Mindfulness Practice

I used to be highly functional—a woman who could do it all, juggle countless responsibilities, and forget nothing. My mind was sharp, my memory impeccable. I thrived on organisation, on efficiency, on being able to manage everything life threw at me. And the man I loved? He was the same. My soul mate. We understood each other’s drive and passion, our shared hunger for achievement, our ability to handle it all. Then everything changed when he burnt out. It was sudden and devastating. He couldn’t work anymore. The fire that once drove him dimmed, and then extinguished. I stood by him, unwavering. I fought for him, fought to keep him alive. I pulled blades from his hands, stopped him from slitting his wrists, did everything in my power to keep him safe. Even having him committed in the hopes that it would help, that it would give him a fighting chance. But it didn’t. In the end, he lost his battle. He took his own life. And with him, he took a part of me. Not just a huge chunk of my...

I’ve been sitting with this ache in my chest, trying to find the right words, but I don’t think there’s a perfect way to say this. So here it is: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way my insecurities sometimes take over and make me crave more attention than I should. For needing constant reassurance, even when I know it’s not fair to ask. It’s not because I don’t believe in my worth—it’s because, deep down, I’m still learning how to. I hate that my neediness can feel overwhelming, that it might make me seem selfish or too much. It’s something I’m painfully aware of, and it’s exhausting to carry. The fear of being forgotten or not being enough is something I’ve battled for as long as I can remember. I know these feelings don’t come from others but from inside me—old wounds and scars that I thought I’d moved past but still find myself carrying. They whisper lies, telling me that I have to do more, be more, demand more, or else I’ll be left behind. And sometimes, I let those whispers control m...