"Grown-Up, Not Numb"

Dear you, the one reading this with tired eyes and a heavy heart — this one’s for all the times you were told to be strong when all you needed was to be held.

There’s this strange shift that happens when we grow up.

One minute, we’re children whose every emotion is acknowledged — a scraped knee earns a hug, a tear is wiped gently, fear is met with reassurance. And then suddenly, somewhere between puberty and a paycheque, we stop getting that softness.

We grow up, and the world stops checking in. We cry, and people laugh awkwardly. We break down, and they say, “Everyone’s going through something, toughen up.” As if adulthood means we’re not allowed to feel anymore.

But I want to ask something — since when did growing up mean giving up our right to be human?

I’ve had moments when I wanted to cry in public — overwhelmed, exhausted, anxious — but I held it in because I feared being judged. I’ve had breakdowns in the bathroom, at work, at home, in silence, because society doesn’t know what to do with an adult’s sadness. It makes people uncomfortable.

People assume that once you’re grown, you should have it all together. That tears are dramatic. That vulnerability is weakness. But here’s what I believe: it takes strength to feel. It takes courage to admit you’re not okay.

Why do we expect so much emotional control from adults and offer so little understanding in return?

You can be in your 30s and still need a hug. You can be in your 40s and still feel lost. You can have a family, a job, a degree — and still break down. You are not less worthy of care because you’re an adult. In fact, that’s when we often need it the most.

This post isn’t just a rant. It’s a reminder.

To you, the one who cries in silence: you are not weak.

To you, the one who’s exhausted from holding it all in: you are not alone.

To you, the one who’s been told “you’re too emotional”: you’re just human.

Let’s normalize adult feelings. Let’s make space for grown-up breakdowns. Let’s be kinder — not just to others, but to ourselves.

We don’t stop needing softness just because we grow up. We never did. We never will.

"When Red Turns to White"

Dear Readers, today let’s talk about something different—something that touches the heart of our traditions and challenges the boundaries that have been set for us. We often think of widowhood as a time of sorrow, but what if the customs that surround it are what truly keep the grief alive? In Hinduism, the rules that govern a widow’s life are strict, from the colors she can wear to the food she can eat. But why do these traditions still hold so much power over a woman’s life, even in today’s world? Let’s explore the story behind these norms and ask ourselves: why can’t a widow wear red again, embrace joy, and live fully? Today, let’s open this conversation and reflect on how we can challenge these age-old expectations.

It has always amazed me how, when a child is born, they're free to wear whatever they want. Red, blue, pink—nothing is off-limits. Even a red bindi, something we often associate with married women, is worn with the innocence of youth. It seems like such an expression of freedom, doesn’t it? The world is open to them, and nothing about their existence limits their choices.

But what happens when life changes, when something so permanent is taken away? I’ve seen how a widow in Bengali culture is suddenly treated as if her very existence should be muted. Red—the same color a child could wear freely—becomes forbidden. A bindi, once a simple symbol of love and belonging, is now a distant memory. Even the foods she’s allowed to eat are reduced to vegetarian options as though to erase any sense of joy or indulgence from her life. It’s as though society demands that she live in the shadow of her loss, constantly reminded of her change in status.

I’ve seen it, firsthand. The shift in treatment, the way people start to see you differently—like you're marked by your grief. When I look at women who have lost their spouses, I feel this painful sense of restriction. They seem to carry the weight of an invisible rulebook that tells them they can no longer celebrate life in the same way. But as I’ve watched this, I’ve also wondered: Why is this so? Why does society allow a child to wear red, a symbol of life and celebration, but refuse a woman the same right once she’s embraced widowhood? 

There’s a history behind it, of course. Centuries of tradition that tied a widow’s identity to mourning, her clothing a reflection of her grief. But at what cost? When did the freedom to express oneself become tied so deeply to whether or not a partner is present? The truth is, the moment a woman becomes a widow, she’s expected to live by a set of rules that seem designed not just to remind her of her loss, but to diminish her very sense of self.

