A Resilient Heart: Struggles Vs Strength

Life has always been a dance of highs and lows, a delicate balance between challenges and victories. The Fancy Sagittarius, and oh, the elusive number nine!— Regardless of what astrology or numerology may predict, life finds its own way to surprise us. My journey has been anything but linear, marked by moments of doubt, vulnerability, and uncertainty. Yet, it is precisely these experiences that have shaped the person I am today, offering lessons and insights that I believe can resonate with others navigating similar paths. And so here I am, narrating yet another ordinary story as if God is especially focusing on me, with a smirky smile…

I was born into a loving family, where my parents doted on me and filled my childhood with warmth. My Mom, the epitome of affection, always ensured I felt cherished. She would often tell me, “You’re my little star, the brightest in the sky,” as she hugged me tightly.

But even as a child, I sometimes noticed shadows behind her smiles. There were days when Mom seemed sad, her gaze distant as though she were carrying a weight she didn’t want me to see. At times, I overheard whispered conversations about my dad’s extramarital affair—rumors tied to the fact that Mom couldn’t bear him a son.

Though Dad never let his thoughts about having a girl instead of a boy slip in front of me, the weight of those unspoken expectations lingered. I didn’t fully understand it then, but I could sense how society’s obsession with a male heir was a silent strain on my family.

One evening, as Mom sat by the window, I crawled into her lap. “Why do you look so sad, Mom?” I asked softly.

She forced a smile and brushed my hair back. “I’m not sad, my love. You’re all I’ll ever need,” she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

Her words were meant to comfort me, but I could sense the ache behind them. It planted a seed in me—a resolve to prove that being a girl was not a limitation and that I could be as strong and capable as anyone.

I was raised to focus only on my studies and play. In the eyes of my parents and grandparents, I was their pampered little princess. But unbeknownst to me, the world was preparing its own judgments.

I wasn’t aware of the whispers that followed me as I grew. I heard it—"Kali," they’d say, pointing out my complexion. "Laddoo," they'd call me for my round cheeks. At that time, I took it all lightly, as part of growing up, but it was only later that I would realize how much those casual words, laced with judgment, would shape my perception of myself. I was never enough for the world. No matter how hard I tried, I was too dark, too chubby, and too spoiled. The society's standards were a constant reminder of how little I fit into its molds.

My ambitions were not defined by societal expectations. As I grew, I became passionate about learning. I worked hard at my studies, determined to carve out a place for myself outside the shielded world my parents had built around me. My dreams were big, fueled by self-belief. I wrote many competitive exams back to back. I worked hard for the civil services and cleared UPSC prelims with ease. “That's like my girl. I’m so proud of you!” My Dad's face beamed as his eyes were shining with pride. “Mains is just a step away,” I replied, already envisioning the next milestone.

But oh, that whiplash of fate, as if life had different plans for me. My father fell seriously ill, and the weight of responsibility came crashing down on me and Mom. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a young woman with ambitions but had to be strong enough to take care of my family, not financially but in all other senses. I began to realize the delicate balance I would need to strike between my desires and duties.

It was an extremely turbulent period and my parents decided to get me married. They said it was the right moment, that marriage would bring stability into my life and that someone would be there to take care of me as they couldn’t. I was unprepared, both mentally and emotionally. I hadn’t even considered marriage as an option, let alone as a solution to the growing responsibilities I was facing at home. But my parents were insistent, and their constant nudges eventually led me to marry someone from a conservative family, a man whose values and expectations were worlds apart from mine. It was more of an emotional and cultural shift for me.

I entered marriage with no real preparation, and I soon discovered that the struggles I had been avoiding were not over—they had merely been transformed into new battles.

In parallel, I secured a job in a decent position that required me to join immediately. The opportunity was a testament to my hard work and resilience, but it came with its own set of challenges. “Byah ke baad humari bahuein kaam pe nahi jaati. Humein jaroorat nahi hai. Jaise gayi ho waise hi wapas aajao.” I was warned. Despite all the objections, I accepted the role with a genuine zeal to serve society.

My husband, though supportive in his own way, couldn’t persuade his family to approve of my working out of the station. The tension at home was palpable, and I often felt caught in a web of expectations and resistance. Just as I was navigating these challenges, I received the news of my pregnancy—a glimmer of joy in an otherwise turbulent time.

However, this happiness was met with judgment. “Isn't it too early to have a child? Is it even his?” Someone said. “She’s too focused on herself,” some whispered. “She’s neglecting her responsibilities as a wife and daughter-in-law,” others criticized. Their words weren’t just fleeting remarks; they were daggers that chipped away at my spirit.

Each day became a relentless battle between pleasing everyone and clinging to my own identity. To make matters worse, my pregnancy turned complicated. But vulnerability was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I carried the weight of my struggles silently, pushing forward because there was no other choice.

My child, my bundle of joy, was born. The joy of motherhood was tempered with exhaustion and fear, as my baby was often ill. I had no choice but to leave my job to care for him. It was the first time I gave up something I had worked so hard for—my career. Yet, it didn’t feel like a choice at all. It was survival. I threw myself into motherhood, and keeping the family together. My so-called near ones failed to grasp the profound emotional toll of caring for both my ailing baby and my sick parents—both of whom were battling heart disease by then.

