart of the person who was busy judging others but never tried to take a look inside. 

    People feel as though they’re never good enough, that they’re failing at a role something they never even chose to play. 

    They seek acceptance, to be seen beyond their roles. They want someone to tell them it’s okay to not be perfect. 

    They want someone to tell them not to be so harsh to themselves. But more often than not, society offers no space for such grace.

    Despite this core desire of being accepted for who they are without being shamed for their perceived inefficiencies, the hurt and imperfect people cover this shame, and dejection because yes, maybe they are “so weak and inefficient’, because that’s how deep the conditioning is.

    Or they would turn these complex feelings into anger, that nobody is willing to help them or understand them yet are willing to judge them.

    So they build a chasm, or they become a doormat.

    They are willing to be treated like the worst person as their punishment, or they are willing to wear the strongest emotional armour so that nobody and nothing, no warmth and love, can pass through it.

    The fixation on structure v/s desire to flow

    This brings me to a bigger question: Why do we care so much about roles? 

    Why is it that our relationships, our entire way of living, is based on these predetermined expectations? 

    Is it a trust issue? Do we believe that if we don’t define everything, love and care won’t flow naturally? 

    Why do we prioritize tradition over genuine expressions of love, even when it suffocates us? 

    Why do we feel trapped by expectations from people who may not even love us?

    Unless there is some psychological reasoning behind it, for example, parents have to take care of the young ones because young ones are dependent on adults, hence they can’t worry about the child’s expression of love towards them, there is no room for discussion on why we have to continue to keep living up those roles which feel more like a burden.

    Putting my thinking cap on

    Shouldn’t expectations from the role we play in our relationships as adults should be on the basis of how the person is, rather than pre writing, pre-ordaining it?

    Because it puts the onus on the person themself, whether they want to be in that role or not, instead of society thrusting their traditions on them. There is a greater accountability in their behavior, should they choose to be in a certain role/relationship.

    For example, in modern married couples, both partners work. Why should gender roles still define who does the housework and who works outside?

    Why can’t the husband cook because he’s better at it, or the wife handle the finances because she’s better at it? 

    Haven’t we progressed enough to have a mature discussion with our partners and parents about how we would like to lead our life?

    Why do we still need religion and tradition to tell us if we are falling short of our own responsibilities, or what living a healthy relationship should look like?

    What exactly is missing?

    Is it education? Or is it critical thinking? Is it the belief that humans don’t or can’t change?

    Maybe some people should be left alone because they don’t want to take any responsibility. Society has to expect not everyone is born to build a family.

    The rigged system- Role inequality in marriage & family

    This also leads to another dilemma, why should everybody have the same set of roles and responsibilities to live up to, against their will?

    For instance, why should people be forced to marry if they are really not interested in sharing that ideology with anyone? What for them marriage should be just a label and they still live their life like when they were unmarried, without any burden? 

    Why should every couple marry, if they are happily making it work without a label? Why should monogamy be the norm for a couple if the couple is okay with polygamy or open relationships, or many other new formats out there? 

    Why should every person grow up with this notion that they will get a partner despite making zero efforts in becoming a good match? 

    Why should every couple think about becoming a parent just because society expects them to? 

    Why can’t friends raise a family together, and still date outside?

    Why should only the husband have to worry about finances and a house, why raising kids should be a concern for the mother only? Why is birthing the only way to become a parent? 

    Why aren’t people with pets acknowledged as a family?

    Why do people inherently think they will automatically have the right to their parents’ property or partner’s hard work, despite being an abuser to them? 

    Why should society decide how adult children take care of their parents? Why only daughters leave their house after marriage, why not the couple choose where they would like to live and how to take care of each other’s family? 

    Why is adoption looked down upon, even if the couple is able to conceive? Why adopt only neurotypical children? Why parents aren’t encouraged to adopt disabled or neurodivergent or special children?

    Why should a couple be told how many kids they should birth and what their gender should be? Why can’t a mother choose whether she wishes to work or not after having children or whether she wants to halt her career for raising kids? 

    When would it end?

    When a man and woman get married, the woman is expected to know cooking, house chores, and caretaking of elderly and children by default. It is never considered whether she is even interested in cooking, or caretaking or how skilled she is. 

    She is expected to cook and do house work like a professional, whereas for the same work there are professional degrees out there and men are at the helm of all these fields. 

    Men get the medals for performing best at these jobs which are basically domestic work for a woman, but a woman is never appreciated for the similar hard work she puts in to make a house, a family work.

    It’s said she’s born to be a slave (read wife and a mother) and shouldn’t complain.

    The husband has to know how saving works, and bring home the maximum amount of salary and financial freedom without understanding whether he is skilled to do that.

    He should do the heavy physical work of the house, be the alpha, and be aggressive. He also should be ready to fire a punch when required, and has to be the engineer, plumber, carpenter and mechanic of the house. 

    He has to put his personal goals aside, to meet the family goals always. A man’s life is about providing, he can’t dream of pursuing anything for his soul while taking care of his family.

    He can’t ask his wife to take care of the finances, should he feel not strong or inclined enough.

    The man is ridiculed for being soft and emotional and if pursues art as a hobby. He is made fun of if talks about emotions and self care.

    His identity is defined by the hours he spends at work, and the money he brings in. He would be shamed if he is dependent on his wife financially or if she earns more than him.

    A man is not a human being, but money making machine and free of cost handy-man for life.

    He also has to be on his masculine side always and if as a husband is warm to his wife and as a father is caring for his children, then he is made fun of like he is being too soft to be called a man. 

    Men can’t be feminist, else according to the society they’d lose their masculinity. Men can’t be non violent too, because that means they are just weak.

    If a husband chooses to earn less or looks less physically appealing than her wife, like shorter height, then society keeps reminding the couple how the wife is at the losing end.

    In the same breath, if the wife is less pretty, is not good at housework, tends to fight for her rights, has a voice and is a feminist (as they say it), then she is continuously reminded she is not the ideal partner her husband should get. 

    The best wife is a submissive kind who has no rights and voice of her own.

    When the wife expects financial support from the husband apart from the house expenditure, then she is ridiculed that she is supposed to sacrifice and made to feel like a burden and a money waster. 

    Whereas a husband can bring any number of guests to cater to and the wife should be ready to put up with a smile at any time of the day because of what the role demands.

    But the husband can say no to any demand in the name of only earner hence decision maker of the house, even after being aware that wife has no other avenue and time to earn money.

    Men are made the alpha, with only the criteria of money, without assesing how well they are taking care of their family.

    A wife is only custodian of the money that her husband earns, she can’t ask for an allowance, in fact she has to think before asking, else she will be ridiculed for being a spent thrift and called greedy. She is expected to never save and can be asked for her assets or jewellery to be sold at any point, without her consent. 

    This has already created dual pressure on women these days, to be a perfect homemaker and excellent at office work too. She can’t think of not earning, because whenever she will need money, she’d be made to feel like a beggar.

