PS: This article was originally published on Medium.
If you enjoyed this article, check out MagicBytes, where I write more honest, heart-centered reflections like this, exploring the messy, magical middle of life, womanhood, parenting, and self-worth.
I used to think I was lazy, undisciplined, and unprepared for success.
I couldn’t thrive in a 9-to-5. Structure drained me. Office politics crushed my spirit.
But it wasn’t my laziness or discipline. I was craving for freedom, and that changed everything.
I realised that my resistance to structure was not my weakness but my superpower.
Structure Suffocated Me
For years, I did everything right. I followed the rules, worked hard, and showed up.
But like a constant companion to my shadow, a nagging emptiness chased me wherever I went.
There was a disconnect between my actions and values.
It was not because I lacked talent or commitment, but because I couldn’t fathom adhering to a 9-to-5 schedule without purpose.
The thought of sitting in a cubicle for nine hours, whether or not I had work to do, made no sense to me.
The work politics, hostile environment, worshipping bosses, micro-management, and the list of things I had to endure to survive work suffocated me.
I wanted to enjoy working. I tried to wake up to work, feel valued, and give my best. But reality seemed far from my dream definition of work.
After 4.5 years at my first job, I thought quitting would be career suicide.
I’d delivered successful projects and earned accolades, but none mattered. All that counted was sitting at my desk 45 hours a week.
I didn’t want to escape work itself, but the way I had to work.
I dreaded my job.
It took me a while to realize that my struggle was not a sign of weakness.
It began my awakening to what real workplace freedom could look like.
My Creativity Didn’t Fit Inside a Box
Everyone around me: my parents, siblings, close friends, co-workers, friends’ colleagues, and roommates, seemed to thrive in routines.
They showed up on time, rinsing and repeating the schedule tirelessly every day.
Life would have been super easy if I had just copied them. But I couldn’t.
My best friend often said that the only way to succeed is to survive the office grind by working hard.
But I didn’t want to survive. I wanted to live my life having fun and working at my best capacity. Work should never feel hard.
She used to laugh at me for being so naive.
I always craved space to think, freedom to try new ideas, and the ability to breathe freely.
But flexibility felt like luxury.
My workspace was more like a 24/7 surveillance system. My Boss used to question me whenever I came ten minutes late from her calculated 15-minute coffee break, even when no work was waiting for me.
She would ask me about what I did over the weekend, what I wore, ate, and where I went. She almost always concluded the Q&A session by saying, “I am lucky to be on her team, and I should feel thankful.” What a sad life.
I thought successful people have a high tolerance for such suffering.
I dreaded because I knew I could never be successful that way.
Doing everything the same way at the same time made me feel caged.
Structure didn’t make me productive. It made me invisible.
Trying to fit into the schedule for others’ convenience made me lose my grip on my self-worth.
No matter how hard I tried, I felt exhausted and incomplete.
I adjusted to living, feeling NOT enough.
Research shows that over 60% of people in full-time jobs feel disengaged at work, with many struggling to find purpose.
I was becoming part of those statistics.
Breaking Free from Toxic Productivity
The best decision of my career was quitting my first job.
It is so true that:
The universe aligns us with our dreams when we dare to act against what is no longer working.
Shortly after, I landed a role in my second job that changed my career trajectory.
It was a brand new project from the startup client, working on cutting-edge technology. I was hired for a lead position to automate product testing.
My new Boss looked very casual.
He always held only brief team meetings and walked through the project.
He would often say, “Here is the goal. You figure out how to do it.”
His sentence gave me the freedom to thrive.
We had more brainstorming sessions to discuss ideas. He often challenged me to think outside the box, and I was excited to come up with new solutions.
He actively listened to everything I presented and highlighted the pros and cons. He was always open to discussions and readily admitted when he was at fault. He led by example.
I developed a huge respect for him and was fascinated by his growth mindset and thought process.
He encouraged learning and making mistakes while figuring it all out.
I was no longer bound by micromanagement or rigid expectations.
I felt energised and started breathing freely again.
I looked forward to my 70-minute commute to work every morning as early as 7 a.m. But it never felt bad, as I looked forward to showing up to work with my team.
Even when I came home exhausted after almost 12 hours, I logged in at night because I was so excited to contribute to the project.
I was gaining visibility at work like wildfire. I felt alive once again.
