There was a time when I believed that knowing more would make life easier. That information would bring certainty. That understanding everything would protect me from pain.
But life gently corrected me.
I began to notice something unsettling:
The more I knew at a surface level, the more anxious I felt.
The mind collected facts, possibilities, outcomes and fear quietly grew alongside them.
Fear, I realized, does not come from ignorance alone. It often comes from partial knowing.
When knowledge lives only in the mind, it multiplies questions faster than answers.
It imagines future losses. It rehearses pain that has not yet arrived. It tries to control life something life never agreed to.
Yet there is another kind of knowing.
A quieter one.
This knowledge does not rush to predict.
It does not demand guarantees.
It does not panic in uncertainty.
It simply understands that life is uncertain and so am I and I can still be here.
This is where fear begins to loosen its grip.
When knowledge moves from the head to the heart, it softens. It becomes wisdom.
Wisdom doesn’t ask, “How do I avoid fear?”
It asks, “Can I sit with fear without running?”
And when we do, something surprising happens:
Fear loses its authority.
Not because life becomes safe,
but because we become steady.
True knowledge doesn’t promise protection from pain. It offers something far more powerful
trust in our ability to face whatever arrives.
So perhaps the question isn’t whether knowledge creates or cancels fear.
Perhaps the real question is: Is this knowledge trying to control life or trying to understand it?
Because fear thrives in control.
And peace grows in acceptance.
Grief changed me, and that was never meant to be understood
After Watching My Mother Leave, Life No Longer Looked the Same
My mother did not have a long illness. There was no warning, no preparation, no slow goodbye.
She had a viral infection. She was vomiting.
We admitted her to the hospital believing she would return home.
She didn’t.
I was with her in the hospital for the last 4 days.
These days that stretched into eternity.
I watched her body weaken hour by hour, minute by minute, until organ failure quietly took her away.
Grief came first, raw, suffocating, wordless.
But alongside grief, something else happened to me.
I changed.
Not suddenly in one moment, but deeply at a place words struggle to reach. And this change was something I couldn’t explain to myself either.
When you witness life leaving a body you love, illusions fall apart. Death stops being a concept and becomes a presence. Life no longer feels guaranteed, logical, or fair it simply happens.
After my mother passed, I became quieter.
Less attached to drama. Less interested in proving, pleasing, or performing.
I began to question things people take for granted: Why we rush. Why we fight. Why we hold grudges as if tomorrow is promised. Why am I waiting for that tomorrow when things will magically become better in my relationships.
This shift was not understood by those around me, my near and dear ones. They thought i had become too much to handle.
They expected me to “return to normal.” To engage the same way. To care about the same things. To grieve and then move on neatly.
But I couldn’t.
Because once you stand beside death, you don’t come back unchanged.
I wasn’t cold.
I wasn’t detached from love.
I was detached from illusion.
I learned that life does not wait for readiness.
It does not negotiate.
It does not explain itself.
Life arrives.
Life leaves.
And when you truly see that, your priorities rearrange themselves without asking permission.
My silence was not arrogance.
My distance was not indifference.
It was reverence, for life, for time, for truth.
Grief didn’t make me weak.
It made me honest.
I stopped chasing what didn’t matter.
I stopped fearing what was inevitable.
I stopped pretending that everything is under control.
Not everyone will understand this kind of change. Some will feel uncomfortable around your depth. Some will miss the version of you that fit their expectations.
That’s okay. Loss does not just take someone away. Sometimes, it takes away who you used to be. And in that space, a quieter, deeper, more aware self is born.
I didn’t lose my heart when my mother passed.
If anything, it opened wider.
I just learned that life is fragile, sacred, and fleeting, and I can no longer live it on autopilot.
Security Speaks Softly, Insecurity Speaks Loudly: A Psychological Reflection
A secure and emotionally intelligent person does not need to step on others to stand tall. Their sense of self is not built on comparison, control, or superiority. Instead, it rests on inner stability, self-awareness, and emotional regulation. Because of this, they communicate without shaming, correct without humiliating, and disagree without attacking.