    This is the female empowerment, to save oneself from the insult. Instead of teaching men their responsibility and healthy mindset about it, women have to figure it out themselves.

    Women have to overperform to be heard, to be safe, to be respected. Not because they are weak, but because the system was never built to protect them, only to contain them. 

    Also, only a man’s work is valued because it is economically productive yet on the other side, the man is not supposed to enjoy any family bliss and has to spend his days only providing for family. 

    The number of hours and the hard work both the partners are putting in to make the family work are not accounted for equitably.

    Sometimes, I actually wonder is patriarchy even beneficial to men? Wouldn’t feminism actually empower them ?

    The cycle of pain goes on

    Parents have to be always on the providing end and children take no responsibility as adults, especially if parents are not able to.

    Parents are unwilling to adjust and change their lifestyles as per their adult children’s capacity, leading to tension between both the generations. 

    ‘It was your job to raise us’, that’s what parents get to hear. Or ‘we did so much for you, yet you complain’, told by parents to their children.

    These are the normal discourse between adult children and parents, where no side is willing to take any accountability of their behavior and how they could be hurting one another.

    All these scenarios, just indicate one side sacrificing their heart and body out and other reaping benefits of the love the other person is pouring, without any accountability.

    What starts as a tired sigh in the kitchen or a quiet resentment at work soon reveals a larger pattern. These aren’t personal failures. They’re systemic expectations. And they shape every household, every marriage, every mind.

    Disadvantages of preset roles and responsibilities

    People take advantage of the system, and repent despite falling short of that role. 

    For example in a lot of family disputes, adults who are not even properly taking care of their old parents, harass them for money and property. 

    In many marriages, one partner exploits the other in the name of the traditional role set by the society. A husband who doesn’t contribute financially still expects his wife to do all the housework with grace and might even push her for earning.

    A wife who is not interested in taking care of her side of duties, makes a big deal when her husband doesn’t support her financially.

    Men expecting dowry and women dragging and blackmailing men in the name of women’s rights to get alimony is the new trend.

    Societal rigidity vs personal choice

    All of these issues, according to me, could be resolved, if people just accepted their shortcomings and had an honest conversation about what they want from that relationship. 

    It shouldn’t be about this is how things have been done till now but more about this is what i’m able to offer, and is the other one agreeing to accept that.

    I am my own enemy

    The problem is people associating their behavior with their role, instead of assessing their own actions, they tend to maintain a report card of every other person.

    It seems, we are completely driven by ego, not by love. 

    We just don’t want to be blamed, yet in that process if we lose peace and happiness, then that’s okay.

    People tend to have a fair idea about where the other person is falling short and why they need to be ridiculed for being inefficient.

    But if you truly ask them, “why do you think the other person is inefficient?”, they have some brazen responses which include shaming people, calling them lazy, selfish, manipulative, and cruel.

    And if you ask them why they themselves are falling short in their own role, then they’d give you a laundry list of reasons, which eventually means, cut them some slack and not bother with judgment, have some pity on them.

    The abyss within

    All in all, the discussions are always futile because you can never reach a consensus point with someone who is unwilling to have a real discussion about themselves and those who are unwilling to extend grace to others.

    This always makes me wonder why there are such major trust issues in all of our relationships.

    And then I observe, during their childhood, none of these people were extended any grace or honesty or space to be themselves.

    So today, they struggle to name their feelings and emotions.

    They are scared of those big feelings, which stop them from performing their ideal tasks.

    They have learnt to cut corners and manipulate emotions to always have the upper hand in that toxic relationship.

    Instead of fixing the issues, they feel ashamed of discussing how they are struggling in some area of their life.

    They struggle and scoff at asking for help because since childhood the message was: you are weak if you are feeling sad and hurt, you are weak if you need a shoulder to cry on.

    They shame those who try to seek help and fix their relationships. Their answer to everything is ‘just drop this and move on’ or ‘who cares if anybody is hurting, as long as we are happy’.

    We have absolutely no awareness about what emotional stability, and processing is.

    We only care about emotional resilience, which should be automatic to every human being, which today, research has clearly stated, is a skill taught by parents.

    There’s light at the end of this tunnel

    So I will extend the grace, despite being disappointed that people don’t try to fix their relationships.

    I will pity them because they haven’t understood there is a better way to live out there.

    The least we can do as a society is to believe people are trying really hard and they still need to be celebrated. 

    We can motivate them to be something more, but never shame them for who they are, vehemently trying to achieve, yet failing in the eyes of society.

    In the USA, when homeless people were given a home like normal people for six months with no questions asked, they were able to integrate back into society more easily, because it was easy for them to feel normal. They didn’t feel they were homeless.

    I guess the same thinking we need here.

    We need to tell people that you are loved despite your shortcomings, but they have to stop hurting people in the name of a role.

    A hope for future

    There is a need to understand what we are supposed to be as humans: just nice and kind people who don’t treat others like doormats. 

    We also need to understand when it’s a privilege to be born in a certain way be it gender or caste or physical appearance or to find oneself in a certain role, without much effort, enjoying its benefits.

    And not to ridicule others who are trying their best despite all odds, trying to earn the role that you easily received without being grateful about it.

    At this point of civilization, with so much knowledge and experience and the pain of pandemics, natural disasters and wars and looming dangers of climate change, let’s try to find the value of human life as is, without the fear that we are here to hurt each other, rather to be loved by one another.

    Additional thoughts to munch on

    Professionally, all good organizations give a long grace period for people to try. And since it’s a corporation, it will ask you to let go if after some time you are not meeting the job requirements. 

    But it does give you a training period or even before firing, a chance to up your skill, to try to live up to the role you chose to take. Some organizations give a chance to change departments, should a person feel a lack of interest or want to hone their skills in a different way. 

    In any case, a good company tries to keep you on, with constant dialogue.

    But should we, or could we, do that in personal relationships?

    Divorce is already an official example of people not meeting their roles.

    But what about other blood relationships?

    Since we already have had many conversations on toxic relationships and chucking them, can we have a conversation on how to make relationships work?

    Can we try not to push people away?

    In professional and political spaces, a description of roles is necessary, else how will one assess the performance. Yet many times human angle wins and despite shortcomings, people are appreciated without even achieving their goals.

    But in personal relationships, we have to meet people for what they are, not the job or the role that is described.

    These days dual income families are promoted, and even when the wife is taking care of house responsibilities alone. Even if only the husband’s salary can suffice for the house, the wife is pushed to work without understanding the pressure of such life on the whole family.

    All this leads to reduced familial happiness and a lot of physical and mental health issues, but there is no interest in sitting down and understanding how our trends are affecting the daily lives of millions of people badly.

    Moving beyond the personal sphere of relationships, caste and race have devised professional roles, and it is a given in Indian society for certain castes to do some particular tasks.

    They are never seen for the risks they take or the hard work they put in, rather are always expected to do the difficult work with 200% dedication without complaining about pay. 