I felt trusted. Respected. Empowered.
I realized I was not actually resisting structure.
I was craving autonomy, not control.
My spark ignited with my creativity, not conformity.
When the world paused, my productivity skyrocketed in the stillness of those late-night hours.
I found joy in solving complex problems. Challenges lit my mind.
That’s when I realized:
It wasn’t the job that changed. It was me.
And suddenly, I felt alive again.
Redefining Productivity On My Terms
I used to believe discipline was about showing up on time, following the rules, and checking the boxes.
I now know that:
Discipline is also about consistency of effort, creativity, and the courage to do things differently.
“The world doesn’t need more perfect employees. It needs people who are fully alive.”
I found my productivity in flow, not force.
I began to thrive by creating unconventional ways, outside the structure that once stifled me. With the freedom to work at my own pace, my mental health and work-life balance improved.
I was excited to find joy in the work I did.
I discovered how unstoppable I became when I felt trusted and valued at work.
I discovered I am the rebel, the intuitive kind: the one who questions rules, challenges expectations, thinks outside the box, and executes big ideas to completion.
Chaos doesn’t scare me; it never did.
My biggest strength has always been finding clarity in chaos. Not the other way around.
If you enjoyed this article, check out MagicBytes, where I write more honest, heart-centered reflections like this, exploring the messy, magical middle of life, womanhood, parenting, and self-worth.
Two beautiful articles, I enjoyed recently:
A lovely post from Libby Shively McAvoy to manage anxiety and get the work going:
It is wired into our DNA and passed down through generations of survival.
Our ancestors didn’t just sense danger but also listened to it. Without fear, they might not have lived long enough to pass on their instincts to us.
Fear is not a weakness. It’s a signal. But when it gets loud, it makes us rush, creating urgency where there may be none. And when urgency replaces clarity, we jump into decisions we regret.
I’ve learned this the hard way: Decisions made in fear rarely fare well.
When fear demands an answer
So what do we do when we’re afraid and pressed to decide?
Fear and love are like two sides of the same coin, powerful enough to make us act before logic can catch up.
For me, the most complex decisions are always the ones tied to the people I love.
When fear shows up fast and fierce, even something as basic as breathing becomes difficult for me. It clouds my mind, tightens my chest, knots up my thoughts, and shuts down my ability to think clearly or act wisely.
I’ve come to understand that the worst place to make any decision is from a fearful state of mind.
The Lie of Urgency
Fear fogs my mind. First, it erases clarity. Then, it tags everything as “urgent.”
Fear pushes me to make rushed decisions right here and right now as if there is no other choice.
Even my expert mind becomes numb, giving into the fear-induced thoughts spinning stories, making me believe that it might be the end of the world if I don’t get to decide NOW.
But that urgency is a trick beautifully played by nothing but fear.
Fear floods us with emotion, shrinks our field of vision, and convinces us that only the worst outcomes are possible.
We think we’re in control, but often, we’re only reacting, not responding.
I’ve been there many times.
Like a startled cat on a fence, I jumped when I wasn’t ready, convinced I was doing the right thing, only to realize later that I should have probably waited a bit longer.
The Third Choice: Pause
There’s always a third option we often forget to consider:
The power to pause.
To stop everything until the fog clears.
To let the world wait while we return to calm.
To choose only when we have the clarity.
Sometimes, when we are not sure, it is better to start with what we don’t want. So, it becomes easy to eliminate the worst choice and make room for a better one.
3 Grounding Questions
The next time you’re stuck with fear yelling in your ears,
Ask yourself:
Am I making this decision as a reaction to fear?
Is this truly the best option or just the fastest?
Do I really have to decide right now?
If the answer to any of these is no, then pause. Just for 24 hours.
Don’t overanalyse. Don’t return to the decision in loops.
Press pause. Breathe.
The world won’t fall apart in a day.
And even if it does, you’ll at least know what to do with your clear mind.
Peace Over Panic
Always remember, Fear is only a signal. Not a command.
It’s never as urgent as it sounds.
When your mind is foggy and your heart races, give yourself the one thing fear never offers: The gift of time.
Then act, not from panic, but from peace.
Because courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the patience to wait until clarity returns and the strength to act despite fear.
Choose peace over panic. You deserve nothing less.