I can’t help but think of the women I know who have defied these norms. Women who still wear red, even though it’s "forbidden." They eat what makes them happy, despite the judgment, and somehow, that defiance gives me hope. But I also know how hard it is to push back against a lifetime of cultural conditioning. You almost feel like you have to apologize for your own existence.

I’m left wondering: Shouldn’t a widow have the same right to live fully as anyone else? Shouldn’t she have the freedom to express herself without being bound by outdated customs? These practices, no matter how deeply rooted, no longer serve a purpose. I wonder what would happen if we allowed widows to embrace color, to wear what makes them feel strong, not as a rejection of their past but as a celebration of their own strength.

Imagine a world where widows are free to wear red again—not to remind anyone of their loss, but to honor the resilience they carry. To embrace life again, not in spite of their history, but because of it. Wouldn’t that be a powerful shift? 

Now the question is , Why Do These Traditions Still Exist? Would like to share my Thoughts on Widowhood and Cultural Norms"

I often find myself wondering: why do these traditions still exist, especially in today’s world where everything is changing so quickly? The restrictions on widows in Bengali culture—like not being allowed to wear red, not applying a bindi, or eating only vegetarian food—seem so out of place when you really think about them. Yet, they are still very much a part of our reality. Why is that?

Historically, widowhood was seen as more than just a personal loss—it was a public statement. A woman who lost her husband was expected to demonstrate her grief in every possible way. In our culture, red has always symbolized joy, marriage, and life. So, when a woman becomes a widow, she’s not just mourning the loss of her partner; she’s also expected to remove herself from the celebratory part of life that red represents. It’s almost like society demands that she wear her sadness on her sleeve.

And it's not just the color she’s forbidden to wear. A bindi, something so small and simple, becomes a mark of separation. It’s no longer a symbol of womanhood or beauty, but a sign of something lost. The rule that widows should only eat vegetarian food adds another layer to this idea—that their joy should be stripped away, that they must live in austerity, as though their grief can somehow be measured by the restraint they show in every part of their life.

Of course, these customs aren’t just random; they’re deeply tied to religious beliefs and cultural practices that go back centuries. Hinduism, particularly in Bengali tradition, has a specific view of widowhood, where the widow is expected to be removed from the joys of the world—since her connection to marriage is severed. The bindi and red are symbols of a life she can no longer have. The idea of eating only vegetarian food is tied to purity and asceticism, suggesting that the widow should live a life of simplicity, detached from worldly pleasures.

But when I think about it more, I realize that these traditions are really about control. They tell women how to behave, what to wear, and what to eat, all based on a role they didn’t choose for themselves. A widow’s grief isn’t just her personal journey—it becomes a societal one. And in some ways, these traditions make it easier for society to manage and understand her pain, by limiting how she can express herself. It’s almost like they create a box for her grief, making it more palatable for everyone around her.

These practices are also a reflection of deeply rooted gender norms. In many ways, women have been defined by their relationships—with their fathers, their husbands, their families. So, when a woman loses her husband, society doesn’t know what to do with her. She no longer fits neatly into the role she’s been assigned. It’s as if her identity gets wiped clean, and she’s expected to exist in this grey area, removed from the vibrancy of life.

I can’t help but think about how hard it must be for a woman to live within these confines. It’s not just about what she wears or what she eats—it’s about how she’s seen. She’s no longer the woman she once was. Instead, she becomes defined by her loss, and her grief is something she must wear every day. And that’s where these traditions keep her in a place of silence—of invisibility.

But the world is changing. Slowly, but surely, things are beginning to shift. More and more women are challenging these old traditions. I’ve seen women wear red, put on a bindi, and eat the food they love, despite the judgment. It takes courage, though. These changes don’t come easily. We’re still very much tied to the expectations of family and society. The pressure to conform is strong.

However, there’s a part of me that believes these traditions don’t need to define us anymore. We can mourn and celebrate in our own ways. We can choose to live fully, regardless of whether we are married, widowed, or single. But this will take time—because, as much as we might want to change, these traditions are still embedded in the fabric of our culture.

