Tag: mental-health

We made it

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If your future self could send you one sentence, what do you hope it would say?


While most people would account for this to achieving some major milestone in their life. I think for me those three words means that I survived.. Not survival in the dramatic sense of escaping catastrophe, but survival in the quieter, relentless way of enduring the everyday battles that threatened to erode me piece by piece.

There were years when each day felt like poison slowly dripping into my veins. The challenges were not loud or cinematic, but they were persistent, gnawing at my spirit until I wondered if I could endure. And yet, I did. Against odds that seemed endless, I managed the one thing many never get to — the privilege of growing older. To slow down, to look back, to reminisce about the memories created along the way.

Survival did not mean I never failed or broke down. I did, many times. But each breakdown carried a lesson, each failure planted resilience. The fact that I endured long enough to appreciate both the struggles and the fleeting joys is itself a victory I once thought impossible.

When I look at my younger self, I no longer judge. I feel sorrow for the battles endured and gratitude for the strength they forged. My younger self was not weak — they were surviving in the only way they knew how. Every struggle stretched me further. Every year added another layer of resilience. Survival transformed into growth, and growth into compassion.

So when I imagine my future self whispering, “You survived, and that was enough,”. It is the reminder that even in the darkest days I did not succumb to the challenges but I resisted long enough to make it to the next day.

Silhouette of person breaking glowing chains with light and sparks swirling

The Perfect Image

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What’s something you used to worry about but don’t anymore?

I have never been a very confident person, largely because I never fit the appearance that society calls “beautiful.” As I grew older, the world seemed to grow meaner. As a child, I did not fully understand the taunts hidden behind sweet smiles and caring words. But with time, I began to hear the malice between the lines. Eventually, the mockery was no longer disguised, and the words broke me. At eleven or twelve, I did not have the emotional strength to look beyond the bad days. I withdrew from everything — from family, from the things I loved, from my dreams and hopes.

Yet growing older brought a realization: I could be perfect in every way, and people would still judge, still comment, still find something to tear down. Many speak without understanding the impact their words can have. Others live with the sole intention of hurting. You can never truly know another person’s motives, but you can choose not to acknowledge them. It is easier said than done, but if you begin today, over time it becomes a habit. Slowly, peace replaces the noise.

Society’s expectations are ever-changing. Just when you think you have done everything right, something shifts, and suddenly you are wrong again. For years, I kept adapting myself, trying to meet those expectations. But the moment I stopped caring about what others thought, I found happiness.

Now I do what I want. If people think I am silly or foolish, I no longer mind. Their judgment is fleeting, but my joy in those moments is lasting. A silly memory can bring back a smile long after the moment has passed. And in this world, happiness is the most precious thing one can have. So I choose to cherish my silliness, to hold onto my happiness, and to live beyond the weight of other people’s opinions.

Person walking alone on a dirt forest path surrounded by trees and mist

Be yourself but more

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If you had to give one life-changing tip, what would it be?

“Be yourself.” Most of us have heard this line at least once, perhaps on a billboard or tucked into an advertisement. It’s become such a cliché that its meaning often slips away. Yet, beneath those two words lies a strength that can be interpreted in countless ways.

Like many motivational phrases, its meaning shifts depending on who hears it. In today’s world, where right and wrong seem to change with circumstance, “be yourself” can be a life-affirming call to embrace imperfection. But for someone blinded by narcissism, it can become a justification for harmful traits. That’s why I believe the phrase needs an unspoken addition: Be yourself — but do not destroy another.

You cannot truly be yourself if your choices trample someone else. Selfishness in moderation is healthy. Walking away from a toxic situation is not weakness; it is strength. Some may call you fragile for leaving without “making the other pay,” but in truth, it takes far more courage to walk away than to stay and retaliate.

Most people carry pain — not the physical kind, but the soul-crushing kind. The world is crueler than it appears on the surface, and we rarely know what battles others are fighting. Never change for someone who only wants to mold you into their world. Change for someone who wants to grow with you, to build a shared space where both can belong. And sometimes, walking alone is also being true to yourself — because solitude can be the path to finding your place in the world.

