A Rough Start, But You Held On
The year began with heartbreak — emotional pain intertwined with the pressures of a demanding job, a new city, and a lonely heart trying to adjust. Amidst it all, you stood tall at work. Your managers appreciated your attitude, and even when you wanted to quit, you stayed — not because you had to, but because you cared.
Eventually, you realized: no job is worth your peace. You walked away. You chose growth over a monthly salary. You said no to what didn’t serve you, even if it looked shiny on the outside. That first “no” to the world was a big “yes” to yourself. And I’m proud of you.
Family First, Always
Life threw curveballs — medical emergencies at home tested your resolve. You juggled dreams and duty, often sacrificing one for the other. While others took a step back, you stepped forward, carrying responsibility with love. You may be the youngest, but you became the backbone.
Why do you go above and beyond? Is it care or the need to feel relevant? As the middle child in a big family, being seen has always mattered. And maybe that’s okay — maybe this yearning made you deeply empathetic and strong.
Mausiji and Mausaji’s gratitude will live in your heart forever. You showed up when it counted.
Between caring for family, managing your mental and physical health, and figuring out your career, you got overwhelmed. Your heart felt heavy. You cried yourself to sleep many nights. But even then, support came — in the form of a message, a friend, a stranger. Grace always found its way in.
You couldn’t do your Sadhna for six months. You distanced from Krishna, maybe because you were trying to heal. Unpacking childhood pain, facing your triggers, and sitting with uncomfortable truths — it wasn’t easy. But you did it. And that’s strength too.
You’ve always felt the need to excel — not for joy, but for approval. As a child, you weren’t appreciated for your creativity. Only when you scored high did love and attention pour in. So, you stopped dancing and focused on marks. That pattern followed you into adulthood — degrees, status, validation. But you’re starting to question it now. That’s how change begins.
You also noticed how your mother’s selflessness left her unfulfilled. It scares you. You love deeply but are learning that love must have boundaries too. You’ve started saying “I love you” to Mumma more often, hugging her. You’re trying to be patient, even when your triggers scream otherwise. You’re learning to communicate with Papa too — slowly but surely.
Burnout
You burned out this year. Why? Because you didn’t know how to say no. You kept pushing — for appreciation, for validation. You wanted to be seen as strong and reliable. But now, you’re learning to rest. To reflect. To honour your energy.
You realized how your competitive environment growing up shaped you. How jealousy and unacknowledged emotions still linger. How much your music teacher’s love meant to you — because it was rare and real. You’re starting to acknowledge what you’ve buried for years.
You made a beautiful friend who now calls you her best friend — someone you helped, someone who saw you. And even when life was messy, you chose not to run.
You got into a relationship despite your fear of attachment. It’s not perfect, but you’re showing up, facing your fears instead of fleeing. That’s courage.
You also resisted many tempting instant gratifications — in favour of long-term peace. Practicing transparency became your silent rebellion.
The confusion
Some days, life made no sense. You’d laugh, have fun, then feel empty again. You craved more, felt ungrateful, judged yourself for it. Was it capitalism whispering you’re only worthy if you hustle and produce? Maybe.
You wanted to jump into the unknown — quit everything. But not to escape. You just wanted to enjoy this game of life. And yet, fear held you back. Failure loomed large.
But despite all this, you didn’t run. You stayed. And you felt. And you wrote.
You’re not broken — you’re becoming
You are learning that love with limits is not selfish. That rest is not laziness. That crying is not weakness. That choosing yourself is not betrayal.
You walked through heartbreak, pressure, anxiety, burnout, family crises, spiritual distance, and identity questions — and you’re still here. You’re still soft. You still care.
And that? That’s your superpower.