When I look at all of this, I think part of the reason these customs persist is because they provide a sense of structure. They give people a way to understand the chaos of life, particularly loss. Grief is hard to process, and these rules create a framework for how to handle it. It’s easier to ask a widow to stop wearing red than it is to ask society to shift its perspective on her role. These practices keep everything predictable.

But I also think these traditions endure because they help preserve a certain vision of gender roles. Women, in particular, have always been expected to conform to a certain standard, whether in life or in death. Losing a spouse changes a woman’s role, and society can’t seem to accept that she may still want to live freely.

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In the end, I believe it’s up to us to break free from these outdated expectations. A widow should have the right to wear what makes her feel strong and alive, to eat what nourishes her, and to live fully. It’s time to stop reducing women to just their marital status, to stop seeing them as incomplete when they lose their spouse. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for red to become a color of strength again, not just for the young or the married, but for every woman who refuses to be confined by the past.

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"These traditions have existed for centuries, but that doesn’t mean they can’t change. The more we question, the more we open doors for a future where women are free to live without the weight of outdated customs. I’d love to hear your thoughts—what do you think about these traditions? Let’s keep this conversation going. Until next time, take care and stay thoughtful. See you again soon!"

" The Hands That Raised Us "

Dear Readers,

A new month unfolds, and with it comes a quiet moment to reflect on the hands that shaped us. The ones that held us when we took our first steps, wiped away our tears, and worked tirelessly to give us a life we often take for granted.  

These hands have aged, their softness replaced by callouses, their strength sometimes trembling with time. Yet, they continue—cooking our favorite meals, adjusting our collars before we step out, pressing lightly on our backs as if to say, I am here.

Today, I want to talk about something that weighs heavily on my heart. It’s about the people who shaped us into who we are today—OUR PARENTS 

We live in a fast-paced world where time feels like a luxury, and in the rush to build our own lives, it’s easy to overlook the sacrifices they made for us. From sleepless nights to endless sacrifices, they stood by us, nurturing us, protecting us, and giving us the strength to dream big.  

But as they grow older, the roles reverse. They need us just as much as we once needed them. And yet, in many cases, we fail to give back the care, love, and attention they deserve. Sadly, we see children turning away from their parents, treating them as a burden, and sometimes even leaving them in old-age homes, far from the family they built with love.  

This is not just about duty or responsibility—it’s about humanity. It’s about remembering that our parents are not burdens; they are blessings. And the time to cherish them is now.  

Let’s dive deeper into this together and reflect on the importance of honoring and caring for the ones who gave us everything. 

In the race to build our own lives, how often do we pause to think about the people who made it possible? The ones who sacrificed their dreams, comfort, and happiness so we could chase ours—our parents.  

When we were helpless infants, they were our protectors. When we stumbled as children, they lifted us up. When we doubted ourselves, they believed in us. Every small victory we celebrate today is built on the foundation of their sacrifices. They gave us their best years so we could have a future.  

And yet, when their golden years arrive, how do we repay them? All too often, we turn away. Caught in the whirlwind of our lives, we forget their needs, their loneliness, their yearning for the love of the children they poured their hearts into. Some of us send them away to old-age homes, out of sight and out of mind. Others treat them as though their existence is a burden, forgetting that these are the same hands that once fed and nurtured us.  

Let’s ask ourselves: what kind of people have we become? How have we grown so blind to their love? If our parents had abandoned us when we were young, would we have achieved what we have today? Would we even be here?  

It’s not enough to provide them with food, shelter, or money. What they truly need is our time, our care, and our respect. They don’t want our pity; they want to feel that they still matter. They want to see their sacrifices acknowledged, their love reciprocated.  

The truth is, life comes full circle. One day, we too will grow old. One day, we’ll look to our own children for the same love and care. What kind of example are we setting for them now?  

Caring for our parents is not just a duty—it’s a privilege. It’s our chance to give back a fraction of the love and support they’ve showered on us our whole lives. It doesn’t take much—a heartfelt conversation, a visit to spend time with them, or simply listening when they speak. These little moments mean the world to them.  

