there is a quiet logic many people inherit without ever naming: that to be seen is to be safe, and to be desired is to be valuable. if your sense of self has been shaped around appearance, then attention, especially appearance-based attention, does not feel trivial. it feels like proof. not of vanity, but of existence. not of narcissism, but of worth.

attraction, on its own, is innocent. most relationships begin there. but something shifts when attraction is no longer about curiosity or connection, and instead becomes a mirror held up to the self. to be wanted starts to mean something larger: that you are enough, that you are chosen, that you have secured a kind of emotional safety. and so, without realizing it, you begin to gravitate toward those who speak the same language, people who also measure value in surfaces, in validation, in being seen rather than being known.

this is often mistaken for a pattern of attracting narcissists. but more often, it is a pattern of mutual reinforcement. two people, each seeking confirmation, each hoping the other will stabilize what feels uncertain within. it isn’t cruelty. it isn’t pathology. it is a shared fragility dressed up as chemistry.

the more revealing question, then, is not whether you are a narcissist, but whether your self-worth is contingent, tied to how you are perceived, how desirable you feel, how easily somebody can choose you. this appearance-contingent self-worth tends to correlate not with grandiosity, but with anxiety. with a self that is always being evaluated, even by itself.

from there, the dynamics of desire become more complicated. you may find yourself drawn not just to a person, but to a possibility: that you will be the exception, the one who softens them, the one they finally choose. the fantasy of transformation is not simply ego; it is longing shaped into narrative. a hope that love will arrive not just as affection, but as validation.

and yet, what feels intoxicating is often what feels familiar. emotional unavailability, inconsistency, distance- these do not only wound, but they also protect. they delay the moment of real exposure, of mutual dependence, of being fully seen. in that delay, there is a strange safety. you can want without fully risking being known.

this is how people become projects. not because you lack discernment, but because a project offers motion without vulnerability. it allows you to invest, to interpret, to hope, without standing still long enough to ask whether you are actually safe. a partner, by contrast, requires presence. and presence asks something far more difficult: that you be seen without performance.

often, these patterns trace back to earlier conditions of love, where affection was earned, inconsistent, or conditional. in such environments, effort becomes synonymous with care, and difficulty becomes proof of depth. calm love, then, can feel unfamiliar. even empty. in contrast, unstable love feels charged, meaningful, real. but this is not a moral failing. it is a learned orientation which can be unlearned.

the shift is subtle but decisive. to ask not, “am i desirable?” but “am i at ease?” not, “do they choose me?” but “do i feel safe choosing them?” to recognize when attraction is carrying the burden of your self-esteem, and to return that weight to yourself slowly.

you do not have to abandon beauty, or admiration, or desire. only to loosen their authority. to build a sense of self from what cannot be rated: your taste, your discipline, your way of thinking, your ability to create and to care. to let attention be pleasant, but not defining.

to stop centering men is not to reject them. it is to stop outsourcing your worth to their gaze. it is to remain fully human in your desire, without making desire the measure of who you are.

i feel frozen in time,

in survival mode or on autopilot.

even the most basic chores feel like tasks.

it’s become harder to vent.

it’s become harder and more time‑consuming to collect my thoughts.

i have to gather them before i speak, but i’m also supposed to police what i think and say. it’s suffocating. i tried it. i hate it. why do i have to lie?

“i have to say the right thing or nothing at all.”

by trashing “negative thoughts”, i’m restricting myself from acknowledging and feeling them. addressing them won’t make me a pessimist. don’t tell me to just be happy or to smile more. if i wanted to, i would’ve.

i can’t even acknowledge my feelings and thoughts, let alone perform the opposite for someone else’s sake.

don’t expect it from me. don’t put that burden on me.

you don’t care about me; you care about how my feelings make you feel. how it makes you feel guilty to see me sad. how it feels like it’s your responsibility to make sure i’m happy when you’re the reason i’m miserable in the first place. how i’m ungrateful for not being happy with everything going in my favour, as per your understanding and assumption.

don’t say “when are you ever happy” when i say i’m not.

my feelings aren’t meant to be scrutinised by you. i don’t question the way you navigate through your emotions or loss or grief, or rather the lack of it.

what gives you the authority to judge someone who is trying?

all the work i have put into myself makes it hard for me to make friends and maintain friendships. i will cut people off irrespective of the duration of our friendship, and the pros of the friendship, if i’ve noticed some cons that i’m simply not okay with.

you’re not yourself; let me be myself at least. i don’t need your permission, but don’t interrupt my journey. it’s not your place. it never was, it will never be.

i’m taking my power back, because you would never muster up the courage to address the dissonance in our connection and acknowledge it.

this is how i’ve been departing friendships lately. i try and try until i feel like i’m talking to a brick wall. by then, i’ve lost all the grit to even be a part of the connection. i go quiet, let it fizzle out. i don’t owe an explanation after a point, and even if i do, i’ve lost the capacity to.

