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There comes a time in everyone’s life when things start feeling a little heavier than usual. Not because something dramatic has happened, but because the roles we play every day gradually begin piling up silently.
Work, home, expectations, responsibilities—they all blend into one long stretch of “things that need to be done,” and somewhere inside that stretch, we somehow slowly start losing the version of ourselves we once recognized.
And in that process, something normal happens—something most of us never even stop to acknowledge.
We change. But sometimes we don’t notice it happening to ourselves because life doesn’t announce these shift—it quietly shapes us through the nuances, the phases we pass, the roles we take on, the challenges we face, and the choices we make. Over the years, we evolve in ways we never planned for. And while change is natural, the struggle often begins when we don’t realize we are never ready to accept it.
We look at ourselves with the eyes of who we were years ago, or who we thought we would become, and suddenly everything feels “off.” The dreams we carried at 20 rarely match the life we actually live at 30, 35, or 40. Yet we keep comparing, keep expecting ourselves to somehow fulfill the imagination of a younger version of us who had no idea what life ahead would look like. That gap—between what we imagined and what is—can feel like a failure, even when it isn’t one at all.
What we dreamt of and what we are today seem completely disconnected at times. Or maybe the connection is there, but we’ve never learned to look at it with gentleness. And as I realize all of this, there is only one thing that can be a turning point to all of this confusion between who we want to be and who we are becoming—awareness.
Awareness tells us, “You are allowed to evolve.” It reminds us that we’re not meant to stay the same person forever, that growth is not a betrayal of our past self. Its okay to change. Change is inevitable because of our own choices, which we made knowingly or unknowingly. Once we become aware of the concept of change, the next thing that follow is acceptance.
It brings in calmness, softly, and steadily reassures, “It’s okay that you changed. It’s okay that your life took a different shape. It’s okay that you are not the same person you once imagined.” Life isn’t asking us to live up to old expectations. It isn’t asking us to fit into the moulds we built years ago. It’s simply asking us to be aware and accept of who we are now, of the choices that shaped us, the responsibilities we hold today, and the parts of ourselves we still want to nurture instead of losing.
And here’s what I’ve realized through all of this: I didn’t find myself again through big transformations or dramatic lifestyle changes. I didn’t find clarity by running away from my duties or longing for some perfect reset. What helped me were the smallest moments—simple, ordinary pauses that I carved out just for myself. A short walk to the office where I could breathe and talk to myself. A few minutes stolen from a busy day to write something, design something, or just doodle without purpose. A tiny moment of pride when I cooked something well, a little “self-perk” that reminded me I still had the ability to create joy in small ways. These rituals may look insignificant from the outside, but to me, they became quiet reminders: You still exist. You’re still you, beyond everything you manage and everyone you take care of.
These moments didn’t take away my responsibilities.
They didn’t magically lighten my load or clear my calendar or fix anything that was weighing me down.
But they did something far more powerful; they strengthened me, softened me, and reminded me that even in the most chaotic phases of life, I can still decide to breathe. They anchored me when everything else around me felt unsteady. In those small pauses, I realised that not every relief needs to be dramatic; sometimes, a quiet moment is enough to keep you going for one more day.
And that’s when it became clear to me: balance doesn’t arrive on its own. It doesn’t suddenly appear because life decides to be kinder. Life rarely reorganizes itself to make space for us. Instead, balance is something that we can gently and consciously create. Not through force, not through resistance, but through awareness and acceptance. Through the understanding that even when everything feels heavy, we can still find pockets of light.
We may not be able to escape our duties.
We may not get long breaks, slow days, or perfect conditions to reset ourselves. We may not have the privilege of switching off or stepping away. But even then, there is always a way to carve out a little space for ourselves, a way that doesn’t disrupt the peace around us or make us withdraw from the people who rely on us. It’s a way that comes from weaving ourselves back into our everyday life with gentleness, rather than pushing ourselves out of it.
Because balance isn’t about choosing between ourselves and our responsibilities. It’s not a tug of war, and it isn’t a sacrifice. It is a slow, personal art of learning how to hold both without letting either break us. It is understanding that we can honor what life needs from us while still honoring what we need from ourselves.
And this is what returning to ourselves really looks like—not a sudden change, not a perfect plan, but a slow remembering. A steady acceptance that we can be responsible and still be kind to ourselves, that we can care for others without losing the parts of us that make us who we are.
Life will keep moving. Roles will keep shifting. But through it all, we can learn to hold ourselves with the same care we offer everyone else.
And life is better with awareness, acceptance, and balance; it can become a quiet, living truth we can always carry within us.
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