Our parents are not a burden—they are a gift. They gave us the foundation to build our lives, and it’s on us to ensure they never feel forgotten or unwanted. Let’s not wait until it’s too late to show them how much they mean to us.  

Because at the end of the day, success, wealth, and achievements mean nothing if we lose the people who loved us unconditionally along the way.  

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"As I write these words, my heart is heavy with sadness and grief. It pains me to think about how the world has changed, how we've drifted so far from the values that once bound us together. Our parents, who are nothing short of our guardians and blessings from God, deserve to be revered and cherished. Yet, far too many of us treat them as burdens rather than the precious souls who gave us everything. In our pursuit of success, we sometimes forget that love and respect for our parents should always come first. Let this be a wake-up call for us all to honor them while we still can, and to remember that they are not a burden but a gift to be treasured every day." I hope this message serves as a gentle reminder of the love and care our parents have given us and the importance of giving it back.  

Life is fleeting, and so are the moments we can spend with our loved ones. Let’s make those moments count—for them and for ourselves.  

Take care of yourselves and your families, and remember to spread kindness wherever you go. Until next time, stay connected to what truly matters.  

"Why Should Age Define Us??"

"Hello, dear readers!

A new month is here, and with it comes fresh perspectives. It’s been a while since I last shared my thoughts, but I’m back with something that’s been on my mind for a while—our society’s obsession with age.

Why do we let numbers dictate how we should live, dress, or make life choices? Why are women judged for being unmarried at 30 or for dressing up in their 50s, while men rarely face the same scrutiny? It’s time we question these outdated norms and redefine what aging truly means.No matter where you are in life, your experiences matter.

Stay tuned as I dive deeper into this topic!

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From the moment we are born, age becomes a defining factor in our lives.From childhood to adulthood, there are invisible deadlines for everything. When to start working, when to get married, when to have kids—when to settle down. And if you don’t check all the boxes at the right time, society makes sure you feel it.  I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard someone say, “You’re too young for this” or “Aren’t you too old to be doing that?” It’s as if life comes with a strict timeline, and the moment you step outside of it, people start raising their eyebrows.  Society has assigned invisible deadlines to human existence, making age not just a number but a measure of success, capability, and even worth. But why does age hold so much power over us?  

If you achieve something too soon, people question if you really deserve it. If you take longer, they wonder what went wrong. A 30-year-old living with their parents is looked down upon, but a 22-year-old living alone is told they’re moving too fast. A woman in her 40s deciding to go back to college? “Why now?” A man in his 60s starting a new career? “Shouldn’t you be retiring?”  It seems no matter what you do, there will always be someone who thinks you’re doing it at the wrong age. 

Interestingly, age is not judged equally for everyone.I have often wondered—why is age not judged equally for everyone? I have seen it, I have heard it. The whispers at family gatherings, the pointed questions at weddings, the casual remarks slipped into conversations as if they were harmless.

“She’s in her 30s and still unmarried? What’s wrong with her?”  

But when it comes to a man of the same age, there is no urgency. No one asks why he hasn’t settled down yet. In fact, he is often reassured—"There’s no rush, he has time.” A man, according to society, can get married whenever he pleases. His age is not a factor, but for a woman, an invisible clock is always ticking.  

And it doesn’t stop there. The scrutiny follows a woman throughout her life. If she reaches her 50s and dares to wear makeup, dress fashionably, or simply take pride in her appearance, she is met with disapproving stares. “Why is she trying so hard? Doesn’t she know her age?” Meanwhile, a man can wear what he likes, at any age, and no one bats an eye. A salt-and-pepper-haired gentleman in a well-tailored suit is “distinguished,” but a woman who embraces her style and confidence is “trying too hard.”  

Workplaces also reflect this bias. Young professionals are dismissed for being “too inexperienced,” while older employees are pushed out for being “outdated.” It seems that at every age, we are either too young, too old, or never quite right.  