In the end, being yourself is not about defiance or conformity, but about choosing a way of living that honors your truth without diminishing another’s. It is about carrying kindness alongside authenticity, and realizing that the most genuine version of yourself is the one that makes space for both courage and compassion.

Open book emitting glowing bird shapes toward the sky at sunset

Dreams and its Manifestations

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I am glad today that I have started dreaming again. In my opinion, you only have dreams when you have hope, and if you had spoken to me a year ago, I probably had no hope. That slowly killed any dreams I had. Now, come to think of it, I have revived some of my old dreams and added a few new ones to the list.

There are many dreams I hold — some tied to reality, others to fantasy. But here is a question: do I say my dream out loud to manifest it, or do I work in silence and revel in it materializing into reality? Here’s to throwing caution to the wind. My dream is to have a home of my own and to be a writer. These are definitely the most outrageous ones on my list.

Writing has always been my passion. I do not need to be a full-time author, but to even write something that others would like to read would be enough. I want to open doors to new worlds of imagination just like books have done for me. As a child, I didn’t understand the world and its problems — everything felt too life-altering. In that small frame of mind, books gave me an escape from reality. They showed me characters of great strength, worlds where magic was possible, and how a protagonist could change the world.

But my dream of writing is not only about stories. It is about leaving behind pieces of myself in words that might comfort someone else, or spark reflection in a stranger. It is about capturing fleeting emotions before they vanish, giving them permanence in sentences. Writing is my way of building bridges between my inner world and the minds of others. It is also my declaration of individuality — a space where no one dictates the rhythm of my sentences or the worlds I create. In writing, I find the same freedom I long for in a home of my own.

The other dream I have always kept close to my heart is the dream of a house of my own. It is a strong desire to express my individuality. I am the youngest at home, and in my family the elders always hold sway in decisions. I do have a room of my own, and one would say that is a luxury in itself. However, I cannot change anything in the room without permission from my parents or elder sister. Not that it is a bad thing — I tend to make impulsive decisions — but I would really like to decorate my home to match my aesthetics. Our family home is my mother’s space, and I would not want to disrupt her image of a perfect home. Yet seeing her has also inspired me. It is one reason I want to make a space of my own, free of the influences of my family, where every corner reflects me.

Day 236: Taking a step back

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When I first decided to pursue my qualification, I imagined myself building a meticulous schedule and sticking to it with unwavering discipline. After all, this milestone deserved seriousness. Yet what unfolded was far from that vision. I became procrastination personified, caught between exhaustion from work and the lure of late-night distractions.

I am not a morning person, and studying at night felt natural. But after eight to ten hours of work, my mind was drained, my body begged for rest, and yet I found myself scrolling through endless reels instead of sleeping. The cycle left me tired, guilty, and unprepared. My study plans shifted constantly — two hours a day, then weekends, then impossible five-hour marathons after work. Each plan collapsed under its own weight, and eventually, I rescheduled my exam.

The anxiety leading up to that decision was suffocating. For days, I carried the dread of failure, until finally, rescheduling brought relief. In that pause, I noticed another pattern: stress had pushed me back into online shopping, the very habit I had tried to limit this year. Purchases became a coping mechanism, a temporary dopamine fix for mounting pressure.

Yet amid the chaos, one good habit emerged — art. I began sketching, experimenting with digital drawings, and creating spreads. Art became my anchor, a healthier outlet for stress and a reminder that creativity can restore balance when life feels overwhelming.

Stepping back taught me something vital: slowing down is not failure. It is recalibration. I had been lazy at first, then delusional with unachievable targets, and finally regretful when timelines shifted. But failing outright would have been worse. By pausing, I gave myself space to breathe, to reflect, and to redirect energy toward what matters.

Consistency is not about grand gestures or impossible schedules. It is about small, steady steps — reducing what drains me and increasing what sustains me. My life may feel like a leaking boat, but leaks can be patched. With patience, awareness, and gentler expectations, I can steer myself back on course.

