Peapod

Homecoming of the Untamed Soul There comes a point in many lives when we look back and barely recognize the person we once were. Not because we've changed, but because we've spent years trying to become someone the world expected us to be. For a long time, I believed growth meant adding more—more achievements, more approval, more certainty, more confidence. Whenever life felt uncomfortable, I assumed I needed to fix something about myself. Looking back, I realize I wasn't trying to find myself.  I was trying to become acceptable. "The greatest journey isn't becoming someone else. It's returning to who you have always been." We learn early that being "good" often means meeting expectations. We absorb opinions from family, society, workplaces, friends, and even strangers. Slowly, without realizing it, we begin shaping ourselves around what earns appreciation rather than what feels true. The hardest part is that this transformation happens so gradua...

"Some tears are not a sign of weakness. They are the soul making space for healing." There have been moments in my life when I have cried so intensely that it felt as though my entire body was grieving, not just my heart. The kind of crying that leaves you exhausted, with swollen eyes and an emptiness that words cannot describe. In those moments, I wasn't looking for solutions. I wasn't even trying to make sense of what I was feeling. I was simply surrendering. I've often wondered why tears arrive only when I reach the edge of my emotional capacity. Perhaps they are the body's way of saying, you've carried enough. Let go now. For years, I believed crying was a sign that I had lost control. Now I see it differently. Tears are not a breakdown. They are a release. They are the soul finding a language when the mind runs out of words. The deeper realization, however, came much later. Whenever I found myself in a place of profound helplessness, I didn't just...

There are years that quietly pass by, and then there are years that change who you are. For me, 2026 became that year. I am 49, turning 50 this August, and somewhere in March, after my last menstrual cycle, I unknowingly stepped into a new chapter. If the months continue as they are, I will eventually call it menopause. But long before I can give it a medical name, my body had already begun writing its own story. Looking back, I realise menopause didn't arrive one day. It had been knocking for years. When the House Became Too Quiet This year also brought something I wasn't emotionally prepared for—an empty nest. My daughter moved to another city for college. My husband's work travel increased. Suddenly, our Mumbai home became a place occupied mostly by me. For someone who had always believed she enjoyed solitude, this loneliness felt different. It wasn't peaceful. It was heavy. Days stretched endlessly. Meals became optional. I stopped cooking proper food just for mysel...