This double standard is woven so deeply into our culture that many don’t even question it. Why is one given the freedom to live life on his terms, while the other is constantly reminded of societal expectations?  

Aging is a natural process, yet society treats it as something to fear.But what if we stopped seeing age as a limitation and started seeing it as just another part of who we are?

The truth is, age should not define our abilities, our dreams, or our worth. Success has no deadline. People have started businesses in their 50s, run marathons in their 60s, and found love in their 70s. Others have taken their time to heal, learn, or start over at an age society deemed “too late.”  

The only timeline that truly matters is the one that feels right for you. It’s time to stop letting numbers dictate our lives and start embracing every stage of our journey with confidence.  

So, the next time someone tells you you’re “too young” or “too old,” remember: your life is yours to live—at your own pace, in your own time.  

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As we journey through life, society often tries to measure our worth by the years we've lived rather than the experiences we've gained. But age is not a deadline, nor is it a limit to our dreams, our choices, or our happiness. Whether you are 30 and single, 50 and rediscovering yourself, or 70 and embracing new adventures, your life is yours to shape.  

Let’s stop letting numbers dictate our joy. Let’s wear what we love, pursue what excites us, and break free from the expectations that hold us back. Because the truth is—our worth is not measured by age but by the life we choose to live.  

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So go ahead, embrace yourself at every stage. You are not "too old" or "too young"—you are simply YOU, and that is always enough.  

" Single, Strong and Questioned : The Reality of being a single woman in society"

Hello, my people!Let’s talk about something that so many of us experience but rarely get to discuss openly—the reality of being a single woman. Some days, it feels like freedom, like having the whole world at your feet with no one to answer to. Other days, it’s a never-ending chorus of “When are you settling down?” as if happiness only comes in pairs. The truth is, being single is not just a phase or something to “fix.” It’s a life, a choice, a journey—one filled with joys, challenges, and a whole lot of unsolicited advice. So, let’s dive into what it really means to walk this path.

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Being a single woman comes with a unique mix of freedom, challenges, and societal expectations. To be single is often seen as a temporary phase, a waiting room before something "greater" arrives. But for many, it's a conscious choice—a life unburdened by compromise, shaped by independence.  

To be strong is to carry the weight of self-respect, to navigate life without leaning too heavily on others. Strength isn’t just about resilience in hardship; it’s about knowing when to stand alone and when to let others in.  

To be questioned is inevitable. Society questions those who stray from its norms. Why are you still single? Why do you seem so strong when vulnerability is expected? But perhaps the greatest power lies in not answering every question—just living in a way that makes the answers obvious.

There’s an unspoken expectation that a woman’s life should follow a linear path—study, work, marry (at the "right" age), have children, and dedicate herself to family. “What happens when a woman doesn’t follow the timeline that society quietly expects of her?”What if she chooses—or finds herself in—a life of independence, without marriage or a conventional family structure?  

There’s something about a woman being single that makes society uncomfortable. If she’s in her 20s, people joke that she still has time. In her 30s, the concern begins. By her 40s, the questions turn into judgments. “Didn’t she find anyone?” “She’s too picky.” “What will happen to her when she grows old?”  

 I have known highly accomplished and proficient women,who are financially independent, and capable of building a life on their own terms. But many of them didn’t choose singlehood because they wanted to. They did it because they had responsibilities—aging parents who needed care, family situations that required their attention. These women sacrificed their personal dreams to be there for their loved ones. And yet, instead of being appreciated, they find themselves not praised, but whispered about in hushed tones. Society raises its eyebrows, whispering behind their backs, as if their single status is a problem that needs solving.  

Whereas, men in similar situations are seen differently. A man who remains unmarried is often admired—he was too busy building a career, too focused on responsibilities, too noble to "settle." But for a woman, there’s always the assumption that something is lacking—either she didn’t try hard enough or she wasn’t good enough to be chosen.  