Have you ever made a decision in fear you later questioned? Please share your experience in the comments.
If you enjoyed this article, check out MagicBytes, where I write more honest, heart-centered reflections like this, exploring the messy, magical middle of life, womanhood, parenting, and self-worth.
Here are a couple of lovely stories I read this morning with my coffee:
The first one by Dr. Preeti Singh about bridging the gaps between real and online meetings on medium.
I thought I knew what tired felt like. Then I became a mom.
Suddenly, my body was working overtime, feeding, healing, comforting, and producing, all at once, all the time, without any break.
To my surprise, it wasn’t falling apart but stepping up.
Motherhood didn’t just change my body. It redefined everything about me.
The Birth of a New Mom
It didn’t take me long to realize that I could function on loads of food and little to no sleep. My body could operate nonstop, all day, without complaint.
My husband, who watched me during labor, proudly tells everyone, “I can never unsee what I saw that day.” He means it as the highest form of love and respect for me.
After witnessing the wild, miraculous stunts my body performed to bring a tiny human into the world, I knew I shouldn’t take it for granted, too.
My body already had the kind of agility, endurance, and flexibility I never knew I had.
I felt superhuman.
Motherhood Under Constant Surveillance
The feeling of discovering my superpowers didn’t last long.
Maybe only in those initial few minutes.
In the hours, days, months that followed, life after birth felt like being on call 24/7, only without a paycheck or clock-out time.
My entire body has now become a life support for someone else.
No manual. No orientation. No real help. Only instincts, impossible expectations, and so many uninvited eyes watching me perform to perfection.
Soon, I learned that when a baby is born, the world assumes the baby knows nothing. But the mother? She’s expected to knoweverything from day one.
I’ll never forget the judgmental looks I got from nurses when I accidentally dozed off while feeding my baby. Or the head nurse, who caught me yawning during a vitals check and stared at me like I wasn’t fit to live.
I felt like the villain in some twisted horror movie, except the monster was postpartum exhaustion, and I was the one trying to claw my way out.
Sometimes, I wished mothers had a way to numb our emotions for days after delivery, just so we could shut off one system from constantly overworking.
Superhuman instincts. Endless energy. Milk on demand. Flawless timing. No room for mistakes. Welcome to motherhood.
And if I ever messed up, even once, someone was always there to point it out: body-shaming, mommy-shaming, or “helpful” advice wrapped in judgment.
The world sees a new mom at her most vulnerable and takes full advantage.
“She’s tired. She’s emotional. She won’t push back ” is the silent assumption.
The mother becomes the default target, even for mistakes made by the father.
While Mom gets all the blame, Dad receives applause.
People look at the new father like an eager puppy hanging its head out of a car window: cute, enthusiastic, doing the bare minimum, and still earning praise.
I even found myself arguing with my own mother over feeding. Every time the baby cried, she’d say, “Oh, she needs more milk,” and give me this look like I was on a mission to starve my own baby on purpose.
All while my body was still bleeding, hormones crashing, and sleep slowly disappearing from my body clock. And yet, I was expected to be the one composed, productive, and grateful.
No one tells us how isolating becoming a first-time mother can be.
No one warns us how loud the silence feels when the world expects us to carry it all with a smile and a “thank you.”
Motherhood gave me fears I never imagined: some irrational, some primal, and some just overwhelming.
I feared other people’s judgment more than I feared failing as a mother.
What if the baby fell out of the crib? What if I missed a feeding? What if the onesie wasn’t buttoned right? Should I put on a hat or mittens? Too many questions on my mind made me feel like a loser, someone who lost her sanity by choice, feeling stupid around the clock.
Soon, at the extreme end of fear, I found fire.
I stopped listening to the world and started seeing us: me, my husband, and our baby. In that small circle, I saw beauty. The beautiful miracle we had woven with the strands of our destiny.
For the first time, I felt wholly grateful.
I realized I had become the source of unconditional love, beautiful pains, and limitless sacrifice.
I asked myself: What if these are my superpowers?
What if I could use them to go beyond survival to love, lead, and teach?
For the first time in a long time, I began to think again, not in fragments, but in vision. I didn’t want to stop here.
I wanted our child to grow up knowing life isn’t just about surviving hard things. It’s about learning to live, laugh, love, and rise, even when life knocks you sideways.
Now, I had a vision for myself.