i’ve also been brutally ghosted by my friends, and it hurt like a bitch, but there was nothing i could do other than cry about it. i never forget it; i just live with it, while knowing it didn’t matter as much to them, and it probably never will. they might never realise what they did and how it made me feel, while i still think about it from time to time, and all the times i wished for the bare minimum. so yes, it gets easier to distance yourself from people when the situation asks for it. it doesn’t mean i don’t think of them, or revisit all the times they showed me what i thought was love, and wonder how they could not love me if they did all that. is that how i view myself? is that how little i expect to feel even a smidge of “love”?

i don’t trust my feelings, so now i dismiss most of them. if i couldn’t trust myself with my feelings for people, how does that leave any trust for all the other feelings i experience?

i am evaluating your actions, so i take a step back. i am confused why you don’t evaluate yourself. why don’t you ever think about your actions? how sick and twisted they are. how does that not occur to you? how do you only pay heed to circumstances and situations that victimise you? how are your issues big, but mine aren’t? it’s a shame that i ever let anyone decide whether or not my issues were worth feeling heartbroken over. they were never eligible to do so.

gift‑giving is not my love language. i think it’s an incredibly lazy way to show that you care or love. i have received gifts from some of the worst people i’ve met and known. at the time, it meant a lot. i believed they truly liked and loved me. i believed i was lucky because they got me a gift. i’ve received gifts while actively being cheated on, while being disrespected, while they were kind to everyone but took me for granted, while treating me like an option, like someone who deserved to be treated like shit. i’ve received gifts while being lied to. i’ve received gifts while being used for my body, while being ignored, while they disregarded me and my feelings. i can’t assume you love me because you got me a silly little gift. you don’t even respect me or consider me. you’re willing to push me under the bus if need be. you’re okay with cornering me out. you’re okay with lying to me and about me to everyone. you’re okay with making me look foolish. i don’t want to be told i’m loved simply because someone decides to get me gifts without ever showing it the way it really matters.

your gift won’t stop me from crying myself to sleep. it won’t help me recover from the betrayal of being with you or having you in my life. it won’t calm me down. it won’t make up for you not being there for me when i needed it. it won’t reassure me. it won’t stop me from always feeling misjudged and misunderstood. my therapy sessions cost me more than your gifts anyway, so it genuinely means nothing when it isn’t backed by love. are you doing it for the optics?

i’m forcing myself to write affirmations i don’t even believe in.

i write about how i wish i could pretend not to care. that’s how embarrassed i am of caring, and caring as deeply as i do, because you don’t. i hate that i have to pick myself back up piece by piece. i hate myself for ever craving love in the first place. i’m ashamed of my vulnerability. i struggle to see it as a gift. i wish i could move on as easily as you. i wish it didn’t matter to me. i wish it wasn’t a big deal, but it was, and it is. i wish you didn’t hold as much significance in my life as you did. i wish i didn’t make space for you in my heart.

it sounded easier to find someone who could love me instead of accepting and loving myself. i hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it isn’t, in fact, easier. we should do the job of loving ourselves.

i don’t want you back, but i want you to know exactly what you did. i want you to live all your life knowing that, being aware of it, being reminded of it. i want you to experience it. i want you to meet someone exactly like you. i want you to feel how i felt and feel. i want someone to play the role you played in my life, in yours.

you butchered my view on love more than it already was. you made me feel more insecure. you forced me to be detached.

from the bottom of my big heart, i wish (some of) you the worst.

Ever since losing that job, I turned away in revulsion from the idea of having a 9-5 again. I felt emancipated from a job that was draining my soul, but also terrified of the uncertainty. I decided that I wanted to be self-employed or at least give that a shot. It hasn’t been easy or smooth.

I was simultaneously applying for jobs and giving interviews, but nothing came to fruition. I wanted to be chosen, appreciated, selected so badly. I didn’t even want it all that bad for my own satisfaction. I wanted to feel accepted, respected, and validated by others. Every failure felt like a reminder that I wasn’t good enough, that I was incompetent. Is seeking the validation and approval of others the only way to being great and successful? I knew in my heart I didn’t want a 9-5, but it’s too terrifying to be self-employed.

I tried my hand at freelancing. I currently do content. I get brand deals and other opportunities, which give me a smidge of confidence, but I’m still not at a stable and reliable position in my career. Hell, I even auditioned for acting gigs. I don’t have an insane following either. I can’t create and post every day because I find that inauthentic, boring, repetitive, and annoying. I think it would hamper the quality and take the joy away from creating. I need to have more experiences and live an interesting life worth sharing. I haven’t achieved most of my goals. Lately, I also want my own brand. I haven’t figured out what it would be and when it would happen either. You can only imagine how complicated conversations regarding my career can be with my Indian parents and relatives.

