Starting Today: Two Weeks Without Sugar

My mom’s time here from India has been filled with precious moments, especially sharing meals she lovingly prepares. I found myself slipping back into an old pattern – choosing comfort and ease over maintaining my healthy habits. I spent lazy afternoons watching television with her, enjoying her cooking, and gradually my physical fitness declined. I gained about 10 pounds these past months. Ideally, I could have maintained my routine while still enjoying our time together, but knowing this doesn’t diminish my choice to fully embrace these precious moments with her. Time like this doesn’t come easily.

While I’ve cherished every bite and moment with her, I notice how naturally my healthy habits have drifted. In the past, I’ve experienced how amazing it feels to live without sugar – the mental clarity, deeper meditation, more sustained energy. But I never documented those experiences, never tracked how these changes affected me day by day.

Now, with a few weeks left of her stay, I’ve decided to begin with something specific and achievable – a two-week journey without sugar. Why sugar? Because I know from experience that reducing sugar helps clear my mind and lifts my energy. This feels like a gentle first step back toward taking care of myself, while still being able to enjoy my mom’s healthy, home-cooked meals.

I’ve put up a white board in my living room where I’ll track each day – what I eat, how I feel, my water intake. Each night, I’ll take a picture of it before bed and add it to my journal. This isn’t just about tracking; it’s about understanding how food affects everything – my meditation practice, my ability to be present, the mental fog I’ve been feeling. I’m curious to see how different choices might shift these subtle aspects of daily life.

I’m taking it slow – starting with regular walks before returning to strengthening exercises, listening to what my heart and body need. Just letting my body remember what movement feels like. During these two weeks, I can still enjoy my mom’s healthy cooking while gradually shifting away from sweets. The timing feels right, and I know from past experiences that when I truly commit to something, I can stay with it.

After my mom returns to India, I’ll be working from home, with my husband busy at his new job. I’m thinking about how to create a routine that works for me during those quiet days alone.

At the end of these two weeks, I’ll share another reflection – a detailed look at what changed, what I learned, and how it felt along the way. Not just the physical changes, but the subtle shifts in energy, clarity, and presence that I’ve glimpsed before but never fully documented. This journey isn’t just about giving up sugar – it’s about understanding how our daily choices shape our experience of life, our ability to be present, and our connection to ourselves.

If you’ve ever thought about making a change in your own life – whether it’s about food, habits, or simply being more present – perhaps you’ll find something helpful in my journey. Sometimes the smallest shifts can open up new ways of experiencing our daily life. I invite you to observe your own patterns, to notice what nourishes you, what brings you clarity. Each journey is unique, and I’d love to hear about your experiences if you’d like to share. Sometimes hearing each other’s stories helps us understand our own journey better.

In Nature’s Gentle Presence – A Story of Healing

Depression crept in during what felt like the darkest phase of my life. Years of carrying unexpressed feelings had taken their toll – childhood hurts, trauma, and patterns I hadn’t even recognized. I had developed ways of coping that I didn’t even realize were coping mechanisms: trying to keep everyone happy to prevent any discord, bending backwards to maintain harmony. Yet paradoxically, I would sometimes experience sudden bursts of anger toward loved ones – reactions to hurt that would erupt because I had no other way to express my pain.

Growing up in a joint family, where multiple generations lived under one roof, I learned early to navigate around tensions. When voices were raised or feelings expressed too freely, punishment followed. These lessons stayed with me, shaping how I moved through relationships, always trying to keep peace at the cost of my own truth.

After my father’s passing, old hurts surfaced in ways I had never experienced. Grief opened doors I had kept tightly shut, and through them came waves of resentment and pain. Life seemed to conspire to bring more difficult experiences – harsh words from others that cut unusually deep. I felt myself breaking.

Ironically, in my darkest moments, I stopped doing the very things that had helped me before. Meditation, which had been my anchor, felt hollow. Talking to understanding friends seemed impossible. I retreated into silence, feeling utterly alone and unrecognizable to myself. The ways I had learned to cope, to find joy, to make sense of life – nothing seemed to work anymore. I felt lost in a deep shame, afraid to be alone with this version of myself I no longer knew. All my efforts to choose happiness felt like they had been just surface-level pretense.

But something in me kept moving. I started to run – not for fitness, but from an instinct to survive. I ran from my fear, my anxiety, my pain, pushing myself as far and as fast as I could. Tears would stream down my face as I ran, and I stopped caring who might see.