    In fact, for them the way for coming out of this caste and gender based loop of work is paved with obstacles and judgements.

    When it comes to gender, despite high quality and hard work, females have to constantly justify for a stable job and pay.

    They are discriminated against for promotion because of reasons like menstruation, pregnancy, child-rearing , which I have discussed in my other essay on Life After Becoming a Mother.

    Also one of the factors of any healthy society is the awareness of privilege. The privilege that is being enjoyed by the privileged class is not considered a privilege by the same people, it’s their birthright.

    And the hardships whoever is facing in the name of gender, caste, financial status is their punishment.

    They can’t complain, they can’t make a noise, lest they be pushed into ‘whataboutery’ and the cycle of bare minimum benefits.

    So with the new found awareness, it is imperative we reassess how we manage our relationships, because clearly older ways are not working, neither professionally nor personally.

  • Perfectionism: Is it enabling you or draining you?

    (A sneak peek into the mind of a perfectionist, who is unable to find their self esteem without validation from others)

    I’m tired of this mind of mine, so tender, it bruises with every word. The one that gets hurt at the slightest comment.

    The one obsessed with validation.

    My entire sense of worth seems to hang on someone else’s words.

    I have this maddening urge to explain myself until the other person finally says, “I get it. I still like you. You weren’t wrong.”

    Why can’t I be wrong? Why am I so attached to being right?

    I’m sure my moral compass was shaped in childhood, by parents who believed that making a mistake meant you were a bad person. So to me, being a good human meant being a perfect one. Nothing less of perfection.

    It’s become an obsession: to be right, always right. And when I’m not, I spiral into anxiety. Then I expect others to accept my shortcomings, because I wasn’t raised right, because I have issues, because I am broken.

    And the burden falls on the ones who love me to accommodate my madness, my fears, my tears, my jolts, my frenzy, my apparent lovelessness.

    It becomes a vicious cycle: “Please don’t hate me, I’m not bad”—to—“Go to hell, you’re wrong and imperfect.”

    Self-preservation takes over when someone tries to push me into a corner.

    I growl like a grizzly bear to scare them away, but on the inside, I just want a hug.

    I want to be told I’m still loved.

    I often observe others, watching how they go about their day, without any apparent worry of the world.

    I don’t understand how people live with their imperfections without constantly fearing ridicule or rejection. I can be kind to strangers, compassionate to broken people, accepting of their flaws.

    But in close relationships, I run a tight ship.

    So tight, it’s suffocating.

    And truthfully? It’s exhausting to live with me.

    I’m constantly analyzing myself, putting myself on trial, playing the jury, the judge, the lawyer, the culprit, and the victim. It feels like I’m holding a fragile ship together. One wrong move, and everything sinks.

    Yes, yes,I know I need help!

    But here’s the question that haunts me: Does wanting to be right mean I need help?

    I fear that if I start letting go, if I start accepting things as they are, I’m giving up on myself.

    Accepting would mean my thoughts aren’t really changing. I’ve just muted my voice.

    I fear I’d become a fake. A hypocrite. An inauthentic.

    So what to do now?

    Should I end relationships where I don’t let the other person breathe?

    Should I only stay close to those I can accept easily?

    Should I keep pushing people to be better?

    Where’s the line between nagging and nurturing? Between trying and accepting?

    Why does acceptance sometimes feel like enabling cruelty? And why does trying to fix things make me feel like the villain?

    If I don’t sound urgent, will people even take me seriously?

    How much time are we wasting hurting each other—hurting ourselves—just to be ‘right’?

    How do I handle the casual disdain people seem to have for empathy and accountability? How far do I go in trying to show them a different way?

    How to tell them their bare minimum is not enough?

    What’s the ideal distance in relationships? What’s hypocrisy, and what’s authenticity? What does it mean to “let people be” versus trying to make a relationship work?

    And then I wonder: what is stopping them, and what is stopping me, from accepting?

    Behind the refusal to accept is fear.

    Fear born in childhood, or maybe adulthood, during those moments when you were left alone, helpless.

    The phoenix in me wondering, whether to rise from the ashes or stay hidden.

    When the hand that was supposed to save you pushed you deeper into the swamp instead.

    You felt like you’d die in those moments.

    But you survived. Heroically.

    At a cost.

    You lost faith. In people. Maybe even in God.

    Now, the only person you trust is yourself, because it was you who pulled yourself out. And even when someone offered help, they didn’t reach in time.

    So now, you plan. You judge. You micromanage every outcome. To avoid vulnerability.

    People might think you’re strong, wise, put-together. But really you’re just scared.

    A scaredy crow who can’t handle surprises. You spin like a top, terrified of falling.

    This perfection isn’t superiority. It’s inferiority, wearing a mask. It’s fear pretending to be in control.

    And when you look at others, you wonder: How are they just living? Not micromanaging? Not terrified of mistakes?

    You’re triggered by their ease. Their confidence. Their oblivion. You scoff at them, call them naive. But in quiet moments, you wonder: Who sleeps better? You or them?

    Maybe you’re jealous. Maybe you envy how little time they spend in fear.

    Your fear shows up as control. As nagging. As intensity. You become the party pooper. The energy zapper.

    But there’s an opposite extreme too: The avoiders. The numb ones. Those who were never taught to handle hard emotions. So they freeze. Scoff. Numb.

    They call emotional people dramatic. They label vulnerability as weakness.

    But deep down, they’re as fragile as you. They just express it differently.

    Addictions often live here: in food, screens, working out to look a certain way, alcohol, sex, shopping, even cleaning. Anything to escape the storm inside.

    So there’s a middle path. There has to be.

    One extreme says stop at the sight of trouble. The other says ignore the signs and run. But the middle path says:

    Pause.

    Feel your feelings. Sit with discomfort. Then choose your next move, with kindness, with strength, with clarity.

    Tell yourself when difficulties are looming over your head, that you are strong enough to face it. You are loved enough to ask for support. You are mature enough to know who to ask. You are kind enough to accept failure. And wise enough to begin again.

    You don’t have to feel ashamed of making mistakes and seeking help. You help others feel whole when they think they’re missing something to be happy and worthy.

    I read somewhere, Not making mistakes is not perfection but growing continuously changing continuously as per the lessons is perfection.

    So now to me, this is what a healthy mind looks like: A mind that can handle what life throws at it—with quiet dignity. Even if it stumbles, it rises.

    It knows how to hold itself. And when it can’t, it’s confident enough to reach out. Not in desperation, but in strength.

    It doesn’t dwell in shame. It doesn’t seek constant validation. It simply knows:

    The space it holds on this Earth is already its own, and it doesn’t need to be earned or justified.

    I hope all the broken ones find peace. I hope they’re met with warmth instead of suspicion. That their concerns are treated like real wounds. That they are supported like they never were before.

    I hope they know: They matter. Without effort. Without perfection. Without asking.

    Always.