One of my biggest goals for the past couple of years has been to be entirely financially independent, move out and live alone. Again, I don’t know when that would happen, but I do know that the day it finally happens, I would feel happy, excited, and proud, even if it lasts for a fleeting moment.

When you’re younger, you have blind faith in yourself and your future. I was so confident I would have it all by now. I would be super rich and spoil my loved ones. If anything, some days I feel like I’ve lost more than I’ve gained. I’ve tried being delusional in the past. I am constantly evolving in every way imaginable. Currently, I live with brutal honesty with myself, even if it sounds extremely pessimistic.

My career and career choices have always been a complicated conversation. My dad once told me that “beggars can’t be choosers”, and it rings in my mind every time I turn down an opportunity. I give myself shit for saying no to things because the voice in my head convinces me that I should take up any and every opportunity that comes my way, even if it doesn’t align with me, my taste, and my goals. But isn’t that a quintessential example of having a lack mindset?

I turned down an opportunity yesterday for valid reasons, and found myself overthinking it all day until the very next morning, when I got another opportunity I felt genuinely excited about and was manifesting just a couple of days ago.

I realise that I might fail at whatever I’m doing, but I want to make sure I at least try. I have never been decisive and sure about anything in my life. I remember when I was younger, other kids knew exactly what they wanted to pursue. I never did, or never had the guts to admit the things I dreamt of because I never thought I was capable. As I got older, I let go of so many of my dreams and rationalised my choice to do so. I always felt ashamed for not having answers to questions that other people did. My parents made me feel less than and compared me with everyone, including my own sister. I don’t want to paint them in a bad light, because I know it wasn’t ever their intention. They only want the best for me and for me to be successful, but as a kid, it does become your inner voice.

To this day, being asked what I do for work or having a conversation about it with my family sends me into a spiral. When I had a job, the answer was easy and made me feel confident. Even though I wasn’t happy, at least I appeared successful, grown-up, or as though I had my life together. I wasn’t satisfied and still felt like I deserved way better. And now, although the answer isn’t straightforward, easy, or what would be considered impressive by other people, I know that I’m not as miserable as I used to be. I am trying something different because I can. I have the privilege to, and I don’t want to waste that opportunity and regret it later.

However, I will admit that I am miserable in other ways and for other reasons. I see the two situations as choosing between the misery of disappointing myself (by having an unfulfilling, underpaid, and unaligned job) or disappointing others (by my unstable, unconventional, and unimpressive attempt at being self-employed). Despite my lack of lucidity, I’d much rather disappoint others.

Everyone’s worldview, goals, and aspirations are different. I would be miserable if I tried fitting into what’s considered a respectable job. Maybe I am just not meant for whatever others consider great. It may not be great by my definition.

Had my circumstances been different, I couldn’t live this life the way I’m choosing to live it currently. I do feel guilty for not choosing the same conventional path as the rest. Maybe my parents would’ve been prouder had I done that. It’s not like I haven’t tried.

I’m always inconclusive and slowly realising that that might just be who I am. Incomplete, inconclusive, and confused, and not necessarily in a bad and self-deprecating way. I don’t hate myself for it as much anymore, but others seem to.

I’m also not the best at anything. I’m mediocre at most things. I’m neither the jack of all trades nor the master of any. People my age are all hitting different milestones. I used to feel jealous, but now I’m appreciative of what everyone’s doing because I now realise that everyone’s goals are different. It makes no sense to feel bitter seeing another person winning, especially when you don’t even want the same rewards as them.

I hate the concept of the timelines we’re apparently meant to follow. Whether that’s in terms of education, employment, or relationships. It makes you feel so horrible about your progress, and there’s constant spoken and unspoken pressure to catch up to these timelines made by god knows who. You can choose to stick to those timelines that are considered ideal, or not. It depends on your goals, your happiness, your experiences, and your circumstances because either way, time will pass anyway.

Mazel tov!

just wait it out.

wait until you feel better,

wait until the discomfort passes,

wait until you’d like to move again;

while also waiting for the bad guys to get their karmic comeuppance, though you might have to let that one go eventually.

accept it, even when it hurts. especially when it hurts.

accept that i’ll never be her.
accept that he looked for her in me.
accept that some things don’t work out, no matter how much you wanted them to.

believe in what you want to believe in, even if it’s a little delusional right now. just do the right things. and you know exactly what they are. let the thoughts come and go. believe because you believe in your conscience and your actions. you do the triage.

and train your subconscious somehow. repetition rewires. compassion softens.

don’t forget to be mindful of your content diet. the pervasive presence of social media means the pervasive presence of opinions. sometimes, bad ones. sometimes, cruel ones.

must i take everything personally?

some opinions are just noise. some people are just projecting. some things are just not about you at all.

i want to make progress, even if it’s slow.

i’m slow. i’ll do things slowly, but i’ll get them done, in my own time. i don’t know why it’s considered less competent to not follow a deadline.

don’t berate yourself or feel bad; just acknowledge the thought and gently change focus. accepting yourself for who you are can feel overwhelming sometimes, and everyone struggles with it. people have different parts, identities, likes, dislikes, and so much more that make them, them.

you’re enough right now. exactly as you are. not when you’re fixed. not when you’re healed. not when you’re perfect.

slow is fine. imperfection is human.

