The Middle School Lesson I Still Feel in My Bones

I didn’t understand it at the time—

that moment in middle school when the director of the school who was also a family friend leaned in and said,

“Run after Saraswati. Lakshmi will follow.”

I nodded the way children nod when adults hand them oversized truths.

But inside, I was already learning something completely different:

that being worthy meant performing, achieving, doing more, being more.

That love had to be earned.

Back then, I thought knowledge was something you collected.

So I kept collecting.

New courses.

New certificates.

New books.

New workshops.

Every completion gave me a small high…

followed by the same heavy drop in my stomach.

Like filling a leaking cup.

Nobody tells you that being a “seeker” can become an escape.

You keep running toward the next thing

so you never have to hear what’s breaking inside.

And that was me.

Curious, driven, hungry to grow—

yet emotionally exhausted in ways I couldn’t name.

There was a day—still so clear—

when I sat on the floor with all my certificates spread around me.

Pages proving that I had “grown.”

Inside, there was nothing.

Just silence.

A tight chest.

A lump I couldn’t swallow.

A grief I had avoided for years.

That’s when the seeking cracked.

Not because I found something new,

but because I couldn’t outrun myself anymore.

Turning inward wasn’t peaceful.

It was messy.

Uncomfortable.

Heavy in the body.

I had to sit with the parts of me I’d been running from—

the trauma,

the beliefs that kept me small,

the grief I never mourned,

the versions of me that were never allowed to speak,

and that old, tired conviction

that I must do something to be loved.

Years later, it hit me quietly—

the real Saraswati was never the knowledge I chased.

She was the wisdom of knowing myself.

The truth I kept skipping in all my seeking.

As my inner layers softened, so did my life.

I could sit in my own presence without needing to perform.

Clients began finding me.

Opportunities opened.

Money stopped feeling like a hunt and became a natural consequence of alignment.

But then I noticed something else—one I only saw as I worked more closely with others.

Some practitioners weren’t thriving, despite their drive and hustle.

They had the desire, the enthusiasm, the “doing” energy—but they were missing two things:

the inner awareness, the deep grounding of Saraswati, and

the foundation—the actual skills, the craft, the practice needed to hold space fully.

I saw it in the sessions:

a student rushing through exercises, muttering, “I just want results fast,”

another skipping parts of a module, hoping for outcomes without doing the inner work.

And it struck me: abundance, Lakshmi, doesn’t come to someone who only performs externally.

It arrives when presence and skill are paired.

When the inner and the outer meet.

When you’ve built the foundation so strong that the wealth of life can actually land and stay.

That’s what shaped my courses.

Spaces where the inner work comes first, where awareness and grounding are cultivated, and where skills grow alongside presence.

Where students can meet themselves fully, learn deeply, and create lasting impact.

Healing didn’t make me perfect.

It made me honest.

And honesty, paired with awareness and grounded skill, has a way of showing up in life—and in work—with ease.

I hold both kinds of spaces—spaces where you can meet yourself fully in 1:1 work, and spaces where you can learn the skills to hold presence and impact through my training programs.

If your body is asking for a pause, if your heart is tired of running outward, you are welcome here. Reach out at +91 7016500451 and step into a space where your truth can breathe—and where your presence can grow.

Sometimes, the wisdom we chase for years isn’t found in more doing.

It’s found when we stop, turn inward, and come home to ourselves—

and in that presence, create a life—and work—that flows naturally.