From a psychological lens, emotional security allows a person to tolerate discomfort, differences of opinion, feedback, or even rejection without turning defensive. Secure individuals can hold two truths at once: “I can be imperfect, and I can still be worthy.” This inner balance prevents the need to blame others or project internal conflicts outward.
What Emotional Intelligence Looks Like in Action
Emotionally intelligent people:
Take responsibility instead of assigning blame
Respond rather than react
Use curiosity instead of criticism
Address issues without attacking character
Create psychological safety in conversations
Their language sounds like “Help me understand” rather than “You’re always wrong.” They recognize that accountability and compassion can coexist.
Insecure individuals, on the other hand, often operate from unresolved inner wounds shame, fear of inadequacy, or fragile self-worth. Psychologically, when the self feels threatened, the mind looks for relief. One common defense mechanism is projection: disowning uncomfortable feelings and placing them onto someone else.
Blame, fault-finding, sarcasm, and emotional invalidation are not signs of strength; they are coping strategies for an overwhelmed nervous system. Putting others down temporarily soothes inner discomfort, but it never resolves the root insecurity.
Insecure communication often sounds like:
“You made me feel this way”
“You’re too sensitive”
“Nothing is ever my fault”
This pattern protects the ego, but damages relationships.
The Nervous System Difference:
Psychologically, security is closely linked to a regulated nervous system. Secure people can stay present during conflict because their system does not interpret disagreement as danger. Insecure individuals often live in fight-or-flight mode, where criticism feels like a personal attack and self-reflection feels unsafe.
This is why emotionally secure people don’t need to dominate conversations, win arguments, or silence others. Their safety comes from within not from control.
Why Secure People Don’t Shame:
Shaming someone else requires disconnection from empathy, from self-awareness, and from responsibility. Secure individuals are connected enough to themselves that they do not need to disconnect from others to feel okay.
They understand a fundamental psychological truth:
Hurting others is never a sign of confidence; it is a sign of unhealed pain.
A Final Reflection:
Security shows up as calm clarity, not loud certainty.
Strength shows up as accountability, not accusation.
Emotional intelligence shows up as respect, even in disagreement.
The most emotionally secure people you will meet are not the ones who make others feel small but the ones who make others feel safe.
The Loneliness of Loving Selflessly
Unconditional love is not loud.
It does not argue.
It does not demand explanations.
Sometimes, loving someone unconditionally means giving them exactly what they ask for
even when what they ask for is the most painful thing you could offer.
They ask for distance.
For silence.
For an ending they never explain.
And you give it.
Not because you agree.
Not because you don’t feel.
But because your love is not rooted in possession it is rooted in respect.
So you stay quiet.
You step back.
You endure the ache of unanswered questions, the heaviness of loneliness, the grief of being left without closure.
You carry the pain alone
so they can carry peace.
This is the unseen side of love
the part no one applauds,
the part that breaks the heart quietly
while choosing not to break another’s freedom.
Unconditional love does not always mean staying. Sometimes, it means letting go in silence
and loving from a distance. So others can be happy, even when it costs you everything.
The Sacred Losses of Becoming
There is a quiet grief that comes with growth not the loud, dramatic kind, but the soft ache of noticing who no longer walks beside you.
As you evolve, some people fall away. Not because you failed. Not because they were wrong or you were unworthy. But because the version of you that once fit into their world no longer exists.
Growth is an unfolding. A shedding, A remembering, And not everyone is aligned with the truth you are becoming.
We often believe loss means rejection. Spiritually, it is more accurate to say misalignment. When your values deepen, your boundaries strengthen, and your inner compass grows clearer, relationships based on comfort, control, familiarity, or unhealed wounds begin to strain. They cannot expand with you not because they don’t care, but because expansion requires willingness, not proximity.
