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...

Let’s be honest—when we set goals, we tend to go big . We want to lose 10 kgs in a month, write a bestselling novel in a week, or transform into a Zen-like, green-juice-drinking, 5 a.m.-waking, morning-run-loving human overnight. Then reality kicks in. The alarm rings at 5 a.m., and suddenly, snooze is the only thing on your to-do list. The treadmill starts looking like medieval torture, and that green juice? Yeah, it tastes like lawnmower clippings. The problem isn’t you —it’s the all or nothing approach. Enter the magic of 1% . Why 1%? Because 1% is easy . 1% is doable . And 1% doesn’t make you feel like a failure when life gets in the way. James Clear (you know, the guy who wrote Atomic Habits and made us all question our life choices) explains this beautifully: if you improve by 1% every day , you’ll be 37 times better in a year. THIRTY-SEVEN TIMES. That’s like upgrading from a clunky old Nokia to the latest iPhone with AI that basically runs your life. The 1% Rule in Act...

  How often do we break promises to ourselves while keeping every commitment we make to others? We say we’ll wake up early, exercise, eat better, or finally start that passion project—yet when life gets busy, those personal commitments are the first to go. I know this because I’ve been struggling with it myself. Lately, I’ve been realising how much it matters. Every time I let myself down, I chip away at my self-trust. I send the message that my own needs and goals don’t matter as much as other people’s. And that’s a pattern I want to change. Why It Matters When we follow through on promises to ourselves—whether small, like drinking more water, or big, like setting boundaries—we prove that we are reliable and worthy of respect. It’s like building a relationship. If someone constantly let you down, you’d stop trusting them, right? The same applies to the relationship I have with myself. Right now, I’m working on rebuilding that trust, one step at a time. The Struggle to Follow T...

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...

Nature has an incredible way of teaching us about resilience, strength, and renewal. The sun rises after every night, never questioning whether it should. The waves crash against the shore, retreat, and return again with unwavering certainty. Trees lose their leaves in autumn, stand bare in winter, yet bloom again in spring. These natural cycles remind us that we, too, can trust in our ability to rise, adapt, and keep going—even in the face of hardship. Embracing Life’s Ebb and Flow Much like the ocean’s tides, life moves in waves. There are moments of calm and clarity, and there are storms that shake us to our core. It’s easy to feel defeated in difficult times, but nature teaches us that nothing stays the same forever. Just as the storm eventually passes, so too will the struggles we face. When we understand that challenges are part of the natural rhythm of life, we begin to approach them differently. Instead of fearing the dark moments, we can learn to accept them as a necessary par...

Today, hope slipped through my fingers like sand, no matter how tightly I tried to hold on. The answer came swiftly, blunt and final—a door slammed shut, a path I had clung to now blocked. I felt the weight of it settle deep in my chest, a heaviness so suffocating it stole the air from my lungs. I told myself I had prepared for this possibility, but nothing truly prepares you for the moment hope is snatched away. The exhaustion isn’t just physical; it’s in my bones, in my soul. I am drained, worn thin by the relentless cycle of fighting, waiting, believing—only to be told no. A voice inside whispers, What’s the point? Maybe it would be easier to let go, to stop pushing, to stop trying to swim against the tide. But another part of me, the part that has carried me through storms before, resists. Maybe not today, maybe not right now—but at some point, I will stand up again. For now, I just sit in this feeling. I let the pain be what it is. Because before I find my way forward, I need ...