I often think I’m getting “better”, becoming more confident, being less insecure, not comparing myself. And then, I’m not (getting better).

I’ve always been underweight, and people made it a point to make it known. As I got older, I started experiencing acne in 11th grade, which followed me into adulthood. I’ve had chronic and genetic skin conditions all my life. I’ve always had enough reasons to hate myself and feel ugly. Very recently, I got cheated on. It doesn’t help someone who already compares themselves with every other woman. It’s left me feeling rage, sadness, and hurt like never before. I hate that I’m expected to “come out of it stronger,” to get a “glow up,” to give in to the idea that “the biggest revenge is none,” “the grass is greener where I am.” In short, it sucks. It really sucks.

I don’t want it to be some revolutionary lesson. I don’t want to be strong or brave or optimistic. I want to be angry and full of hate and rage. I want to wish the worst on the person that caused me the pain. I want to hate on everyone involved. I wish I hadn’t experienced any of it to begin with.

There is no cure. I’ve talked about it, cried about it, written about it. I’ve let it halt my life. I’ve let it get to me. I’ve internalised it. I’ve toyed with the idea of moving on using another person. I’ve wanted to turn evil. I’ve wanted to turn into the person who hurt me. Being nice or understanding doesn’t get you anything. People who want to wrong you do not care. They do not have empathy. They’re not going to see your kindness as a sign to be kind as well.

I wish there were a conclusion here, or a groundbreaking epiphany. There is none. All I know is that growing up scared, insecure, and hurt has, in a way, followed me into my adulthood. There are bad people out there, and sometimes that’s the only explanation for the shitty experiences life throws at you. And even though you aren’t at fault, it makes you feel like the ugliest girl in the world.

The cryptic nightmare that doesn’t fade with coffee or daylight, but clings like a second skin, demanding we decode it. Picture this: we’re fumbling with a faulty door lock, desperate to secure it against a big black dog waiting just across it. It doesn’t growl or pounce. It waits. Patiently. And somehow, that restraint feels more menacing than real harm.

The Door That Won’t Hold

We test the lock with the lightest pull, a cautious check for safety. The door flies wide open. There stands the big black dog, eyes fixed forward. No charge, no snarl. Just presence. We try again, fumbling the key, until finally, somehow, it holds better than before. But curiosity gets the better of us: What’s really on the other side?

We slide under the door, heart pounding like a hammer, standing inches from the dog’s back as it faces the door we had been trying to lock. It doesn’t flinch. Slowly, deliberately, it turns. Direct eye contact. A steady, knowing gaze.

The Shadow Beyond the Threshold

Doors in dreams mean boundaries. This one separates our curated self from raw vulnerability. The faulty lock? Every anxious habit we lean on to feel secure. Each “lock test”: each peek to confirm we’re "okay" springs the door open wider, reminding us that the wounds remain unhealed.

And the dog. Not rabid. Patient. We brace for attack, for rejection, for abandonment, for proof we’re not enough. But this shadow self waits calmly, forcing the real confrontation: what if the threat isn’t violence, but intimacy? With self, with others. What if those steadily persistent connections in our lives, the ones that see past our spirals, demand we drop the armour entirely?

The finally secured lock offers hope. It’s the small wins: the journal page that finally spills truth, the resisted urge to fall back onto old patterns which don’t serve us, the self-care rituals that serve as a reminder: progress over perfection. We’re learning to secure the mechanism, even if imperfectly.

When We Cross the Threshold

But we don’t stop at better locks. We crawl under. Stand behind the big black dog that’s haunted us. Face the shadow that symbolizes everything we’ve tried to outrun. The dog turns. Locks eyes. Doesn’t lunge. That moment is everything.

Our psyche is demanding that we face what we’ve barricaded. The shadow self isn’t here to destroy, but to be integrated. It’s a reminder of what we’ve suppressed: the dread of being seen, and still chosen.

The big black dog’s calm demeanour hints at inner strength waiting to be claimed.

The Invitation, Not the Warning

We wake from these dreams convinced they predict doom. The dog didn’t attack when we crossed the threshold. It met our gaze. We wake burning, not from attack, but recognition. The dog waited because we were ready to meet its gaze.

What faulty doors keep swinging open for you? What shadow patiently waits when you finally turn to face it?