Some people loved the version of you that was quieter, more accommodating, more self-sacrificing. Some benefited from your silence, your over-giving, your self-doubt.
When you begin to stand in your truth, their reflection of you shatters and that can feel threatening.
So they leave. Or you do. Or the connection fades without a clear ending.
This is not abandonment.
This is alignment correcting itself.
Spiritually, every relationship serves a purpose: some to anchor us, some to teach us, some to awaken us and some to release us. The ones who cannot meet you at your new frequency were never meant to walk the rest of the path with you. They were chapters, not the entire story.
And here is the deeper truth:
You are not losing people you are outgrowing versions of yourself.
As you unfold into who you were always meant to be, the universe gently removes what no longer resonates. What remains will feel quieter, truer, more spacious. You will be met with fewer people, but deeper connections. Less noise, more meaning. Less proving, more being.
Let them go without bitterness.
Bless them without guilt.
Honor what was without shrinking who you are becoming.
Because those aligned with your becoming will never require you to betray yourself to keep them.
When You Hit the Wall, Look for the Window
There comes a moment in every life when the path forward disappears. You try harder. You pray deeper. You wait longer. And still the wall stands.
We are taught to see walls as failures, punishments, or signs that something has gone wrong. But spiritually, a wall is often a pause created by life itself not to stop us, but to redirect us.
Walls appear when the soul has outgrown the route it was taking. When you hit a wall, it is rarely an ending. It is an invitation to shift perception.
A wall blocks force, but a window responds to awareness.
Most of us exhaust ourselves trying to break through walls proving, explaining, fixing, surviving. Yet walls are not meant to be broken; they are meant to be noticed. And once noticed, something softer, quieter, and more subtle becomes visible.
A window. The window doesn’t demand effort.
It asks for presence.
It opens when resistance ends.
Spiritually, the window represents a higher intelligence at work, the kind that whispers instead of shouts. It shows up as acceptance, surrender, or a sudden insight that says: “This is not the way anymore.”
Sometimes the window looks like letting go.
Sometimes it looks like rest.
Sometimes it looks like walking away without answers.
Sometimes it looks like choosing peace over persistence.
The ego wants to win against the wall.
The soul wants to transcend it.
When we stop asking, “Why is this happening to me?” and start asking, “What is this asking of me?” the window slowly reveals itself.
And often, the view from that window shows us something we could never have seen from the road we were forcing ourselves to stay on.
A new horizon.
A different version of ourselves.
A quieter strength.
So if you’re standing in front of a wall right now, tired and disheartened, pause.
Breathe.
Soften your gaze.
You are not blocked, you are being guided.
And when you stop fighting the wall,
you may finally notice the light coming through the window that was always there.
Why Women Stop Talking—and Start Walking Away
Some men don’t hear disagreement as dialogue they hear it as defiance.
Some don’t hear honesty as truth they hear it as accusation.
And when accountability feels threatening, even sincerity is mistaken for attack.
So she grows quiet.
Not because she lacks depth.
Not because she stopped caring.
But because she is tired of defending her emotions every time she speaks from her heart.
A woman doesn’t withdraw overnight.
She withdraws after being unheard too many times.
After being unseen too often.
After being told directly or subtly that her feelings are “too much,” “wrong,” or “the problem.”
Remember this:
A woman who feels unheard eventually stops explaining.
A woman who feels invisible eventually stops showing up.
A woman who is blamed for her emotions eventually chooses herself.
Silence, in this context, is not submission it is self-protection. Walking away is not failure it is clarity.
Choose peace over performance.
Choose safety over survival.
Choose a partner who listens, not just waits to respond.
When the Heart Speaks, Logic Must Wait
Stop bringing logic into an emotional arguments
Rebecca Yarros
There are moments in life when logic is perfectly sound, facts are accurate, and solutions are readily available, yet none of them land. Not because they are wrong, but because they arrive too soon. When someone is deeply emotional, they are not seeking answers; they are seeking understanding. They want their inner world to be seen, their pain to be acknowledged, their experience to be honoured. In those moments, logic however correct, can feel cold, distant, even dismissive.