More Than a Mom: Becoming Who She’ll Look Up to
Something became clear when I became a mother: I didn’t want to be identified as just “Mom.”
I wanted to be more than that for our child and myself. I wanted to be her guide, her example, her warrior.
I wanted her to look up to me when she was afraid to take that big leap and remember that I jumped first, head down, heart racing, because I was sure of where I was going.
When she felt alone, I wanted her to remember that I kept going, even in the darkest hours, because I believed in the light waiting at the end of the tunnel.
When she felt weak, I wanted her to know that I became strong through the pain, not despite it.
I wanted her to live with courage, dream without limits, speak up without apology, stand up for what’s right even if it is hard, walk through fire if she must, and know she will make it through.
If she ever wondered whether something is possible,
I wanted her to think of me and know it is.
I wanted her to know that “motherhood” did not stop me from becoming who I am. And that it was the best thing that ever happened to me. My greatest gift!
If you enjoyed this article, check out MagicBytes, where I write more honest, heart-centered reflections like this, exploring the messy, magical middle of life, womanhood, parenting, and self-worth.
Write for Namaste Now! Email us at namastenow9@gmail.com with your Medium profile link.
I couldn’t sleep that night. I was lying down with my eyes wide awake in the dark.
Out of nowhere, a mobile charger fell on top of my head with an electric spark. I immediately took my phone and texted my boss at work that I wouldn’t be coming to the office the next day.
It felt so good to find a reason not to go to work. It was a huge relief. My brother, who watched the entire scene, asked me if I was okay. I told him how much I dreaded going to work and how disinterested I was in my current role. I asked him if there was a way out.
He casually answered, “The answer is in your question. Quit your job and find work elsewhere.”
For the first time in four years, I considered quitting my job an option. But I was terrified to make the move.
I had struggled enough to land my first job, and in the last four years, I had invested enough time and effort to deliver my best work. I wanted to stay longer, hoping to be rewarded big one day.
But my brother sowed the seed of quitting in my mind that night.
I continued to show up at work the following few weeks, and out of nowhere, one fine afternoon, my boss invited me to a conference room for a meeting.
I sincerely thought it was to discuss my promotion. Instead, my manager informed me they had to let me leave the account because they had budget issues.
I will never forget that confused look in front of the mirror. I was genuinely concerned about how to react to this situation. I felt helpless but, at the same time, not so desperate to hold on to my current job. Remember, I was finding reasons not to go to work.
Life has a weird way of pushing us forward, close to our dreams, by throwing surprising problems at us, always at the most appropriate time.
In exactly two weeks, I found a better job, better pay, and a better title. Even better, I flew to my favourite destination in the following month, where dreams started shaping into reality.
However, it wasn’t the only time I struggled with letting go.
A few years back, when my daughter was almost two, my body clock was ticking to plan for the second baby. But it was around time I had just finished my first half marathon.
I was unstoppable with my runs. There were days I showed up at the park and ran for hours, getting into my zone with the rhythm of my footsteps. I ran through the fog, rain, and sunny days.
One fine morning, I received a text from my friend about a “smoke alert” from the refinery in our neighbourhood. She cautioned me to keep the doors and windows of our home closed. I forwarded her text to my husband, who was home sleeping with the baby, and I continued with my run.
My dopamine-charged mind convinced me that even if something worse happened, I could still see it from the park and run home faster than the fire.
Now you know how madly I was in love with my runs. Every step counted. But I also had this urge to start working on the second pregnancy before it was too late.
So, one day, while talking to my best friend on the phone, I asked her how I would ever know if I was ready to have a second baby. She said without a second thought, “You will never be ready. You just have to plan it.”
That day, I decided to give myself a couple more months before we started planning and finished my race.
A year later, I sat across my bedroom window with a newborn in my arms, staring at the mountains in my laptop wallpaper.
Sometimes, life forces our hands. Other times, we need to leap forward and take a call. Either way, letting go to move forward is an art, and the more we practice it, the more we master the art.
If you enjoyed this article, check out MagicBytes, where I write more honest, heart-centered reflections like this, exploring the messy, magical middle of life, womanhood, parenting, and self-worth.
When life knocked me down so hard, I got stuck in waves of anxiety.
I believed in coping with challenges by creating excess plans: plans A, B, or Z. You name it, I always had a draft ready.
