As a child, I was lost in thoughts. Not in a dreamy, playful way but in quiet, internal contemplation. I would sit alone for hours, thinking, observing, wondering about life. As a teenager, I was much the same, always in thought, always processing. But over the years, I’ve come to realise something:
All that reflection was muddied by overthinking and an unregulated mind.
I thought I was introspective. But often, I wasn’t thinking my thoughts, I was thinking through the lens of other people’s expectations.
It’s like I was reflective inside a box.
A box carefully constructed by family, community, and cultural expectations. By what was praised. By what was safe.
My thoughts weren’t mine; they were echoes. Echoes of what I was told was right. What I was told made me lovable. Worthy. Good.
The Fog of Obedience
And so I became two people.
One was the version shaped entirely by the outside world. A person who lived for approval, for acceptance. And the other was a version that didn’t feel true to myself, but somehow was still me. The version that quietly endured. That floated. That watched from above.
I’ve been loyal to expectations for as long as I can remember. Especially as someone raised in a collectivist culture, where being individualistic isn’t celebrated. It’s seen as selfish. Dishonourable. So I adapted.
I don’t know when I stopped being myself. Was it in childhood? How long did I actually enjoy being me before I started performing versions of myself?
I look back now and realise: I existed in a fog. Vague. Disconnected. Floating above my body.
I became personas: The obedient child. The good student. The quiet friend. The strong wife. The daughter who abides. The worker who is grateful.
And there it is again – obedience. That word threads through all the roles I’ve played. While these are all praised qualities, I can see now that I didn’t truly exist beneath them. These weren’t just my traits. They were my coping mechanisms. My survival. My performance.
I was calm. Collected. Yet Frozen. Nothing broke me because I wouldn’t allow it. I reacted with grace because that was expected. Not in the messy, imperfect, honest way humans are meant to feel. But in a polished, distant way that kept me acceptable.
Motherhood: The Break and the Becoming
And then I had children.
I didn’t know how to be a mother. Not really. But I knew what I most definitely did want for my children.
I wanted them; not a version of anyone else. I wanted children who were unique, proud, and rooted in their own being. Not obedient for the sake of being loved. Not quiet for the sake of being accepted. Not floating through life, disconnected from themselves.
And maybe that’s when I broke free.
Maybe I used my kids as a crutch to finally stand up and scream, “Not again. Not now”. Or maybe, for the first time in my life, I found the courage to be brave because I had to model for them what it means to live authentically.
The Work of Returning to Myself
From that moment on, I’ve been on a journey of self-discovery and personal growth. Trying to find myself. Trying to become myself.
That phrase “trying to find myself ” feels both cathartic and cliché. But it is also the most necessary work I’ve done as an adult. I used to say “better late than never,” but healing isn’t linear, and growth is sporadic. There is no late. There is no never. There is only now.
And I have suffered this journey. I am more lost than found, most days.
Just few days ago I told my soul friend, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to reach or if there’s even anything to reach.”
What Are We Really Trying to Reach?
That thought has stayed with me.
Because if I am doing all this inner work, connecting with my inner child, breaking generational cycles, learning nervous system regulation, unlearning cultural conditioning, studying attachment styles, and building authentic relationships – what is the destination?
What does it all lead to?
I’ve started to wonder: Maybe it doesn’t lead anywhere. Maybe this isn’t a path to a place. Maybe it’s a way to live.
Like in Agile product development, the product is never truly finished. It’s a living, breathing thing. Always iterating. Always improving.
But even a product must rest.
The Idea of Peaceful Aliveness
That thought brought me to a new phrase:
Peaceful aliveness.
Could that be the sweet spot? A place where my mind is calm, my heart is open, and I feel at home in myself even if life isn’t perfect?
Maybe I am there. Maybe I’m not. Maybe it’s not a destination. Maybe it’s a practice. A way of being that allows me to feel present, grounded, and safe in my own body.
A state where I’m no longer chasing or proving. Where I can love, grieve, laugh, and rest without fearing I’ll fall apart. A place of trust in myself. A secure attachment, not to someone else but to me. Presence. Coherence. Internal safety.
What I Truly Want
When we say that we want to be happy, I don’t think we know what it really means.
What we truly want is:
A calm mind that is free from spirals and overthinking.
Joy that’s real and not just curated for the socials.
Stillness that feels safe and not like failure or emptiness.
Connection without fear and love that doesn’t feel conditional.
Work that aligns which holds not just achievement but meaning.
A body we feel at home in that is cared for, not punished.
Time to breathe without rushing to prove or produce.
A life that reflects our values not just our roles.
Maybe we don’t want happiness as a constant. Maybe we just want the emotional tools to access it when we need and want to.
And for someone like me; someone who feels deeply, processes honestly, and grows through ache, what I truly want is this:
Peaceful aliveness.
A life where I don’t need to escape myself. A life where I can simply be.
Peaceful Aliveness
A Life Lived Through Echoes
I’ve been deeply reflective all my life.