This quote gently reminds us that emotions do not follow rules or timelines. They arise from the heart, not the intellect. When we meet emotion with explanation instead of empathy, we unintentionally create distance. The soul does not open in response to solutions; it opens in response to presence. To sit with someone’s feelings without fixing, correcting, or advising is a sacred act it says, “You matter enough for me to be here with you.”
From a spiritual lens, emotions are not obstacles to be managed; they are messengers asking to be heard. Every feeling carries information about unmet needs, old wounds, or tender truths waiting for compassion. When we allow emotions to breathe without judgment, they naturally soften. Only then does logic find a welcoming ground. Wisdom is not about choosing between heart and mind; it is about sequence the heart first, the mind later.
This is true not only in how we relate to others, but also in how we treat ourselves. When we rush to “be strong,” “stay positive,” or “make sense of it,” we bypass our own humanity. Self-compassion begins when we stop arguing with our feelings and start listening to them. Once emotions feel safe, clarity follows effortlessly.
In essence, empathy is not the absence of logic it is the doorway to it. When feelings are heard and respected, logic no longer feels like an attack; it feels like guidance. And that is where true healing begins: not in being right, but in being present.
Psychological resilience: Why getting better at feeling bad builds Emotional Strength
Psychological resilience isn’t developed through constant positivity or feeling good all the time; rather, it emerges from learning how to navigate and endure discomfort, challenges, and negative emotions. Resilience is about getting better at feeling bad, facing stress, fear, disappointment, or failure and still finding ways to move forward.
When we embrace discomfort, we develop the capacity to process difficult emotions, learning that they are temporary and manageable. This approach helps us build emotional endurance, much like strengthening muscles through physical exercise. It’s in the struggle, in the moments of doubt and pain, where resilience is truly forged.
Over time, getting comfortable with discomfort allows us to bounce back more quickly from setbacks. We grow mentally stronger not by avoiding hardship, but by developing the skills to cope, adapt, and keep going despite the challenges. In this way, psychological resilience is less about feeling good and more about being equipped to handle when things feel bad.
Motherhood-A journey worth honouring
On 22 December 1994, my life changed forever.
That was the day I became a mother for the first time.
I did not just give birth to my firstborn that day
I gave birth to a new version of myself.
Before that moment, life was about plans, expectations, and identities shaped by the world around me. After that moment, life became about responsibility, surrender, love, fear, courage, and growth all woven together into one lifelong journey called motherhood.
Motherhood has never been a straight line.
It has been ups and downs, strength and exhaustion, certainty and doubt. There were days filled with joy so deep it felt overwhelming, and days where I questioned myself quietly in the dark, wondering if I was doing enough, being enough, loving enough.
And yet I stayed.
I learned.
I evolved.
Motherhood taught me patience when I had none. It softened parts of me that were rigid and strengthened parts of me I never knew existed. It changed my perspective on time, priorities, relationships, and even pain. What once mattered deeply slowly lost its importance, and what truly mattered rose gently to the surface.
This journey demanded more than sacrifice it demanded presence.
Presence in moments of chaos.
Presence in moments of silence.
Presence even when I was tired, misunderstood, or unseen.
Looking back, I see that motherhood didn’t just shape my three beautiful and amazing girls,
it shaped my soul.
So yes, I believe I deserve to celebrate this day.
Not as a birthday.
Not as an achievement measured by perfection.
But as a milestone of transformation the day my heart expanded beyond itself, the day my life gained depth, meaning, and a new lens through which I would see the world forever.
Today, I honour the woman I was then, learning, adapting, loving for the first time in this role.
I honour the woman I became resilient, reflective, and still growing.
And I honour the journey itself, imperfect, demanding, beautiful, and sacred.
Motherhood did not make my life easier.
It made it truer.
And for that this day will always matter.
SELF LOVE AND SOUL HEALING 