  • Echoes of a Love Long Gone

    Love and human emotions are complex, capable of offering a wide range of experiences even when the circumstances seem similar. The process of loving someone, feeling disconnected from them, and eventually losing interest follows a pattern many have lived through, yet it feels unique every time.

    Loving someone who was once close, not necessarily an ex-partner, but a family member or a friend who no longer reciprocates the same warmth, is a quiet rollercoaster in itself. Keeping up with someone who no longer shares their life with you, who remains a mystery despite once being an open book, can feel like chasing a mirage.

    You think you know them, but then a void appears, an ever-present gap in your understanding. You yearn for just one missing piece to complete the puzzle of your relationship, of their life, of a shared existence.

    You rarely ask those who know them because you don’t want to seem like you care, even when you do. Instead, you subtly seek clues, scrolling through their social media, piecing together fragments of their world. Sometimes, they reveal something unexpected, something you could never have imagined. Other times, a mutual friend shares a detail that leaves you utterly shaken. Sometimes, you learn something that makes you wonder if you ever truly knew them at all.

    But then comes a stage, after much heartbreak, where you finally give up. The love that once burned fiercely now flickers weakly. You realize you will never be part of their inner world, and in one way or another, they have disappointed you too many times. You’re no longer in their close circle, no longer a favorite, perhaps just a number in their contact list, blocked and unblocked more times than you can count.

    After the storm of emotions passes, indifference sets in. Not hatred, hatred may have had its moment, but now, you no longer wish to know more. Their life no longer intrigues you. Their secrets no longer tempt you. Their interests no longer find a place in your world. Self-preservation has replaced your need to be accepted.

    This is where love, long ailing, finally takes its last breath. It hurts, perhaps just a little, but you know better than to give in.

    Months go by. You both have likely removed each other from social media, not because you wanted to, but because they made it clear you no longer belonged in their life, and you couldn’t bear the constant reminder. So one of you deleted, unfollowed, or blocked the other, each choosing a different path.

    But then, unexpectedly, through some forgotten app, a rare notification, or a mutual group chat, you catch a glimpse of their life again. A recent update. A passing mention. And for a moment, it all comes rushing back. A jolt in your chest. A sinking feeling in your stomach. The urge to look away, yet unable to.

    For a fleeting second, the old love is reminded.

    You take a breath. Maybe a minute, maybe an hour, maybe a day. But then, once again, you remind yourself, it’s not worth it anymore. Probably never was.

    And with that, you repeat the one truth you’ve come to learn:

    What is not watered will not grow—no matter how much you once wished it would.

  • The Romance of Distance

    Time and again, both the wise and the foolish have spoken about yearning, about loving from afar. Philosophers, theologians, ardent devotees, and poets have all mused on how, sometimes, cherishing someone from a distance and waiting for them can feel more blissful than actually being with them.

    Neuroscience explains this phenomenon through arrival fallacy. This refers to the idea that dopamine—the neurotransmitter responsible for motivation and pleasure—is released in anticipation of something rather than in its attainment. Once a long-awaited goal is achieved, dopamine levels drop, leaving a person feeling unexpectedly empty.

    Someone who longed to be with their beloved, for instance, might find themselves feeling strangely indifferent once that desire is fulfilled. This concept has also found a place in spirituality, particularly in Sufism and Vaishnavism, which speaks of how yearning for the divine is often more intoxicating than attaining union with God.

    Many couples talk about how their relationship changed after marriage, how the passion and effort that once defined their love seem to fade. It is as if marriage itself marks the completion of a goal, after which the pursuit, the excitement, and the longing all dissipate.

    A similar feeling often follows major life events. We hear of people feeling numb after accomplishing something they deeply desired. It is simply a “now what?” moment, a sense of emptiness that lingers after a mission is complete.

    Infatuation, too, thrives on distance. There are those who find quiet joy in merely observing the person they admire—never confessing their feelings, content instead with fleeting moments: a brief meeting of eyes, an accidental brush of hands, the lingering trace of perfume as they pass by.

    If it’s a celebrity crush, people can spend years, even decades, dreaming of someone they may never meet.

    It is the waiting, the yearning, that turns people into poets and artists, not the fulfillment of desire.

    Perhaps there is a kind of sweetness in longing. Of course, it shouldn’t consume a person, turning into obsession or unhealthy patterns. But there is a quiet charm in knowing that someone you desire is close yet out of reach. And in a world so focused on achieving, acquiring, and winning, perhaps longing itself is an experience worth savoring.

    Maybe love, in its purest form, isn’t about possession but about presence,whether near or far. And maybe, just maybe, the ache of longing is not a curse, but a quiet kind of grace, a reminder that some things are most beautiful when they remain just out of reach.

  • Mom & Me: A Story of Life, Death, and Beyond

    The Fear Of Death

    I have three types of experiences with death. I had imagined it many times. Daydreaming about my mom’s death or the deaths of people I loved came naturally to me. Probably because I always watched her being unwell while growing up, I felt we could lose people anytime. 

    As a child, health concerns in my family in various forms was part of my daily life. Even when my mother didn’t have a real fear of dying, I always feared losing her. 

    To me, imagining the deaths of loved ones was probably my love language. It was my way of realizing how unbearable losing them would be. I would cry and tell myself, It’s not going to happen.

    These thoughts came and went until they came too close to reality. I don’t know if I manifested it or if it was an inevitable truth waiting to upend my life.

    My first experience with death spanned my childhood and teenage years. I was disturbed and probably needed help. I felt it was better for people to die because that was one way to rid themselves of the pain of birth and this dreadful life. 

    I used to think death had nothing on me, until it actually did.

    Slowly, the fear of death started to engulf me as I grew up. Life was getting real and true learning was on my way.

    Living with Death: A Game of Hide and Seek

    The second experience of death started, and I guess grief too, when I was told what to expect about my mother’s chronic kidney disease. This was when I just started my new job. It hit like a boulder, a giant mountain, a glacier, or a planet falling on my head. Until then, I was frantically trying my best to fix her kidneys.

    I thought if I tried hard enough, I could make her live forever, somehow happily too.

    During those times, the universe would play with me. On my way to the office, there was a cremation ground. Every alternate day I would see a death procession, and slowly started to feel nauseous expecting to see another one on my way, everyday. Right when parallelly in my personal life death was looming over my mom’s head.

    During a casual conversation with the doctor, a bomb was dropped on me: she might survive for another year, but not more than that. That was the typical average lifespan of a dialysis patient in India. And I did see a lot of patients succumbing to the disease within that time frame. 

    When I was told about this timeline, I didn’t know which dam broke in my heart, but I started crying profusely in front of the doctor, as if mourning my mother’s death already. I still do, whenever I happen to talk to him by chance. The doctor reminds me of her and the version of myself that existed then. He has been a silent audience to the whole experience. 

    Anyway, even after that dreadful conversation, I didn’t lose hope. I sulked, I cried, I complained to god for a while. And then I thought, three years is just an average. 

    My mom was not an average person. And she did prove everyone wrong.