Taking charge of my situation was my safety net, my only way out. But soon realized that life had planned something else for me.
Time and again, it threw in an unexpected surprise beyond my imagination and landed me where I belonged. But only after I had my share of learning lessons, disguised as challenges.
At the end of every long haul, I found myself in paradise.
Every twist and turn in my scheme was only a reminder from the universe to take a break and slow down.
I’ve now learned to pause, take a deep breath, and inhale the aroma of my dark roast. The tingling taste of fresh lime mint and the soft touch of wool cotton makes more sense now.
I am strong enough to look forward to life’s problems now with open arms.
This article is about what I did to make the shift in my mindset.
Perspective Matters
The way I view my obstacles solves half the challenge. The other half dissolves itself when it meets my inner strength.
I have learned to navigate challenging situations by actively seeking hidden meanings and recurring patterns.
I always look at the problem and wonder, “What is in it for me?”
Surprisingly, most of them started only because of my prayers.
Let me explain.
When I ask God for an apple, he doesn’t send an apple to my doorstep.
Instead, he delivers a custom-made complex life situation that makes me stay awake at odd hours, leave my comfort zone, make tough decisions, walk alone, cross mountains, and sail by the lake in the quiet night.
I finally became who I was meant to be while resolving the issue.
Years go by, and I might forget that I once prayed for an apple. I found out later that He had sowed the seed right away when I requested it. Yet He put the apple farm in my path only when I was ready to share the fruits of wisdom with everybody else.
I might only pray for what I want at that moment, but God’s plans are bigger than my imagination.
When I prayed for courage, He made me encounter my worst fears, presenting me with the most difficult times.
When I asked for love, He gave me heartbreaks before He brought the right person into my life.
When I sought His forgiveness, He put me on the spot to forgive my awful enemies.
Whenever I start tweaking how I look at my problems, the possibilities become endless.
My life experiences have conditioned me to only believe that when things don’t go my way, it is a sign that I am on the right path and that a higher power is in action.
The Power of Being Present
The only way, I have found to tackle any huge problem is to take one step at a time and be mindfully present in the moment.
To save my sanity from overthinking, I cook. Cooking is my meditation, just like playing with my kids, running outdoors, and lifting that heavy barbell that weighs more than my body weight. They help me focus on the moment as if my life depended on it.
I always try to find the space, things that loosen me up, where I lose track of time and connect with myself.
Walking through the woods and being outdoors does that to me. They make me feel small and grounded, proving that my problems are even smaller than I am.
Over 95% of what I worry about never happens, so I no longer bother about them. I have fun experiencing the magic in the present, focusing on what I already have. That is where gratitude comes in handy.
“Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness.” –James Thurber.
Gratitude is Everything
Gratitude changes the entire scene.
If life is a black-and-white chessboard, gratitude is the lens that reveals the hidden colours.
Gratitude turns the black-and-white game of life into a beautiful masterpiece.
We don’t need a grand reason to be grateful. Being alive is good enough to say “thank you” and look for all the wonders around us.
Life becomes more meaningful when we start noticing the smallest details of moments that matter. Who, what, or which place makes us feel seen, heard, or accepted? Every one of them counts!
The beauty of gratefulness lies in the endless list it generates when we take notes of all things that profoundly touch our souls.
Life is too short for our worries to last long,
Too big for our heartfelt moments to stay forever.
Every day is a new beginning.
Another chance to show up, spread joy, and be fully present.
Final Thoughts
Life is nothing but a series of tiny miracles. All we need to do is to feel alive.
When man plans, God laughs. And it is ok to laugh with him.
What is meant for us will always find us. In the meantime, we can have fun recognising the pattern and finding the purpose behind our problems.
It also helps to track our answers in what we prayed for.
Our perfect presence is more rewarding than our bestest plans.
When we start saying “thank you,” we attract more things to be thankful for.
The most beautiful chapters of my life began when my plans fell apart.
Every detour was a signpost from a greater force, guiding me to where I truly belonged.
Ultimately, it was not the plan that mattered, but my transformation.
I’m built from all my broken plans that never panned out, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it.
Have you ever had a plan fall apart, only to realize it was leading you to something better? I’d love to hear your story. Please feel free to share it in the comments.