During this time, I also began talking therapy. These sessions helped me untangle mental knots I hadn’t even known were there, helping me understand patterns that had been invisible to me before. While therapy helped clear these mental blocks, nature offered something different.

Along my running route, I noticed a tree. It stood tall and kind, and something about its presence spoke to my heart. I began to stop at the bench overlooking this tree during my runs. I would sit there, relaxing my body as I had learned in meditation practice, talking to the tree as a friend. I found myself sharing freely about how I had been feeling, and asked for its help to find positivity and happiness again. Each day before leaving, I would hug and kiss the tree goodbye. These moments made me feel understood, assured, and strong – as if the tree knew exactly what I needed without words.

Gradually, I began to notice it wasn’t just this one tree – it was all of them. The plants, the breeze, the birds – they formed a supportive presence I can hardly put into words. Something deep within me recognized that I was part of this greater whole, all of us held in our Creator’s loving embrace. I wasn’t alone; I had never been alone.

I found myself spending more time outdoors, hiking alone, simply being with nature. My meditation practice returned, deeper now, grounded in this new understanding. Later, at a retreat, my spiritual teacher led us in meditation among the trees, and I understood why nature had felt so healing – when we open our hearts fully to the present moment, we can feel our Creator’s love flowing through everything around us, connecting us all.

Depression, though once so overwhelming, gradually lifted. The combination of therapy helping me understand my mind’s patterns, and nature helping me open my heart, created a path toward healing. Now, finding peace is as simple as sitting on my balcony among my plants, watching the sky, listening to birds. In these quiet moments, with my heart open and present, happiness flows naturally – not for any particular reason, but simply because I can feel our Creator’s love in everything around me.

This lesson remains: we humans aren’t separate entities striving alone, but integral parts of a greater whole, all held in our Creator’s loving embrace. In nature’s presence, I found not just healing, but a way back to that endless love that had been there all along.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Living as an Instrument of Love

Each year, I attend retreats with my Spiritual Teacher, Mr.Irmansyah Effendi, who guides us through deeper meditation and spiritual practices. Several years ago, I brought to him a confusion that was tearing me apart inside. I found myself contemplating leaving my job to dedicate my life to volunteer service. I was already volunteering at a hospice and a women’s shelter alongside my full-time work, and somehow I had created this internal conflict about whether I should be doing more.

My restlessness was making me less grateful for my current job, stealing my peace. When I shared this with my Teacher, his response, delivered with a gentle smile, changed everything.

He reminded me of the simple blessing of having a job that pays our bills, allows us to take vacations, and provides a comfortable life. Then he asked me something that shifted my entire perspective: “Why separate service from your everyday life? Service isn’t something you go somewhere else to do – it’s how you live each moment.”

He explained that I could serve simply by smiling at others from the Heart, by choosing and spreading happiness in my daily interactions. Even at work, especially at work, I could choose Love and Faith in challenging situations. Service, he showed me, wasn’t about changing what I do, but about transforming how I do it.

This insight completely changed my view of life and work. I realized we don’t need to wait for special occasions to serve – our daily life itself can be our offering to the world. When we act from our Heart, from that quiet space of connection with our Creator, everything naturally becomes service. The restless urge to quit my job faded away, replaced by a deeper understanding of how to serve right where I was.

My attitude at work transformed. I began seeing my role differently – not just as tasks to complete, but as opportunities to express care and sincerity. I looked after my customers and clients with genuine concern for how my work could help them. My approach to leadership evolved naturally – I found myself caring for my team members, thinking beyond individual achievements to our collective growth. In this way, work itself became a form of meditation, a way to express love through simple daily actions.

What started as a confused yearning to serve through volunteer work became something much more profound – the understanding that service is woven into the fabric of everyday life. It’s in how we treat our colleagues, how we approach our work, how we share our smile, how we choose love over frustration in challenging moments. When we stay connected to our Heart, every action becomes an expression of love.

I’m deeply grateful to my Spiritual Teacher and our Creator for this insight. It taught me that living with an open heart doesn’t require changing what we do – it transforms how we do everything we already do.

Your Heart Already Knows

It was back in sixth grade when I was learning to ride a bicycle. Every night after 9 PM, my elder brother and the watchman from my dad’s hospital would try to teach me. Night after night, we practiced, but my fear wouldn’t let go. My brother, then in tenth grade, was growing increasingly frustrated with my hesitation.

One particular night, his patience finally ran out, and he yelled at me about my fear. We were both young – just children really – but something shifted in me that night. Angry at being scolded, I challenged him that I would ride the bicycle the next day without any help.