What people fail to see is that these women are not incomplete. They are strong, self-sufficient, and deeply compassionate. They don’t need a husband to validate their existence. They are already caregivers, decision-makers, and independent individuals. Yet, the world constantly reminds them of what they don’t have, instead of celebrating everything they do.

And then comes the ultimate question: Who will take care of her in old age? But does marriage guarantee lifelong care? We’ve seen elderly couples where one spouse is left to struggle alone. We’ve seen parents with children who don’t visit them. Having a partner or children is no guarantee of support. And even if it were, is that really the only reason to get married—to secure a caretaker for later?  

Being single is not a tragedy. It is not a failure. It is a reality that many women live with grace, strength, and dignity. And it’s time society stops treating them as if they are missing a piece of themselves. Because they are whole, just as they are.

Thankfully, perspectives are shifting. More women are embracing their singleness, not as a waiting phase but as a fulfilling lifestyle. Some choose it permanently, while others refuse to settle for less than they deserve. The reality is, being single doesn’t mean being lonely, and being married doesn’t guarantee happiness. What truly matters is having the freedom to define your own life, without societal expectations dictating your worth.  

Final Thoughts

A woman’s value isn’t determined by her relationship status. Whether single by choice or circumstance, women deserve to be seen as whole, capable, and complete—just as they are. Society needs to stop treating singlehood as a problem to be fixed and start seeing it as a valid, empowered way of living. 

"The Men Who Choose Home"

Hello Readers, today let’s talk about the men who build homes—not just in the traditional sense of laying bricks and constructing walls, but the men who create the foundation of a family’s life. These are the men who tend to the house, care for the children, and provide emotional support to their partners. They may not always get the recognition they deserve, yet their contributions are invaluable. These men don’t just contribute to a home in material ways; they offer their time, love, and efforts to ensure that everything runs smoothly. They challenge the conventional idea that building a home is solely a woman’s responsibility, and they deserve our acknowledgment and respect for the work they do every day.

A man wakes up early, not to rush to an office but to pack his child’s lunch. He folds tiny clothes, washes dishes, and soothes a crying toddler. At the grocery store, he notices the curious glances. At family gatherings, he hears the questions—*“So, you don’t work?”* *“Why isn’t your wife staying home?”*  

We celebrate women who juggle work, home, and childcare, calling them superheroes. But when a man chooses home, why does society see it as weakness? Why do we assume that his worth is tied only to a paycheck, while a woman’s extends to everything she does?  

In a world that claims to embrace equality, the idea of a man as a homemaker still raises eyebrows. But these men exist. They nurture, they care, they build homes—not just with bricks and money, but with love and presence.  

This is about them. The men who choose home. And why that choice should be just as respected.  

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"I’ve known men who are homemakers. They take on the household chores, care for the children, and ensure the home runs smoothly. Yet, despite all their contributions, society often sees them through a different lens. Instead of admiration, they face shaming and judgment for choosing to stay home and take on roles traditionally associated with women. The world questions their masculinity, labeling them as ‘less than’ because they don’t conform to outdated expectations. These men, who do everything from cooking meals to fixing broken pipes, are still often made to feel like they fall short simply because they’ve chosen to build their homes with love and care rather than a paycheck."

"They’re often faced with questions like, 'What are you doing these days? Don’t you work?' or 'You must be doing household chores?' While these questions may seem harmless on the surface, they carry an undertone of judgment that can deeply affect a person’s mental health. The assumption that a man’s worth is only tied to his job outside the home undermines the value of the work he does inside the home. These seemingly casual questions chip away at his sense of purpose, making him feel inadequate or less than. We often overlook how these comments—born from ingrained societal norms—can weigh heavily on someone’s emotional well-being. 

It’s time we recognize that staying home to nurture a family, to care, and to build a supportive environment is work in itself. And just like any job, it comes with its own set of challenges, requiring respect, validation, and understanding."

To truly break these stereotypes, we need to start by seeing things for what they are: outdated expectations that no longer serve us. The idea that only women should care for the home and nurture the family is an old, tired notion. Men who take on these roles are not doing anything unusual or lesser—they’re simply doing the important work of creating a strong, supportive family foundation.

