Mid life crisis and sparkless marriages
Sometimes a marriage doesn’t break. It slowly becomes something else. You still sleep beside each other. You still ask, “Did you eat?” “What time will you…
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I write about what actually happens in healing: the mother wound, the patterns we inherit, why love is sometimes not enough, and the parts of this process nobody puts on a brochure.
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Sometimes a marriage doesn’t break. It slowly becomes something else. You still sleep beside each other. You still ask, “Did you eat?” “What time will you…
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A client said to me recently, “I don’t feel like asking my partner for money.” I knew what she meant. Perhaps because I belong to the women for whom asking…
I recently watched Musafir Cafe. When the film ended, I noticed something uncomfortable about which character I had been quietly rooting for.
One of the questions I get asked surprisingly often is, “Should I tell my partner about my past relationships?” People usually expect me to answer
There are some relationships we never really grieve. Not because they mattered less. Because nobody tells us they can end without ever actually ending.
After years of sitting with people, there is one pattern I have stopped overlooking. It almost always comes disguised as love.
I don’t think breakups hurt as much as we think they do. At least… not for the reasons we imagine. People often tell me, “I miss them so much.” And I…
There was a time when I genuinely loved learning. A new book excited me. A podcast made a long drive feel meaningful.
I don’t think I’ve ever admitted this out loud. But there isn’t a fear I carry more quietly than this one. What if one day my boys have to heal from me?
For the longest time, I thought I knew what I was looking for in people. I wanted people who loved the books I loved.
There are still evenings when I reach for the chocolate before I reach for myself. I wish healing had changed that.
It’s been a little over a year since my separation. People often ask me what the hardest part was. They expect me to say…
I always thought healing would make me a better mother. I never imagined it would first show me the ways my wounds were still parenting my son.
The more I loved my mother, the more desperately I wanted to become nothing like her. I’ve carried that sentence inside me for years.
For years, I thought if I dressed nicely, I would be loved enough. Healing showed me I wanted something much harder to buy.
One of the strangest things healing has done to me… …is that it hasn’t changed my past. It has changed what my past means.
I used to believe love was enough. That if two people loved each other, somehow — it would all work out. The fights would soften.
Let’s talk about jealousy. That tightness in your chest when you see someone having what you secretly long for. That bitter ache when someone you know…
You know what really hurts in relationships? When one person keeps asking — “Can we talk?” And the other keeps running.
In my work — and in my own life — I’ve seen how much love lives inside each of us. Not the surface-level affection.
I didn’t realise for years that the harshest voice I heard was my own. The one that told me I should’ve done better.
No decision is ever free. Even when you say “I’ll think about it later”, you’re paying for it. With your time. Your focus.
I used to think suffering was unfair. Like life singled me out for pain while everyone else moved on untouched. I remember days when I’d sit in my room…
I used to think that my overthinking was my biggest flaw. Endless nights spent replaying conversations, imagining worst-case scenarios, analyzing every…
For the longest time, I believed fear was what kept me from making decisions. Leaving situations that hurt. Choosing myself.
I want to tell you a truth I’ve been ashamed to say out loud for a long time. I have hurt my children. Not in the ways you might think.
Since you are home anyway, can you just cook lunch today? A look at how the language of balance quietly hands one person all of the work.
Growing up, Holi wasn’t just a festival. It was a feeling. It was my dad twirling to old Bollywood songs, his laughter rising above the music.
My Dearest Sneha, I see you. I see you sitting quietly in the corner, your small fingers tracing patterns on the floor, trying to disappear.
I send these out by email and post them on Substack and Telegram. Cohort dates for the trainings go to that list first.
Next step
Write to me and tell me which part landed. That sentence is often the most useful starting point we could have.