That’s when something strange happened. Even as I went to bed that night, I had this inexplicable knowing – a quiet certainty that I would indeed ride that bicycle the next morning.

I woke up early, around 5 AM, and wheeled the cycle out by 5:30. Chennai’s roads would soon be filled with traffic, but in that early morning quiet, it was just me and my bicycle. I fell a few times, but that inner knowing never wavered. And then it happened – I was riding on my own. The fear that had held me back for so long simply wasn’t there anymore. Later that morning, I even rode three kilometers to my friend’s house and back, navigating through the now-busy streets.

Looking back, what strikes me most isn’t the achievement of learning to cycle – it’s that moment of absolute certainty I had the night before. It was as if something within me already knew what was possible, even before it happened.

Throughout my life, I’ve experienced this same knowing many times – this quiet certainty that comes not from ego or ambition, but from somewhere deeper. Each time I’ve felt it, I’ve found myself accomplishing exactly what I set out to do.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand – this isn’t something special about me. It’s a gift we all carry within us: that deep knowing that we’re taken care of, that all is well. This understanding has carried me through many of life’s challenges, gently reminding me to trust in something larger than myself – in the boundless possibilities that life offers, often beyond our understanding.

Have you ever experienced this kind of knowing? That quiet certainty that comes not from planning or logic, but from somewhere deeper within?

My Friend Who Taught Me to Choose Joy

I met Shobana in seventh grade, and something about her drew me instantly. Despite life’s challenges, she had this remarkable way of making everyone around her smile. Her energy was infectious – she could light up any room she entered.

She has this incredible gift for humor – it’s not just what she says, but how she says it. Her perfect timing, those deliberate pauses, the way she uses her expressions and gestures – she can make anyone burst into laughter. Even the simplest story becomes hilarious when she tells it.

She created her own style, wearing her father’s loose shirts with confidence, starting trends instead of following them. She was always surrounded by friends, both boys and girls, drawn to her natural warmth and authenticity.

Back then, my world felt heavy. Growing up in a home where anxiety and stress seemed to linger in the air, I struggled with low confidence and craved love and attention. While I found it hard to make friends, with Shobana, friendship came easily. We spent hours in mindless chatter and laughter. Those were simpler times – I would just hop on my bicycle and ride to her apartment whenever I wanted to see her.

Being an only child, she turned her whole apartment complex into a family. She had this gift of making instant connections with strangers, calling them brother or sister, making them feel like family or old friends. People who had never met her before would find themselves comfortable in her presence within minutes.

I admired everything about her. Sometimes I felt silently possessive of our friendship, but I never showed it – perhaps because I understood that trying to contain her joy would only diminish it. Looking back, that might have been my first lesson in unconditional love.

We remain best friends to this day, and I still feel the same wonder and gratitude about our friendship. Through her, I learned some of life’s most valuable lessons – how to keep things light, how to greet strangers with warmth, and most importantly, how to choose happiness despite life’s challenges. She was a blessing in my young life, and continues to be one, silently guiding me toward joy just by being who she is.

Our friendship taught me that true beauty lies in how we make others feel, and what a blessing it is to have someone in your life who can still make you laugh like you’re in seventh grade.

Simply by being herself, she showed me something precious – that keeping things light and finding reasons to laugh felt so much better than carrying the weight of worry and sadness. She taught me that having a sense of humor isn’t just about making jokes – it’s a way of moving through life, of finding lightness in ordinary moments, of transforming everyday situations into occasions for joy. This gift of seeing life through a lens of humor continues to remind me that there’s always room for laughter, always a way to lighten the heart, always a moment worth celebrating with a smile.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Finding Myself in Silence

For years, I struggled with depression and a deep sense of loneliness. I attributed my discomfort in large groups to my traumatic childhood, believing this was the sole reason I felt so disconnected when others seemed energized by company. Others would comment on my reserved nature, making me question if something was wrong with me.

I had always been someone who could spend hours simply gazing at nature. While others found it odd, I found complete peace in these quiet moments with trees, birds, and the sky. I confused this natural inclination for solitude with depression, thinking perhaps I just wasn’t interested enough in being sociable. Yet paradoxically, I felt deeply lonely – a contradiction that tore at me. How could I both cherish solitude and yearn for connection?

Living with depression was like carrying a heavy burden – the pain, the confusion about who I was, the thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone. To escape all of this, I often filled my moments with noise – television shows playing continuously, many podcasts one after another. Anything to avoid sitting with the silence and my own thoughts.