If you enjoyed this article, check out MagicBytes, where I write more honest, heart-centered reflections like this, exploring the messy, magical middle of life, womanhood, parenting, and self-worth.
What if you stopped asking for space in your marriage and just took it?
For years, I waited for permission until one fine day, I realized I didn’t need it.
In the first few months of our marriage, I did exactly what I thought every other wife on the planet did.
I put into practice everything I had learned since childhood about how a woman should be in a relationship.
What I saw in other homes, heard in conversations, and absorbed from movies confirmed this: be flexible and always available.
So, I never let my husband step into the kitchen. I took over all the household chores, thinking that was the only way to win his heart.
As he left home every morning, I waited until evening, discounting the time in between. I was not motivated to do anything in his absence.
I waited for him to come home so I could start living again.
We would go to the gym together in the evenings. On days he skipped his workouts, I did, too. After all, I was only exercising for him.
I made dinner in silence while he watched “Family Guy.” Little did I know then the premise of the adult cartoon. I was too innocent and got carried away by the title.
I watched him watch TV nonchalantly until my eyes dropped to sleep. Some days, I wondered if he was even suffering from quiet depression.
I became so obsessed with researching his behaviour. What else was I supposed to do in a foreign country with no social life or driver’s license?
I was growing passionate about overanalysing him, dissecting his every move, desperate to find my traces in his thoughts.
My hobbies, schedule, and moods all revolved around his free time.
I lost myself in the endless chores, many of which I didn’t enjoy.
I kept going, silently, like the women before me: my mom, my aunts, my sisters, the ever-smiling “good wife” from the movies.
I paused my needs and desires, reshaping my life around his.
I thought marriage was about one person sacrificing for the other.
I volunteered to be the tribute.
The First Crack in the Mold
A few weeks into our marriage, we went on a long drive to a small Dutch village. I was very much looking forward to this trip. It meant more 1:1 time with my husband. Driving was the only time he looked at anything other than TV.
I woke up early to blow dry my hair and apply some makeup. My favorite pink lipstick and mascara lit up my face, reflecting my mood. I carefully picked the moss-green halter top and white capris to complement my look.
We started driving, and he said nothing. Maybe the green was not catchy enough; I cursed myself for picking the wrong color that was not appealing to his eyes.
But here was the twist: everyone in and around the street saw me when we stopped at the coffee shop after the two-hour drive. They waved at me, and I smiled back.
Everyone seemed to notice except him.
But that was not enough to make me happy. All I cared about was what he thought about how I looked.
I felt like a child seeking applause that never came.
I love taking photos to capture the moment, but my husband believes in capturing moments in the heart. I know it’s so cliche, but it was still too early in my marriage for me to know his memory was terrible, too.
I couldn’t contain my excitement when I saw the horse carriage. I asked him to click a few pictures of me with the horses. I bet the horses were looking forward to it, too.
His look showed that he was in no mood for photography. When he reluctantly grabbed the camera from me, it slipped off his hand and landed on the floor.
Everything I had been suppressing for weeks erupted in that moment. I lost it when I yelled at him in public to click the freaking photo. He didn’t react and took a couple of pics.
It ended up being such a disappointing trip.
The Unexpected Hope
On our ride home, following an uncomfortable silence, we started to argue over who was right for the next twenty minutes. The only difference was that he spoke about what had just happened while I stood up for myself, presenting everything I had done for the last several days.
When I mentioned “sacrifice,” he said:
Anything done out of love needs no mention.
Tears welled up. I turned my face to the window, ashamed and confused. I was fighting against my thoughts, unable to forgive myself for what I had done. I couldn’t admit it either.
Surprisingly, he seemed to notice that I was heartbroken.
He stopped the car and asked me to step out. He walked, took my hand, and led me to a hidden lake.
He pulled the camera out and took candid photos of me with that barren tree beside the lake. He continued to capture the moments until I asked him to stop.
It was the first time I felt included. The moment that screamed hope in our marriage.
Opposites, Still Trying
We are the polar opposites, my husband and I.
I thrive on communication, he finds peace in the quiet.
I believe in magic; he believes in data.
I show love through words; he shows it through his service of acts.
It was hard for him to understand my need to communicate. As the only child in his home, TV has been his constant companion, his safe place.
And when he did surprise me with magnanimous gifts on my birthdays, it only felt like the cherry on top.
