“बुरा जो देखन मैं चला…” – the mirror of self”

I used to think the world was against me.

Some six, seven years ago, I was in deep shit.

Days blurred into each other. Crying. Staring at the ceiling. Numb. Spinning in anger.

Frustration boiling over. Vomiting it on everyone.

Questioning everything—my choices, my family, my relationships, even my own existence.

I blamed.

My partner. For not supporting my dreams.

My children. For taking every ounce of energy I had.

My parents. For not showing up the way I needed.

Everyone. Everything.

I was bitter. I was resentful.

And yet… somewhere deep, I knew. Something wasn’t just about them.

But I didn’t want to see it.

Because seeing it meant facing myself.

Facing the parts I’d abandoned.

The self I’d buried under obligation, fear, and expectation.

Days turned into spirals. Nights into wrestles with my own shadow.

I asked myself the same questions endlessly:

“Why am I always tired?”

“Why do I feel unseen?”

“Why do I give and give and still feel hollow?”

I started noticing something I couldn’t ignore.

The anger I saw in others. The exhaustion, the disappointments, the limits.

It was all a mirror.

Mirrors of what I had never faced.

Mirrors of the self I refused to nurture.

My partner’s harshness was reflecting my own lack of confidence.

My children’s restlessness was echoing my exhaustion.

My parents’ criticism? A spotlight on where I had given up on myself.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

Every realization was a blade cutting through old stories.

Every truth uncovered left a lump in my throat.

Every mirror forced me to stare at my own abandonment.

And slowly… painfully… I began to see.

Not in a flash. Not neatly.

Step by step.

Night by night.

Moment by moment.

Yes, the circumstances were unfair.

Yes, betrayal and disappointment were real.

Yes, people had hurt me.

All true.

But there was a bigger truth.

The one I had been running from.

It was never about them.

It was about me.

I had never chosen me.

I had never honored myself.

I had always measured my worth through others’ eyes, and I had believed their reflection was my reality.

The bitterness, the anger, the endless exhaustion—it was mine to own.

And in owning it, the first flicker of freedom appeared.

Because freedom isn’t sudden.

It’s raw.

It’s messy.

It’s sitting with your own wreckage and whispering,

“I see you. I hear you. I will not abandon you anymore.”

And the weird, miraculous thing?

The world shifts when you make that choice.

Resources appear. People show up. Guidance lands.

Not because life is suddenly perfect.

But because you are no longer resisting it.

Because you have finally chosen yourself.

Here’s the question I ask anyone who feels stuck, exhausted, unseen:

If you could choose, right now, between the life dictated by your circumstances and the life dictated by your choices…

Which would you pick?

Not theoretically. Not in a thought experiment.

Which would you choose, even if it shakes the world you’ve built?

Even if it costs relationships, comfort, or approval?

Because the truth is brutal: the path of healing and growth always demands losses.

The people who fit the old version of you may not fit the new.

And the ones who do…you haven’t met yet.

But that is also where possibility lives.

In the unknown. In the uncomfortable. In the act of daring to place yourself at the center of your own life.

This is not easy.

This is not quick.

This is raw.

But it also creates room.

Room for the people who will see you fully.

Room for the life that matches your growth.

Room for the truth you’ve been running from.

This is hard.

It is messy.

It is terrifying.

And maybe…. maybe this is where the first real breath begins..