Yoga mat beside open journal and bowl of fruit on wooden floor near window

Day 221: Trying to

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have heard over and over again that to develop good behavior you don’t need to be perfect — you just need to be consistent. But that’s where I struggle. I always want things to be good because I don’t want people to find fault in what I do. I think I probably want their appreciation, but the main thing I worry about is someone saying that it’s bad. I don’t particularly want everyone to like what I do, but I really don’t want anyone to hate it. Is that a shallow thought? I end up spending way too much time trying to perfect the things I do, and at some point I feel it’s taking too much time. Then I decide it isn’t worth it, and my hope of starting a good habit fades away. With the pressure of work and studies, good habits fall out of the list of things that get done in the day.

I wanted to make exercise a daily thing just to keep myself healthy. I tried for three months, but the body aches kept getting worse and worse until I gave up. The thought of pain made me want to take a break. I kept thinking I would get back to it, but the truth is I never actually did.

I wanted to stop eating outside food and start cooking at home. I wanted to learn different recipes. I don’t have a refined palate — if it were up to me, I could probably live on instant food for the rest of my life. But I knew it wasn’t healthy, and I wanted to eat better. I managed to cook for two days in a week, and then I was done. By day two I felt exhausted and didn’t have the energy to try again.

Another thing I lose is my hobbies and passion projects. I wanted to start writing again. I’ve always wanted to write my own novel. When I was 13, I wrote the first chapter after months of creating characters and a plot line. It took me four months because I kept re‑editing it. But as schoolwork increased, I dropped the weekly writing practice.

I also wanted to continue improving my art skills. I started drawing whenever I found time — between school notes and random pieces of paper. Over time, I collected a lot of sketches stuffed into a file. I wanted to learn portrait painting, but I never put in the time to improve.

When it comes to sleep versus good habits, sleep wins. And when work and study come into the picture, hobbies fall off my mind. I am trying to stay consistent. I am trying to make a better version of myself. This year I thought I would start doing things every day, but it’s like I start and then stop, start again, go on for some days, and then stop again. Consistency is my Everest, and I am hoping that maybe this time around, I can conquer it.

Person standing on rocky cliff edge facing sunset over ocean

Day 218: Falling, Failing and Finding a way to hold on

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It has been more than 200 days since my diagnosis was confirmed, and the weight of it still lingers. I often feel like I’m falling—slipping into fear whenever I think about being alone. The thought of pain flaring up and causing me to stumble or collapse is always at the back of my mind. Independence, something I once took for granted, now feels fragile.

There are days when I feel like I’m failing. I want to reassure my family that I can manage on my own, that I am capable of caring for myself. Yet doubts creep in, whispering that I’m not strong enough. I don’t ask for extraordinary achievements; I only want to do the ordinary things—tasks that make up a normal life—without fear or dependence. But impatience grows as each month passes, reminding me that I’m not yet back to my old self. The mantra “You are better than before” has started to lose its power, and negativity presses harder against the walls I try to build.

And yet, I keep searching for a way to hold on. I remind myself that healing is slow, that years of damage cannot be undone in months. I look at people who seem to carry positivity like a shield and wonder how they manage it all day long. Their willpower feels extraordinary. If I could capture even a fraction of that strength, I believe I could reshape my life.

Holding on doesn’t mean ignoring the fear or denying the setbacks. It means acknowledging the falls, accepting the failures, and still choosing to keep moving forward. That, I think, is where resilience begins.

Woman writing a detailed travel bucket list in a notebook at a wooden desk

Not Every Dream is a Waste of Time

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Daily writing prompt
What’s a lesson you’ve learned recently that shifted your perspective?
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I grew up in a middle-class, working-class family where life revolved around work. My parents labored endlessly, and their idea of fun was taking us to the park. Even then, while we ran around carefree, they sat together on the bench, whispering about the next bill, calculating how to stretch every rupee, every dollar, every ounce of energy. Their lives were a constant negotiation between responsibility and survival.

For years, I believed my path would be no different. I imagined myself joining the cycle of endless work, exhausting my body and spirit to provide for my family, hoping that by the time age caught up with me, I’d have just enough to sustain myself. That was the script I thought I had to follow.

But something has shifted. These days, I’ve started to dream — not the fleeting kind that comes with sleep, but the conscious, deliberate kind that plants hope in the cracks of reality. I know there’s a high chance I may never achieve all that I dream of, and strangely, I’m at peace with that. Because I’ve realized it’s not the fulfillment of dreams that keeps us alive, but the act of dreaming itself. To imagine a life beyond the grind is not foolish; it’s a declaration that we deserve more than survival.