I already had enough cherries collected over the last several years of our courtship.
I only wanted to bake a whole new cake with our names on it.
Running Back To Myself
Three years into our marriage, I did something radical after having our first child: I chose me.
After dropping our child off at daycare, I walked into a nearby park and started jogging without any plan.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it challenged me.
I needed that dare to feel alive.
My lungs burned. My heart pounded. I instantly fell in love with that feeling.
Why did I run if it felt so hard?
I had no answer to that question, but I couldn’t stop running either. I kept going on and on. One mile after the other, I hit the 5-mile mark every single day, showing up at the one-man show every morning at 6 a.m. sharp.
The miles brought me closer to myself, one step at a time. The best part was that I showed up every day without excuse, not to impress anyone or lose my post-baby weight. I wanted to do something I felt was impossible.
Without my knowledge, I was rebuilding my self-worth, piece by piece.
The Ripple Effect
At first, my husband was surprised. Like everybody else around me, he assumed I’d quit after a while.
But to my surprise, I didn’t. Even during our vacations, I laced up and hit the treadmill or ran barefoot on the beach.
He watched me quietly as I transformed, not just physically but emotionally.
Slowly, something changed between us.
He started reaching out to me more. He would call me in the middle of the day to say hi, and if I was busy on my runs, I would hang up and continue running. In my free time, we chatted like we used to once. No specific topics. Not about chores and errands. Just about us.
His respect for me grew leaps and bounds. His love deepened, putting the depth of the sea to shame.
Maybe because he no longer felt responsible for making me happy or because his space felt more secure than ever. I never took the time to find out.
I had finally found my permanent space in our marriage.
When he tells his friends about my running, I hear the pride in his voice.
And guess what? I can now live without it.
His recognition is lovely, but my self-worth no longer depends on it.
His praise is icing. But I baked the whole cake. For me.
He doesn’t include me in his answers because he knows I am the answer.
And I know that, too.
If You’re Reading This…
… and wondering how to reclaim your power:
Find something you love, and do it without your partner, not out of resentment but out of wholeness.
Create your own rhythm in the relationship.
Stop running from what’s not working.
Start running toward what makes you feel alive.
When you become your own solution, you naturally become a source of happiness for everyone around you.
Start with a tiny act that feels like you. And keep going. The rest will follow.
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What if everything we thought about laziness was a lie?
Is laziness really about doing nothing? Or could it be about doing less of what drains us?
They call me lazy: my close friends, my husband’s friends’ wives, and even people I’ve just met, especially after they hear about my self-care runs, workout routines, and constant juggling of work, kids, and home.
Their assumption? I must have all the time in the world to do these things. Which means I do nothing else.
Probably, it’s my husband who does it all: another poor presumption.
They even give him bonus points if he logs my miles or cheers me on while I power lift in the gym.
Truthfully, all he does is make me two cups of coffee every morning like clockwork so I can clear off my sleepy head.
But the ROI on his effort? Exponential (He’d agree.)
The secret behind those runs and workouts is what I trade for an extra hour of sleep, salon trips, or time scrolling on my phone.
What bothers them most is that I neither correct them nor I don’t explain myself.
But for once, let’s play along.
Let me show you what “lazy” really looks like.
A Day in the Life of the “Lazy” One
Last night, I went to bed at 12:30 a.m. and woke up at 5:55 a.m.
I made coffee and gave myself 15 minutes to read a book, a small pocket of stillness before the busy day began. Then I made breakfast for my daughter, using the homemade ghee I had prepared the night before.
We revised her exam answers. I walked her to the bus stop, and on my way back, I picked up some fresh vegetables.
When I got home, my son was already awake. I got him ready and made his breakfast and lunch in the next hour. I gulped down my breakfast in five minutes before logging in to work and checking emails. I planned the meals for the entire week and dove into work.
Just as I realized I needed another coffee, my daughter returned from school.
We reviewed her test, helped her with a few more things, and answered spontaneous (and energy-draining) requests from my husband, who always needs my brain more than I do.
With exactly 35 minutes left before my son got home, I chose the treadmill over TV and finished walking 3 km.
It was also a hair-wash day. I squeezed it in, dashed out with dripping hair, and took my son to class.
I ate lunch in the car, applying moisturizer between traffic signals.
