Mindfulness Practice

Some days, I wake up and I’m already in battle. Not with the world. Not with people. With my own thoughts. The ones that tell me I’m not enough. That I should have done more. That I’ve messed it all up—again. That everyone’s watching. Judging. Waiting for me to fail. It’s exhausting, isn’t it? To be your own biggest critic. To carry a war inside your head while trying to smile through the day. To look calm on the outside while your mind spins stories that feel so real, they make your stomach churn. I Used to Believe Every Thought If my mind whispered, You’re a disappointment , I’d nod in agreement. If it shouted, You’re not worthy of love , I’d retreat, make myself small, apologise for existing. I thought these thoughts were me . That they defined me. But I was wrong. Not every thought deserves my attention. Not every voice in my head speaks the truth. Sometimes, my thoughts are just echoes of old wounds—unhealed parts of me that resurface in moments of stress or fa...

(Source: Unsplash, photographer: Sixteen Miles Out) Some days I feel like I’m barely holding it together. Like I’m stitched together with string and hope and a whole lot of pretending. And the world just keeps spinning. Loud. Fast. Relentless. While I’m quietly trying not to fall apart. But there are these little things I do. Small things. The kind of things no one else would even notice. And yet somehow, they help me breathe. They pull me back. They remind me I’m still here. Waking up early. Just breathing. Before the world gets loud, there’s a moment of quiet. I drink a glass of water. Not because I’m thirsty. Because I promised myself I would. It’s such a small thing, but keeping that promise matters. It tells me I can trust myself again. Then I make my coffee. Strong. Black. No sugar. No milk. That first sip feels like a deep breath. A soft “you’ve got this” before the day begins. I sit. I write. Sometimes it’s a mess. Just scribbles. Thoughts I didn’t even know I was car...