For the first time, I’ve made a bucket list. Ninety percent of the items feel out of reach, but they’re there anyway. To act as reminders of what I want, of who I am beyond the paycheck. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. And even if someday never comes, the list itself is proof that I’ve allowed myself to hope.

Being practical is wise, yes. But sometimes, being impractical and daring to dream of possibilities is what makes life bearable. Dreams are the spark that light up the monotony, the quiet rebellion against a world that tells us to only endure. They are the whispers that say: you deserve better, you deserve more.

Person sleeping in bed under blue and gray blankets with bedside table lamp on

Rituals for better Sleep

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Daily writing prompt
What do you do to improve your sleep?
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Sleep is one of the most amazing experiences you can have in a day. To enjoy uninterrupted rest, a good dream, and wake up feeling refreshed is truly a blessing.

I’m someone who struggles to get even the bare minimum of six hours of sleep every day, so I sometimes feel hypocritical talking about it. But if no one were judging me, I’d say the first step toward good sleep is to avoid anything that keeps the mind active before bed. Let the day mellow out so that the body’s exhaustion reaches the mind. When I need to get things done, I keep chanting “mind over matter,” and even if my body is exhausted, I find the strength to push through. Logically, doing the opposite should encourage sleep: once the mind shuts down, the body will follow.

One good habit I’ve maintained is not having coffee after 6 p.m.. Even when I feel extremely sleepy in the evening, if the clock shows a time past six, I stop myself. I drink very strong coffee, and it definitely affects me — I end up staying awake into the early hours. Along with coffee, I also restrict sugar. I don’t usually like sweets or chocolates, but on the days I do have them, I get that “sugar rush” — feeling excited and restless, which makes sleep harder.

Another thing I follow is wearing comfortable clothes. I’m not sure if it directly improves sleep, but I feel more relaxed when I’m comfortable. Good pillows and light sheets help too (though in winter, heavier sheets or a duvet are necessary).

Most importantly, I’ve started a new approach: going to bed when I’m actually sleepy. In those moments, the sleep I get is so good — deep, natural, and truly restorative.

A person sitting with head down surrounded by dark ghostly faces and swirling words like doubt, fear, and overwhelmed

Coping with the Emotional Currents

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Daily writing prompt
What’s the best way to deal with negative thoughts?
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I am probably not the right person to answer this. People say you learn to handle things better over time, that practice makes you stronger. But in my case, the skill of dealing with negative thoughts has taken a downward trajectory. As a child, my approach was simple: I replaced negative thoughts with happy memories. That remains, to this day, the most effective tactic I’ve ever used. Since then, however, my strategies have spread like wildfire — often destructive rather than helpful.

Case in point: Strategy One — Compartmentalize and deal with it later. On the surface, this is a sound idea. I’ve learned to compartmentalize effectively, but the “deal with it later” part rarely happens. Instead, those compartments pile up. And there’s only so much space you can create before it all spills over, leading to an epic breakdown. I’ve had more than a few of those. You’d think I would have learned to process my bad thoughts at the right time, but that hasn’t been the case. Instead, I’ve scolded myself for being older now, telling myself I should simply be stronger.

Strategy Two — Analyzing the situation (or rather, overanalyzing). This one is even trickier. I start with the intention of figuring out what went wrong and how I can improve. But instead of constructive reflection, I turn cruelly critical. I list out, in excruciating detail, why I am the reason for everything wrong — not just in the situation, but in everything happening around me. That blame session drags on for days, until I’m mentally exhausted, and inevitably, another breakdown follows.

I don’t know if there’s a universally effective way to deal with negative emotions. I suspect it’s different for everyone. Some people probably use compartmentalizing and analyzing in healthy, productive ways. For me, though, the one thing that consistently works is writing. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, drowning in emotions, I grab a random piece of paper and pen and write it all down. The result is often depressing poems, but by the end, I feel lighter — as though a weight has lifted from my shoulders. Writing doesn’t solve the situation, but it acknowledges my feelings. And that acknowledgment makes all the difference.