As a child, I was lost in thoughts. Not in a dreamy, playful way but in quiet, internal contemplation. I would sit alone for hours, thinking, observing, wondering about life. As a teenager, I was much the same, always in thought, always processing. But over the years, I’ve come to realise something:
All that reflection was muddied by overthinking and an unregulated mind.
I thought I was introspective. But often, I wasn’t thinking my thoughts, I was thinking through the lens of other people’s expectations.
It’s like I was reflective inside a box.
A box carefully constructed by family, community, and cultural expectations. By what was praised. By what was safe.
My thoughts weren’t mine; they were echoes. Echoes of what I was told was right. What I was told made me lovable. Worthy. Good.
The Fog of Obedience
And so I became two people.
One was the version shaped entirely by the outside world. A person who lived for approval, for acceptance. And the other was a version that didn’t feel true to myself, but somehow was still me. The version that quietly endured. That floated. That watched from above.
I’ve been loyal to expectations for as long as I can remember. Especially as someone raised in a collectivist culture, where being individualistic isn’t celebrated. It’s seen as selfish. Dishonourable. So I adapted.
I don’t know when I stopped being myself. Was it in childhood? How long did I actually enjoy being me before I started performing versions of myself?
I look back now and realise: I existed in a fog. Vague. Disconnected. Floating above my body.
I became personas:
The obedient child.
The good student.
The quiet friend.
The strong wife.
The daughter who abides.
The worker who is grateful.
And there it is again – obedience. That word threads through all the roles I’ve played. While these are all praised qualities, I can see now that I didn’t truly exist beneath them. These weren’t just my traits. They were my coping mechanisms. My survival. My performance.
I was calm. Collected. Yet Frozen.
Nothing broke me because I wouldn’t allow it. I reacted with grace because that was expected. Not in the messy, imperfect, honest way humans are meant to feel. But in a polished, distant way that kept me acceptable.
Motherhood: The Break and the Becoming
And then I had children.
I didn’t know how to be a mother. Not really. But I knew what I most definitely did want for my children.
I wanted them; not a version of anyone else. I wanted children who were unique, proud, and rooted in their own being. Not obedient for the sake of being loved. Not quiet for the sake of being accepted. Not floating through life, disconnected from themselves.
And maybe that’s when I broke free.
Maybe I used my kids as a crutch to finally stand up and scream, “Not again. Not now”. Or maybe, for the first time in my life, I found the courage to be brave because I had to model for them what it means to live authentically.
The Work of Returning to Myself
From that moment on, I’ve been on a journey of self-discovery and personal growth. Trying to find myself. Trying to become myself.
That phrase “trying to find myself ” feels both cathartic and cliché. But it is also the most necessary work I’ve done as an adult. I used to say “better late than never,” but healing isn’t linear, and growth is sporadic. There is no late. There is no never. There is only now.
And I have suffered this journey. I am more lost than found, most days.
Just few days ago I told my soul friend, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to reach or if there’s even anything to reach.”
What Are We Really Trying to Reach?
That thought has stayed with me.
Because if I am doing all this inner work, connecting with my inner child, breaking generational cycles, learning nervous system regulation, unlearning cultural conditioning, studying attachment styles, and building authentic relationships – what is the destination?
What does it all lead to?
I’ve started to wonder:
Maybe it doesn’t lead anywhere. Maybe this isn’t a path to a place. Maybe it’s a way to live.
Like in Agile product development, the product is never truly finished. It’s a living, breathing thing. Always iterating. Always improving.
But even a product must rest.
The Idea of Peaceful Aliveness
That thought brought me to a new phrase:
Peaceful aliveness.
Could that be the sweet spot? A place where my mind is calm, my heart is open, and I feel at home in myself even if life isn’t perfect?
Maybe I am there. Maybe I’m not. Maybe it’s not a destination. Maybe it’s a practice. A way of being that allows me to feel present, grounded, and safe in my own body.
A state where I’m no longer chasing or proving. Where I can love, grieve, laugh, and rest without fearing I’ll fall apart. A place of trust in myself. A secure attachment, not to someone else but to me. Presence. Coherence. Internal safety.
What I Truly Want
When we say that we want to be happy, I don’t think we know what it really means.
What we truly want is:
A calm mind that is free from spirals and overthinking.
Joy that’s real and not just curated for the socials.
Stillness that feels safe and not like failure or emptiness.
Connection without fear and love that doesn’t feel conditional.
Work that aligns which holds not just achievement but meaning.
A body we feel at home in that is cared for, not punished.
Time to breathe without rushing to prove or produce.
A life that reflects our values not just our roles.
Maybe we don’t want happiness as a constant. Maybe we just want the emotional tools to access it when we need and want to.
And for someone like me; someone who feels deeply, processes honestly, and grows through ache, what I truly want is this:
Peaceful aliveness.
A life where I don’t need to escape myself. A life where I can simply be.
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