It’s time to celebrate all forms of caregiving, no matter who’s doing it. Men who stay home, handle the chores, and look after their families are not less of a man; they are partners who are actively shaping their family’s happiness and stability. The value of their work is just as significant as any other contribution, and it should be recognized as such.

Breaking these stereotypes starts with everyday conversations. It’s about stopping the judgment when a man chooses to care for his home, and instead, showing respect for the decision. We need to stop assuming someone’s worth is tied to the job they do outside the home, and start valuing the emotional and physical labor they put into their family. Media, schools, and workplaces all have a role to play in normalizing these different family structures, showing that caregiving and homemaking can be done by anyone, regardless of gender.

When we start breaking these stereotypes, we create a world where everyone’s role is respected. We teach our children that success isn’t just about a paycheck—it’s about the love, effort, and care we give each other. When we stop questioning and start respecting the choices people make in their homes, we move closer to a more equal and understanding world.

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Until next time, keep challenging the norms and embracing the roles that truly matter. Whether you’re building a home with bricks or with love, remember that your contribution is invaluable. Stay kind, stay true, and don’t let society’s expectations define you. I’ll see you soon with more thoughts to share. Take care!

Breaking Free from the Social Media Pressure: A Journey of Self-Discovery

Dear Readers,

Today, I want to talk about something that many of us experience but don't always address—social media and the impact of constant comparisons on our self-esteem. It’s easy to get caught up in the highlight reels we see on our feeds: the successes, the perfect family moments, and the seemingly flawless lives others are living. But how does it make us feel when we don't measure up, or when we don’t share as much about our own lives? I’ve been there, questioning if I’m doing enough, or if something is wrong because my life doesn’t look like what’s being posted. And I want to take a moment to reflect on this journey with you, share my experience, and remind us all that we don’t need to measure ourselves by the highlight reels of others.Let’s explore this together, and maybe even find some peace in the process.

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about social media and how it affects the way I see myself. Every time I open my feed, it’s filled with posts about people’s successes, their happy families, and all the milestones they’re celebrating. For a while, it made me wonder if something was wrong with me. I don’t share much about my own life on social media, so I started questioning: Does that mean I’m a failure? Am I missing something that everyone else seems to have?

Seeing all those perfect snapshots made me feel like I wasn’t measuring up, like I was falling behind. It seemed like everyone else had it all together—happy families, career wins, and milestones to boast about. But me? I was just living my quiet, day-to-day life. And I couldn’t help but wonder if that meant I wasn’t doing enough or wasn’t good enough.

So, I decided to take a step back. I needed to give myself a break from the constant noise and comparison. I started detoxing from social media, and instead, I picked up something simple—crochet and embroidery. At first, it felt a bit like an escape, but over time, it became something much more. It was a way to reconnect with myself, to feel grounded and at peace. There were no likes or comments, just the soothing rhythm of the needle and thread. It helped me focus on something that was just for me.

And in doing that, I realized something important: I don’t need to post about my life to prove my worth. I don’t need to compare my behind-the-scenes to everyone else’s highlight reel. My journey is mine, and it’s okay if it doesn’t look like anyone else’s. I’m enough, even if no one else sees my progress or celebrates it publicly.

If you ever feel the same way—like you’re falling behind because your life doesn’t look as glamorous as someone else’s on social media—remember this: you’re not alone. Your worth isn’t in the posts you share or the picture-perfect moments you see online. It’s in the quiet growth, the small wins, and the things that bring you true joy, even if they’re only seen by you.

On a Happy Note : I want to say no offense to anyone who enjoys sharing their day-to-day moments—there’s nothing wrong with celebrating your life. But I also want to remind myself and others that life isn’t just about what we post online. We don’t need social media to define our worth or measure our success. Our value comes from within, from the quiet moments, the growth, and the little victories that no one else might see. So let’s celebrate our unique journeys, whether they’re shared with the world or just cherished privately. We’re all on our own beautiful paths, and that’s enough.