    That’s a story for another day.

    I decided to quit my job. It became increasingly overwhelming for me to work and handle the stress of health emergencies. I would fear I’d need to rush home but what if I reached too late!!

    Since that conversation, as I got used to the disease, the caretaking, the regular hospital visits, the frequent operations and tests, our home became a second hospital, and the hospital became a second home. The hospital staff and the people who helped in caretaking in various roles, became extended family. 

    During all this, I was breaking every day. The nights were the toughest to pass.

    Every task related to her care, her dialysis, the slow walks that eventually turned into wheelchair rides, feeding her in the hospital, running frantically to call the nurse the moment her BP fell, or when the machine would start beeping, reminded me that this would take her life one day. It reminded me of the death processions I used to see on my route to the office.

    Watching my mother’s blood flow in the tubes thrice a week during hemodialysis, the blood that made me, the blood that was running in my mother’s body since her birth, made my blood turn into water seemingly. I could not feel my own emotions watching this. It seemed like watching a movie, but a silent one.

    Blood sometimes spilled on the floor, dozens of gauzes filled with blood, the crazy blood clots in her hand, made blood from something sacred life giving, to a mere fluid in the body which needs to be treated. Her hand became a pin cushion from the constant attempts of finding the right blood vessel. Her skin became multi- colored due to blood clotting and wounds due to frequent syringe piercing. 

    I stopped noticing her hand was a part of her, but a tool to keep her alive.

    From this craziness to the dullness and lull of the hospital waiting rooms, the coldness and eerie silence of the night spent at hospitals, with only machines’ beeping a constant sound just like your heartbeat, the smell of the hospital started to become a part of my core memory.

    I still have white coat hypertension due to this. Every time I step into a hospital, my BP increases.

    From almost learning how to operate machines to knowing what was about to happen medically to her, from predicting which medicines would be prescribed next to almost becoming a half doctor and probably a full-time nurse for her, I was living her death in every moment. 

    While doing her peritoneal dialysis at home, 4 times a day for 4 years, I just kept thinking she would die of this disease one day.

    Thinking about death like, I was possessed by it at this rate, wreaked havoc to my mental health and perception of life.

    Sometimes, I would look at that frail body in a wheelchair or on a hospital bed or at home, getting her dialysis done, and I would think about the woman she once was. A woman with broad shoulders who had carried the weight of the world, who was still carrying it, carrying us. 

    A revolutionary at heart, a spiritual guru in her soul, a compassionate woman ahead of her time, and a sad, broken yet a hopeful mother in that fragile body. 

    I listened to her new voice, which was hoarse, and weak. You could sense the debility in it. She always had a sharp, strong voice. And this reminded me how slowly things were deteriorating. 

    She would be lost in her world, maybe because her faculties were affected as the disease progressed. Maybe because of fluid retention, depression, diabetes, or the hearing loss that completely shattered her confidence to communicate with people. Her usual sharpness and confidence was missing.

    I mostly did the talking on behalf of her. She started to rely heavily on my psychological support, almost like I was her brain, and maybe I wanted her to not to worry about anything anymore. 

    But despite all these changes in her, something was always there, the grit, the optimism, the zest for living, and an inspiration in her to keep going, keep trying.

    She wanted to live for us. Even for herself probably.

    She probably wanted a tryst with destiny, a chance to have a few happy years after the long, arduous life she had lived. So she kept trying.

    She wanted to make me happy, probably. She could see I was trying. And even though she was in so much pain, she tried not to give up for me and her family.

    She was sacrificing for us.I sort of couldn’t see it then.

    But I did see her living in those dying moments every day.

    We lived our best years.

    We went out frequently. Wore new clothes regularly. Ate whatever we could because she could hardly eat or drink anything, so whatever she did was a win. We lived as if all was well.

    We talked, we fought, and she was mine for all those years. Whatever nobody could give her in her healthier years, I tried to give her in the days that were numbered.

    I made sure she did not have to ask for anything, I wanted her to believe I am one person for whom she is the top priority.

    I would look at her sitting from afar, trying to register that memory in my head forever. Somewhere deep down, I knew I might not see that face again someday, but not the following day.

    I tried to fix her body so she could have a good time before her death. Even though I didn’t believe her death was imminent, I felt the need to cherish her as much as I could.

    Denial has always been my close ally.

    She was my last hope of the lost childhood, a hope of getting the love I never received or maybe never understood, and would never get a chance to feel again.

    And then a point came when I started to believe, maybe my plan had worked. Maybe she would now live, as long as we kept fixing her. 

    I got married during all this madness but I kept trying to keep her alive. Going back and forth between cities, to get her dialysis done.I thought soon I’d have more control over our situation. 

    As long as I kept running and praying, I could do it all. 

    When things didn’t seem to work, I prayed harder, and God seemed to give in. I thought God has to grant my wishes if He wants to prove His existence. And He kept humoring me. My mother kept humoring me too.

    Things kept getting tougher, but hope was never lost.

    There wasn’t a single corridor, or a room or a person I’ve been with, where I did not cry while talking about my mom or even thinking about it. I did not know a person could cry so easily, that the human body had so many tears to shed.

    I never had a conversation with the doctor where my eyes were not teary or my throat was not choking. I could feel it took a lot to just smile. The way I spoke had changed. I did not feel excited about anything, I did not want to be anywhere but home, there was no one I thought about but mom, I was struggling. I was gasping for air, for peace, for myself.

    I had a struggle understanding what I am beyond caretaking and being a daughter, and is it really enough?

    Those days were so stressful and eventful that I never got a chance to mull over these things for long. It was like living in a war zone and anytime a bomb could be dropped on your head.

    Through all this God had some plans for us. And our lives were suddenly disrupted by COVID pandemic.

    During that period, I got her cataract treated so she could see better, it gave her hope and strengthened her will to live.  

    And then, after a series of events, stories of the truest, greatest acts of love and spirituality, where God Himself had to come to change fates, she went away.

    Rendezvous with Death

    It was 3:30 on a Saturday morning.

    The person who called had disdain in his voice, I was in a denial in what I heard.

    I reconfirmed with him. He also insisted that he was not wrong or he did not mix up her name with someone.

    She was gone.

    In the hospital. Alone. And hopefully, lost.

    Probably, she had already left when she left for the hospital to be admitted to the ICU.

    She had decided to leave me. She had made her plans.

    I was 9 months pregnant. I was strictly advised not to go to public places or a hospital to avoid picking COVID infection during this time. Hence, I could not accompany her for the first time to the hospital, especially when she was going there to stay.

    And that’s why she decided to choose this time. She already told me, she feels now she’d be a burden to me, because I won’t be able to care for her along with the baby.

    She didn’t let me see her like that. She knew I’d stop her, so she didn’t take me along to the hospital. 

    She left without making me feel like she was going.

    She did send a signal that I didn’t understand.