As if life wasn’t testing me enough, my parents’ condition deteriorated further. Their need for my care grew, and I found myself shuttling endlessly between my marital home and my parent’s house with my 3-year-old still in my arms. I took on full responsibility for their well-being, but the criticism came swiftly and harshly.

“She’s only interested in hoarding her parents’ property,” people sneered.

“Why is she so fixated on them? What about her marriage?” they whispered.

Their words stung, not because they were true, but because they reflected how little anyone understood. The more I gave of myself, the heavier the burden felt. My needs were invisible, swept aside in the tidal wave of expectations. Every choice I made—whether it was as a mother, a daughter, or a wife—was scrutinized.

I would stand in front of the god’s altar, the flickering light of the lamp reflecting the turmoil in my heart. “What have I done to deserve this pain?” I would whisper, tears streaming down my face. The weight of judgment, grief, and loneliness pressed down on me, leaving me drowning in despair. I still remember the day I was at my parent's house. Mom was seriously not keeping well. My dad came to me one night and said, “ You concentrate on your family, my dear. How long can you struggle like this? If something happens, I will let you know.” I could sense how helpless he felt at that very moment. The more I tried to navigate through life, the more isolated I felt, trapped in a cycle of giving without receiving.

The tension in my marriage grew. Every disagreement was rooted in the struggles I was facing. My husband, unable to understand the complexities of my emotional exhaustion, became distant. I felt like a failure—not just as a wife, but as a person. The guilt of not living up to everyone’s expectations became my constant companion. I tried to navigate it all, but I couldn’t.

After prolonged phases of hospitalizations, my parents left us. Though I tried to accept their passing at face value, the weight of guilt began to consume me entirely. Somewhere along the way, I felt I had failed to fully support them in their most vulnerable moments. That realization crushed me, leaving me haunted by the “what ifs” and “if onlys...”

In an attempt to ease the ache in my heart, I settled my inheritance, giving away a significant portion to charity—perhaps as a way to atone for the guilt that refused to leave me.

“Why would you give away so much?" a person to whom I had confided, asked.

“Because it’s the only way I know how to make peace with myself,” I replied quietly.

Somewhere deep down, I knew that no act of charity could fill the void their absence left behind. My parents’ passing created a vacuum in my heart, one that no one could ever fill. It marked the end of a chapter that had shaped my identity for so long. The world I had once built around them, centered on love, care, and responsibilities, now felt like a crumbled foundation. I was left standing in the ruins, enveloped in a haze of loneliness, unsure of how to move forward.

Life, however, doesn’t stop for grief, does it? The pressure to rebuild my sense of purpose was inevitable. I decided to return to work to find myself again, to regain some sense of identity.

I was determined to prove that I could still make my mark. I ventured into new jobs, climbed the ladder, and for a while, it felt like I was reclaiming my life. My circle grew, and with it, a sense of belonging I had long yearned for. I found myself surrounded by people who not only noticed me for my work but also respected me for who I truly was—not just as a daughter, wife, or mother, but as an individual. They would check on me, ask if I was well, make me laugh until my heart soared, or bring me my favourite chocolates just to brighten my day.

“You seem different these days,” a colleague remarked one afternoon.

“I feel different,” I admitted, smiling for what felt like the first time in years. “It’s like I’m finally finding myself again.”

It was the kind of care I had craved for so long. But even then, the battle wasn't over.

As I gained recognition for my work, the struggles at home escalated. An unexpected event at home needed my immediate attention. My family's frustration with my career choices led to more quarrels. I felt stuck. I couldn’t continue this cycle of success and failure, work and home life. I left my job again, this time not out of necessity but because I had reached a breaking point. The decision to leave was agonizing. I was choosing not just to lose a career but also a part of myself.

“You’ve given up too much already,” my best friend said over the phone. “When will it be your turn to live for yourself?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

Now, my world has become quieter, and I felt a deep sense of isolation. My husband, with his own struggles, judged me for not “investing” enough, and once again, I was at a crossroads. It was in these moments that I turned inward. I started looking for strength in spirituality, in prayer, and in finding a sense of peace within myself.

Through self-reflection, I realized that the journey wasn’t just about rebuilding a career—it was about finding myself again. The past years had taught me one vital lesson: Despite everything, I was still here, still fighting, still striving... I began to rebuild my optimism slowly, taking each day as it came. The road to recovery wasn’t easy. Age, changing life patterns, and lingering doubts challenged me constantly. But I told myself I couldn’t give up now.

At times of uncertainty, I reminded myself that life isn’t about perfection; it’s about rising after each fall, finding strength in adversity, and never giving up. I’m still on this journey, rebuilding my life and fighting for my place in this world. I know, with every fiber of my being, that I will never give up—and neither should you…

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I share this story because I believe that vulnerability is not a weakness—it’s a source of strength. Our struggles, when shared thoughtfully, can build bridges of empathy and understanding. My journey is not just mine; it reflects the experiences of many who may be searching for the courage to keep going despite challenges. In sharing these moments of vulnerability, I hope to show that it’s okay not to have everything figured out. It’s okay to seek validation and support along the way. We are all in this together, striving to find our place in the world.