Mindfulness Practice

We grow up with stories of rescue. Fairytales. Cartoons. Romantic comedies. There’s always someone who swoops in just in time. A prince, a parent, a friend, a miracle. Someone who sees your pain and says, “I’ve got you. Let me take it from here.” I think I internalised that without even realising it. That someone or something would save me. That eventually, the chaos would stop. The shame would lift. The noise would quiet. That I’d wake up and somehow everything would be okay, because something outside of me would make it so. But here’s the hard truth that’s been crashing down on me lately: No one is coming to save me. And wow… I’m exhausted. Not just tired— exhausted . Bone-deep. Soul-deep. From carrying too much for too long. From pretending. From performing. From constantly trying to hold it all together while feeling like I’m falling apart on the inside. And if I’m completely honest, I don’t even like who I became somewhere along the way. I lost parts of myself I used to b...

I’ve got my square squad . The people who know me—really know me. They see my heart, they see my effort, they see the messy, raw, real me, and they hold space for it all. Their voices are the ones I trust, the ones I go to when the world gets loud. And yet, this week… someone outside that circle said something cruel. Something untrue. And it got to me. I found myself spiralling—defending, justifying, doubting. Then I caught myself trying to apply logic: “She’s not in your square squad. Her opinion doesn’t matter. Don’t let it in.” But here’s the hard truth: It still hurt. Because no matter how strong our boundaries are, or how clear we are on who matters and who doesn’t, we’re human. And words—especially unkind, false ones—can sting, even when we know the source is irrelevant. This is where the work lives. Not in pretending we’re untouchable. But in acknowledging the sting, sitting with it, and choosing not to let it define us. I reminded myself of three things today: Just b...

  Understanding the Impact of Emotional Abuse We often associate the word “abuse” with what we can see — bruises, scars, broken bones. Things that show. Things that can be explained. But what about the wounds no one sees? What about the damage caused by words that cut deeper than a slap ever could? By silence that screams louder than any raised voice? This is emotional abuse. And for so many of us, it goes unnoticed — even by the person living through it. “It’s not that bad…” — Except it is Emotional abuse is sneaky. It doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it whispers just loud enough to make you question your own voice. It might look like: Constant criticism disguised as “jokes” Being blamed for everything that goes wrong Feeling like you’re walking on eggshells Being ignored or given the silent treatment Being made to feel like you’re “too sensitive” or “overreacting” And the worst part? It builds slowly. So slowly that by the time you realise something’s wrong, you’...

There are days when I want to put the world on mute. Not pause. Not rewind. Just mute. Like, can everyone just lower their voices, slow down the pace, and stop breathing so loudly for five minutes? You know the days I’m talking about—when the traffic feels personal, your phone won’t stop buzzing, the kettle boils too aggressively, and even your thoughts seem to have a megaphone. It’s like the universe forgot to take its ADHD meds and now I’m stuck in the chaos with no escape plan. So, what do you do when everything is too much? Too noisy, too busy, too everything ? Here’s what I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way. 1. Acknowledge the Overwhelm (Don’t gaslight yourself) First things first: you're not being dramatic. You're not weak. You're not “too sensitive.” You’re human . And this modern world isn’t really built for soft, sensitive, deep-feeling people—especially the ones trying to heal, grow, keep promises to themselves, and not scream at the cashier who forgot the...

There’s a quiet heaviness today. Like my heart is trying to breathe through a memory. I cried this morning. Not loudly — just the kind of tears that slip out when love and loss live too close together. I thought of her — my mom. How we sat beside her when she took her last breath. How beautiful she looked, even in goodbye. How the world felt both completely still and impossibly broken all at once. She used to play “I Hope You Dance” for us — her favourite song, the one she dedicated to her children. “ I hope you never lose your sense of wonder… ” Even now, those words feel like a whisper from her. A reminder to keep going. To keep feeling. To keep dancing, even when the music hurts. And I thought of my own children. Of all the ways I wish I could be the kind of mother they deserve. Of how much I miss them — in the ordinary, everyday ways. Their voices. Their hugs. The way they still see me with hope in their eyes, even when I struggle to see myself the same way. It’s the...

In a world that’s louder, faster, and more demanding than ever, Generation Z — those born roughly between 1997 and 2012 — are leading a quiet revolution. While previous generations may have turned to hustle culture or numbed out with distractions, Gen Z is pausing, breathing, and tuning inward. And whether you’re 15 or 55, there’s a lot we can learn from their approach to mindfulness. 1. They’re Breaking the Stigma Around Mental Health For Gen Z, talking about anxiety, burnout, or therapy is not taboo — it’s normal. They’re rejecting the idea that struggling makes you weak. Instead, they’re open about their mental health journeys, often sharing them online in a raw, authentic way. Mindfulness is a natural extension of that honesty: it’s about meeting yourself where you are, without judgement. Helpful Resources: Therapy apps and resources Mental health advocacy in Gen Z 2. Mindfulness Is Their Protest Gen Z grew up online. They know better than anyone the toll constant notifi...

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...