    She had her last two-line conversation with me, which I didn’t realize would be her last. She told me to prepare for the baby to come. She was thinking about me. She spoke to me when she could barely think or be conscious anymore. 

    A few days before, she told me she had the best three months of her life. She told me, I have never been loved by anyone this much. I am truly happy.

    I don’t know why she said that because we never thought her days were coming to an end.

    One of those days, she had asked me.

    She told me she wanted to leave now.

    She was tired of the pain.

    It was as if she was asking for my permission.

    But I would never tell her to go. Because I knew she wanted to live.

    She wanted to live fulfilled. Pain Free too.

    And most of all, I wanted her to know she was wanted. Not as a role, but as a person. That she deserved all the love and care and respect. That I would fight anyone and do anything to keep her alive and happy.

    But probably, the one thing I missed was that I couldn’t reduce her pain, even when I wanted to.

    I was no God sadly.

    And so, for the first time, I let go.

    At the age of 62, after 35 years of mental and physical struggle and an 8 year long heroic battle with Chronic Kidney Disease, she finally rested.

    Grief: Never Ending Echo

    My third ongoing experience of death is a slow dance with Grief. 

    Grief is a strange, silent companion. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, latching onto moments and memories, warping time in ways you cannot comprehend. It makes the past feel too close and the present too distant, blurring the lines between reality and dream. 

    Her death and the grief that came along with it, changed my identity, my worldview, my spirituality completely.

    When she went away, I was nine months pregnant. I couldn’t even cry, at least not the amount I wanted to when the numbness would fade. I had to prepare for everything, take care of all the rituals.

    I didn’t know the clothes that I was giving for her were her last. And in a way, I feel she chose them—they were her color. 

    I missed welcoming her into our house, covered with white sheets on a gurney, her last time in her home. I couldn’t see when they lay her down on the floor of the house she cherished so much, or maybe she did not.

    This house saw everything, her own disease, her children’s marriages, her transient peace and now her death. This house was a small pit stop, though not a pain-free one, after a long, dreary life in our previous house, and now on to her final journey.

    She had always been the strongest person I knew. Now, I had to be the strong one. But I wasn’t ready. And I didn’t want to be. Even if I held it together for so long, I did not want to anymore. What’s the point after all?

    If I had to define what death feels like, it is cold. It is eerily cold. It is a vacuum. You can breathe, but you don’t really feel anything around you. You don’t know if you are capable of feeling anything now or ever. Your heart, your brain-they have decided not to feel any more emotion. Your hands and legs are moving, your mouth is talking, but you have no awareness of your own body. You constantly dwindle between reality and dream. What you are in is a nightmare and what is real is when you wake up.

    And somehow, time moves really fast when you want it to stop. You want to spend more and more time with your loved one, but suddenly, it’s time to go. 

    You try to soak in that face one last time in the hope that this remains, that maybe time doesn’t take the memory of it away from you.

    I touched my mom’s face, like she was my child or maybe my mother, how I must have looked at her when I was a child, in her arms. She looked so pretty. Her face was glowing. I felt her nose and her cheeks one last time, patted her forehead like I wanted her to finally rest, that this was finally over. 

    She looked peaceful, as if she had simply gone to sleep, waiting to wake up in another world.

    I couldn’t hug her or sit next to her on the floor because I had a baby in my tummy. We have never been those families who show love through physical touch. I have hardly hugged my mother in my whole life, this includes even my day of marriage. So I was in a way thankful when she got unwell, retrospectively. Because I got to hold her a lot, her hand when walking, her shoulders when she would be unable to balance herself. 

    In these last years, I fed her, held her, bathed her, and did countless number of dressings, which gave me a chance to be close to her as a daughter, the physical touch that I always wanted. I could mother my mom the way she mothered me. And today I touched her face like I could cherish her at my will, without any awkwardness, but the last and only time of my and her life. 

    And that day, while sitting next to her on a chair, I was hanging between real life that was in my tummy and death which was in front of me-who do I save, and who do I stop? How do I feel and not feel at the same time? Who do I hug, and who do I cradle? I didn’t know any of it.

    I tried to bid her goodbye as happily as possible. I didn’t want her to worry anymore. And it didn’t feel like she had gone for many days. She did come visit me, it seems. I kept looking for that one sign of acceptance even then. I wanted her to tell me she knew I loved her so much, that I did my best to save her, that she doesn’t feel I gave up on her. 

    I didn’t know what was what. But there was guilt, a whole truckload of it. So much of it, I shoved it all down. I started fighting with her through her photos. She didn’t give me a chance to help her. She gave up on me. Or no-I screwed it up. Why did I let her go alone to the hospital, that one and only time?

    It’s like she was looking for an escape from life, from me.

    I started to feel more and more numb, as time passed. I completely denied she had gone in my head. I stopped looking at her picture. I could feel her living in my body. I would talk about her in the present tense. 

    I could feel it when I smiled like her, sat like her, talked like her, nodded like her, and sometimes even looked like her. I became obsessed with her. The only way for me to believe she was still with me was through living like her, to feel I am her daughter and she is alive in me. 

    Sometimes, I would get soundless dreams, daydreams of her. A memory of hers,  and I am just watching her. I wasn’t even part of that memory. Every time I cooked, I thought of her. Every time I drove on the road which led to the hospital, I thought of her.

    I had kept old hospital bills, her leftover medicines, her reading glasses, her comb, her clothes and tried to find her in those whenever I felt lonely. 

    I couldn’t give away the things which were used in her dialysis, I have still kept her hospital bag as is.

    And just like that, all of my three years after her death were about reliving every memory of hers, but with no emotions. Just feeling betrayed by her for leaving. Then feeling lonely, like I was completely alone in this world. Not looking at her pictures at all because the world would start spinning, and I would feel nauseous. An empty pit in my stomach and I did not know if I am supposed to breathe in or breathe out. I didn’t know I had these weird feelings, and I couldn’t understand them. 

    Grief was my worst nightmare—or not even that, because I didn’t know I could feel this way.

    We never were a family of camera people. We were always too shy of spotlights, and felt really awkward about taking our own pictures. When I realized I may not have a lot of time with my mother, I felt I probably should be clicking more pictures of her or us, but I also felt if I clicked her picture thinking she might be gone one day, then I am accepting her fate, I am making it real. So I never clicked those pictures. 

    I won’t deny I always regretted it but even to this day when it’s almost her 4 year death anniversary, I still am not able to look at her pictures. It’s difficult to even talk about her with anyone without crying.

    I probably will regret not saving enough memories of her even more in the years to come.

    I would look at her old pictures, the ones when she got newly married. I would look into those eyes and try to understand what this young girl would have been thinking. She must be so excited about the new life that she’s going to start and looking forward to the dreams she wanted to come true.

    And here I was, grieving for her own unlived life as well as mine. It made me even more sad, realizing I could not ever change someone’s destiny, especially of the person I loved so much.

    I have hated myself for still living after her death, that my own heart was betraying me by still beating. I was supposed to die if she died, but I was alive, barely surviving. 