And here I am sitting in the parents’ lounge of my son’s class, hair damp, body exhausted, brain frozen. Three quiet minutes, finally mine.
(It has only been two-thirds of a day. Sigh.)
A Quiet Moment and an Unexpected Realization
Back to those three rare minutes in the waiting hall, what bubbles to the surface of my mind is the word “Lazy.” Again.
I shrug it off, shaking my head, looking at my phone, trying hard to decompress.
An Instagram post from a friend’s friend catches my eye. It’s about autumn. She writes:
“How beautiful it is to fall, to scatter, to age. 🍂🍁
There’s strength in letting go because the true magic isn’t found in clinging, but in the release.
For within every ending, there’s a gentle, unspoken promise of something new, waiting just around the corner.”
Her lines made me feel at ease. I took my notepad and started to write.
It is okay to fall and scatter in others’ minds. Letting go of their impressions about me will only become my strength.
It was time to rebrand my laziness.
Redefining What It Means to “Do Nothing”
To everyone who thinks or is tempted to think, “I’m lazy,” this one’s for you.
You’re right. I am lazy, but in my ways:
I’m lazy not to correct people when they label me.
Lazy enough to walk away from stupid arguments.
I am sluggish and like a snail when explaining myself to others.
I’m too lazy to hold on to anything that drains my time or energy.
I’m lazy as crazy to perform exhaustion to prove my worth.
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In my experience, the tough goes nowhere, but the journey strengthens us to get through it.
The most difficult part of this process is continuing to push our limits even on the days, we run out of our energy reserves (which is most days).
Here is a simple hack to tap your limits: A simple Q&A with yourself will work like a charm.
Let me illustrate it with an example from my workout session today.
Today is leg day. As we start the workout, I have fears of all possible post-workout aches and pains.
I remembered this quote: “A man who fears suffering is already suffering from what he fears.” I stepped forward, determined to face any distress.
My trainer says we will do three sets in each circuit of four workouts.
The first circuit is often the hardest. It is when the body takes on a lot. Muscles tear and contract during this stage. The next ones feel better as the body has acclimatized to the pain.
The last set of the first circuit is always the worst. Unsurprisingly, my legs begin to shake, and my ears start to feel deafening. Looking at the barbell gives me all the rush but in a scary way.
My task at hand is now to lift that 155 lbs. bar. First, I have to contract my upper back. Then, I press my heels firmly to the ground. Lifting the weight, take a step back, focus on my quads and squat fifteen times. How hard can that be?
When I lift that kind of weight, all I resist thinking about is losing my balance and crashing into the mirror in front of me.
Today was no different. I did what I usually do to get through this hell of a session.
I glance at my personal trainer, the national champion, standing across from me. I then look at my husband beside me, who can effortlessly lift more than double that weight. Now, I stare at my reflection, questioning my eyes. “Who is the strongest one here?” The inner voice whispers, “It is You.”
End of the circuit.
What happened now was not some random pep talk but the truth.
After all the extreme challenges my body went through during the two childbirths, I worked my way up to belong here with the best people, showing my worth. No wonder I am the toughest one!
My feat is not to undermine the men but to not use being a woman as an excuse to build the body I deserve.
My Q&A with myself reminded me who I am, and that is all I needed to know to do more than what I deemed impossible.
Try this out for yourself today and let me know how it felt in the “comments” section.
My wish for you today is to go the extra mile to test your limits. Once you do, push it one step further. Trust me, the aftereffect is super amazing.
On this Valentine’s Day, my heart is brimming with love, and I choose to direct it to new places, I have never sent before.
Lots of love, and warmth to those who broke my heart and flipped my emotions, all for fun. Without you, I would never have known what it meant to be truly loved.
My forgiveness is wrapped with best wishes to those who tried hard to bring me down and make me feel small, only to not let their egos fall. I have learned the depth of my fear in my attempt to show you my valor. Thank you for making me stronger than ever.
I extend my best wishes to those who made me walk through shame for the love of their game. I’ve now learned that some battles are not worth my pain. I have nothing to prove and no one to impress. I am more than enough for myself and everyone else, and I celebrate this self-discovery and self-acceptance.
Whether it was a leap of faith or a deep dive into emotions, I’ve come to realize that love takes on a beautiful form when we pour it out on those who taught us our most valuable life lessons.
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