    The sense of identity loss, loss of purpose and understanding life after being a caretaker for so long, turned my emotions into a whirlwind. I couldn’t detach nor I wanted to detach myself from the role of a daughter. I felt this would be a betrayal to my mom if I thought of anything else, in fact I had spent years thinking about how to keep my mom well, that suddenly I realized I have no personal goal. I had no idea nor any wish to look forward to anything. To me life was just dragging, everything seemed pointless. 

    It finally started to hit me, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know how I would have been if things were normal. I had no idea who Neha could be, if not for this.

    There were reasons I was trying to live, denial being one. 

    And denial is probably the state that is always there, maybe even after accepting too. I don’t know if, on a daily basis, grieving people can reminisce about their dead loved ones. They barely make it through birthdays or anniversaries, especially death anniversaries.

    One of the things I hated was not being able to say goodbye at the hospital. Another was my own living. Then I was angry at her for not asking for my permission. 

    I would get vertigo whenever I looked at her picture. The Earth didn’t seem to rotate properly when I thought about her.

    I spent unhealthy amounts of time at night looking at her last rites. Fortunately, or maybe only for me, there were videos of her cremation. And looking at them made it real. Contrary to popular belief, it healed me. And the biggest of all—the one thing that healed me was Time.

    I don’t know if there’s anything apart from Time that can heal, but perhaps the other thing is Purpose. A reason to live. A reason to wake up every day. A reason to not think about your loved one and instead think about those who are left behind.

    Death, even when it seems to be looming over our heads, when it does come, it comes sneakily. It takes away our senses, our authority over our own thoughts, our ability to understand what is happening to us and around us. Brain fog becomes a constant companion. Our body doesn’t seem to know what warmth means for a long while.

    We unknowingly look for them everywhere, and we get scared when we do get a whiff of their existence in the corners of our daily life.

    It takes a while to realize the tenses being used for them need to change, that the incidents we are sharing about them are the only memories we have. The accidental things we touch that belonged to them still carry a trace of them, a coldness that feels almost unbearable.

    I only have compassion for the people who lost someone they were not prepared to lose. They may be living, but a piece of their heart has flown away and doesn’t belong to them anymore. They are looking for their loved one’s existence in another realm. They are looking for a sign from their loved one’s soul to tell them they are still loved.

    They are still trying to understand whether they are still related, or if the alive one is the only one holding the ropes of this relationship.

    Yet, they deny every day whether they are truly living or even allowed to live again like before. The void they carry in their hearts, in their life, engulfs them even when they seem happy, whispering to them to feel guilty for moving on. 

    Death not only takes a person—it makes the one left behind feel guilty for being alive. 

    Grief is not a journey for those who have never loved, but a road seemingly less traveled by those who choose to drag themselves through this road of loneliness, with no hope of ever learning to live without the person they loved so much.

    Healing from grief feels like you’re sitting on this bed, bed being your emotional self. You can’t put your feet down, which is outside of your broken self, a logical self. The logical self is very painful to face, and it feels too hot to step on this floor. The logical self tells you to move on because what is gone is gone. And you, despite being scared of the hot burning floor, still want to go out of the room, to the outside world, to the normal life like before. You step down and then go out with all your strength but you still badly want to come back to the delusional grieving emotional self. You again go through that agonising pain of facing your logical self asking you to heal and live a normal life, and return to the bed, with no hope of any strength to leave this room ever again. And this cycle goes on for months, years and sometimes decades.

    Grief doesn’t end; it shifts. And somewhere in that shift,it teaches, love never really leaves, it just changes form.

    So I am trying, and would keep trying to keep her legacy alive in me. She would not like it after all this, if i hated living this much. I would try to understand why she made that sacrifice then, and why in all possible ways, whatever she did or God does, is an act of love. I may not completely see it today, but one day, I’ll be able to cherish her memories, and not be haunted by the emptiness she has left behind. 

    Now, I look for her in the quiet moments, in the warmth of the afternoon which is as peaceful as her, in the way I love my own child and when my daughter looks at me lovingly. 

    She left, but she didn’t leave me.

  • How Does It Feel Falling In Love With Someone

    (A millennial’s version)

    The age-old question. Maybe when you are a teenager. Maybe when you’ve been hurt so many times that your heart has stopped feeling. Maybe when you’ve been with someone for so long that love has faded into mere habit. Whatever the reason, this question haunts millions, and always will.

    Understanding love, the yearning for it, is one of life’s greatest dilemmas. At times, it feels impossible to differentiate between a crush, infatuation, or true love. But for now, let’s talk about love-the kind that makes you want to be with someone, in any and every way.

    We may try to separate admiration, platonic love, or protective affection, but the most perplexing kind is amorous love, the deep, undeniable desire to be with someone both physically and emotionally.

    The first sign? A definite interest in their life. A clear, positive interest means attraction, but sometimes, it manifests as irritation or even repulsion-why, no one really knows. If someone is on the receiving end of such behavior, I would never suggest mistaking a bully for a secret admirer. But the truth is, some people struggle to express warmth at first, or they themselves are confused by their emotions, making things even more confusing.

    Yet, if their presence sparks a rush of energy, a quickened heartbeat, a clouded mind, or burning ears, if you suddenly become hyper-aware of your own face when they’re around, chances are, you’re drawn to them.

    If you can’t help but be interested in their personal life, if hearing their name makes you feel lightheaded, if your hands tremble when touching something they’ve touched, if you’ve memorized their routine and favorite songs, if you secretly take candid pictures of them, if you know the exact shape of their eyes and nose by heart, and if just standing next to them sends electric waves through you,then you are truly, deeply infatuated.

    If they sit behind you, you dare not turn around for fear they might see the madness in your eyes. Writing their name becomes a pastime. You imagine them in every love song, every movie, every poem. You’ve stood outside their house just for a glimpse. You’ve lingered in places they frequent, hoping for a chance encounter.

    Looking into their eyes feels dangerous because they’d instantly know how much space they occupy in your thoughts. So instead, you hide within a crowd, just to watch them from a safe distance.

    If you’re already friends with them, you tread carefully. You hesitate to show too much care, yet somehow, you’re always the first to rush to their aid. Jealousy flares when they pay attention to someone else. You twist time and schedules just to be near them, ensuring they never glimpse your struggles. Your day starts with them and never truly ends, sleep merely interrupts the thoughts of them.

    Then comes the stage where your feelings refuse to be contained. It feels like your heart will burst if you don’t tell them. So you drop hints, sometimes subtle, sometimes glaring. You find yourself playing attention games, getting mad over the smallest things, hiding away just to be found by them.

    You stop speaking to them, not because you want to, but because every word feels like it could betray your secret. And so, the push and pull begins, a silent battle between revealing your heart and guarding it, unsure whether to risk everything or hold onto your fragile, unspoken world.

    Whatever the ending, every love story is different, in terms of outcome and the length. Love taps you on your shoulder when you least expect it, nudges you to take the first step and when you are in the middle of your journey, brings you a choice, if you want to pursue further or stop right there.

    Whatever the choice, it is not easy to make. Hell, even after choosing, there could still be regret. Because love stories are messy, at least the real ones are.

    Lucky are those whose love is recognized and returned. My heart aches for those whose love remains unrequited. Perhaps that is the paradox of love-it demands to be felt, yet it often defies logic.

    We spend our days longing, analyzing every interaction, deciphering unspoken words. But love has its own will, moving in ways we cannot predict or control.

    Love, in its unpredictability, often takes unexpected routes. It can be fleeting, it can be patient, and sometimes, it circles back when you least expect it. Sometimes, love comes back when you’re no longer around-days, weeks, years, even decades later. But no matter the outcome, experiencing love in its rawest, most unfiltered form is a blessing.

    Yes, love can be painful. It can end in heartbreak. But years from now, when you look back, you’ll remember not just the ache but the depth of your yearning. The intensity of your emotions. The sheer capacity of your heart to feel.

    Because to have truly lived is to have felt-immensely and intensely.

  • Who Are You Without their Approval?

    Why Being Unable to Show Up Is a ‘You’ Issue, Not a ‘Them’ Issue?

    Most of the time, when we get ready to meet someone, we think about how they will perceive us. Will they approve of the way we look? Will we fit in?

    This concern makes sense in formal settings, where dress codes act as unspoken signals. Dressing like the attendees at a corporate event or a government meeting signals, I belong here. I understand your language. Even in creative spaces like art exhibitions or tech startups, a certain aesthetic exists—one that distinguishes us from them.

    But what about relationships? Shouldn’t those be the spaces where we show up as we are, not as someone trying to belong? Is that too much to expect in this world where everything else is made up?

    Living As Per the World vs. Living True to Yourself

    The truth is, many of us live as versions of ourselves shaped by the world, not by what feels natural to us. But what makes us doubt our authentic selves? What strips away our ability to stand firm in who we are?

    The answer: Self-esteem.

    A deep, unwavering belief that you are lovable and worthy exactly as you are, not because of your appearance, achievements, or status, but simply because you exist. Not an arrogance that stems from superiority, nor apathy that disguises insecurity, but a quiet confidence that says, I am enough.

    The Fear of Not Being Enough

    I’ve seen this trope play out in movies: Two childhood friends, now grown up, decide to meet. One of them, usually the heroine, recognizes the other right away. But the hero is searching for an idealized version of her -the pretty, polished version he remembers. She sees this, feels small, assumes she isn’t enough, and instead of revealing herself, she walks away.

    Is this the guy’s fault, or is it her own self-doubt? If he openly shows disappointment, sure, we can judge him. But maybe even he has a physical preference. And what if he’s just happy to see her, no matter how she looks? Would we pat him on the back for that? And if so, what does that say about our own standards? Are we promoting pity and negating the importance of authenticity?

    Who really needs to do the work,the person with an expectation that their love interest will have a certain physical appearance and financial situation, or the person too afraid to show up as they are in the present moment?

    Where It All Begins: Childhood

    What fuels self-esteem? Why do some people seek a lot of external validation while others don’t?

    It all is set in the first 25 years of life. Those years shape almost everything about how we navigate adulthood, including how much we like ourselves. And the biggest deciding factor? Parents.

    Or, if not parents, the primary caregivers ,the people who first taught us what being human means. Think about Mowgli. Raised by wolves, he didn’t see himself as a human. He measured himself by the wolf pack’s standards. Even when he was found, he struggled to integrate because his foundation wasn’t built on human identity. That’s how deep early influences go.

    If your parents praised you only when you looked a certain way, you learned that appearance equals worth. If they mocked others for their looks, you internalized that judgment, fearing they saw you the same way. And so, you either conformed to avoid shame or rebelled to prove a point,both behaviors driven by external validation rather than self-acceptance.

    If You’re a Parent, What Can You Do?

    First, learn to love yourself, the way you are. Do the inner work that’s required to reach that healthy stage. How you see the world and yourself influences your child’s worldview. The efforts you make for yourself and the words you use for yourself  and others, the things you approve or disapprove of, all these shape your child’s standards for themselves and others.

    Yes, you have to teach your child about societal norms. Yes, you have to protect them by teaching them certain behaviors and practices. But none of it should make the child feel inadequate,especially if they struggle to follow those norms. Their worth should never be intertwined with what they do or how they behave in the eyes of a parent. They don’t have to fight you to earn your love. 

    Second, self-esteem isn’t just about looks. It extends to career, relationships, and life milestones. Parenting requires a fine balance between nudging a child toward growth, setting necessary boundaries, and making them feel inherently valued.

    Sometimes, tough love is needed. But how it’s delivered determines whether it builds resilience or damages confidence. A healthy child who grows into a healthy adult doesn’t constantly seek approval. If your child never seeks validation, something’s off. If they always need it, something’s off. And if they tiptoe around your emotions to keep you happy, you might be raising a people-pleaser.

    A confident child pushes boundaries because they know your love isn’t conditional. In any case, never mock or shame your child-whether in front of them or behind their back. Sarcasm and shame never help a child (or even an adult) learn anything. They only teach them that they are unworthy of their parent’s love because they failed to meet a certain expectation. 

    Sarcasm and shame seemingly may work in the short term, but it should not be the norm for correction in the house, your kid (sometimes even adult children) shouldn’t fear that their parents can make fun of them anytime in front of anyone, in the name of motivation. In the long term, it destroys their self esteem and in a deranged way can also be used to gain an unhealthy form of attention from you. 

    Research shows that kids who receive enough love and  healthy attention actually listen more to their parents. Parenting becomes easier when children feel secure in their worth and receiving love that is consistent.

    As an Adult, What Can You Do?

    It may not be about physical appearance. It’s about how you feel about yourself overall. Career struggles, unmet expectations, and peer pressure can all chip away at self-esteem. If you feel like you’re falling behind, it’s easy to shrink.

    Instead of forcing yourself to ‘march ahead,’ start by surrounding yourself with people who see your worth beyond your current circumstances. Find friends or family members who remind you that you are you—not your achievements, not your setbacks, just you.

    These people keep you grounded when you’re soaring and lift you up when you’re falling. They may even be part of a digital community if your family is toxic and you don’t have supportive friends. Finding healthy support,through online spaces, doing self-care and inner work, reading good books, podcasts, and other perspectives, helps maintain and build self-esteem when it is shattered.

    Sometimes, you have to spend time with yourself to rebuild your self-worth from scratch. Something like rising from the ashes like a phoenix.

    Final Thought

    No one—not society, not your past, not even your own doubts—gets to decide your worth. If something isn’t working out, it’s a matter of strategy and time, not proof of your value.

    We all love achieving things, and that’s great. But your milestones should never dictate your right to get love, respect, or attention.

    Show up. As you are.

    That’s all you ever needed to do.