Then came a time when something shifted through my meditation practices and the guidance of my Spiritual Teacher. I chose to step away from these distractions and simply be with myself and our Creator, moving through household tasks in quiet presence.

In this gentle time alone, I discovered something beautiful.

There’s a depth in silence with our Creator that nothing else can match. As the usual busyness fell away, a new clarity emerged. The mental fog that often clouds our days lifted, and my heart found its way more naturally to prayer and presence.

Sadness visited too, in a way I hadn’t experienced before. But this time, I stayed with it differently – sharing openly with our Creator. My prayers became deeper, more heartfelt, asking for help with forgiveness, both to forgive and be forgiven.

Through these prayers and silence, I began to understand something profound – the recognition that living like a hermit, even while surrounded by family, can be a blessing when lived in devotion. In this quiet space, I found myself speaking less and listening more. The usual pull toward reactions softened, making it easier to turn toward divine love instead.

In these moments, I felt myself again – perhaps for the first time in lifetimes. It was different from anything I’ve known in this life. This feeling goes beyond belonging to a group or finding people who understand you.

I’ve finally accepted something about myself: I am someone who finds deeper connection in quieter ways. This love for solitude isn’t something to fix or change – it’s simply who I am. What matters isn’t the number of connections, but the ability to be fully myself, even if it’s with just one kindred spirit.

The Yoga Mat

This happened years ago during a difficult time in my life. That morning, work situations and family tensions had left me feeling particularly low. When I walked into the yoga studio, my mind was clouded with doubt about many things, even wondering if there was any point in trying to be good anymore.

I settled into my usual spot, trying to quiet my troubled thoughts. That’s when something unexpected happened.

The studio owner came over holding a yoga mat – the same one I had looked at the week before but hadn’t bought, knowing it was more than I could spend. She simply handed it to me with a smile, saying she wanted me to have it.

I stood there, surprised by her gesture. There was no special occasion, no reason for her to do this. She had simply noticed something that would make me happy and decided to give it.

Something shifted in that moment. Her simple kindness reminded me of the good that quietly exists in everyday life. It wasn’t dramatic or showy – just one person choosing to be kind because they could.

I walked home that day feeling different. The same problems were still there, but they felt lighter somehow. That small gift had helped me remember that even in difficult times, unexpected kindness can appear, helping us find our way forward again.

Finding and Following Your Heart’s Message

There are moments in life when wisdom finds us exactly when we need it most. Recently, a friend’s words on Facebook deeply resonated with me:

Everyone has a unique message that is much bigger than themselves… It is only when you put your message ahead of you that you can truly create an impact. At that point, the message itself carries you farther than you’d ever hope to go by yourself.

Reading those words, something moved within me. I’ve always felt this gentle pull in my heart to do something meaningful, to give back somehow. Even with the joy of raising my two beautiful boys and sharing life with my husband, I felt this whisper of something more.

Looking back now, I smile at how everything unfolded. Before I even knew about Reiki Tummo or attended my first Open Heart workshop, before I met my spiritual teacher – that calling was already there, soft but persistent. Like a friend gently tapping on my shoulder, waiting to be noticed.

A personal growth workshop led me to a teacher who would become a dear friend. She helped me articulate what my heart had long known, guiding me to craft my first Mission Statement and introducing me to the transformative power of service through volunteering.

Following my Heart’s calling led me to Reiki Tummo and eventually to my spiritual teacher, Mr.Irmansyah Effendi.

Looking back, I see how each step was divinely orchestrated. The Creator’s love manifests in remarkable ways – when we hear His plans in our hearts and embrace them wholeheartedly, He illuminates the path before us.

These days, when I’m out there following what my heart calls me to do, something beautiful happens. I feel so close to Him, like a child wrapped in their parent’s love. All those worries that usually buzz around in my head just… fade away. Joy bubbles up from somewhere deep inside. I feel loved, completely and totally, and that love just spills over into everything I do.

This journey has taught me that our truest purpose often lies in surrendering to something greater than ourselves. When we align with our heart’s message and let it guide us, we become channels for a love that transforms not only our lives but touches countless others.

In the end, perhaps that is the greatest gift of following our heart’s message – the discovery that in giving ourselves to something larger, our small self naturally dissolves into a boundless peace that knows no limits.

A Lesson About Truth

Sometimes wisdom finds us in the most ordinary moments. There I was, just scrolling through Facebook one afternoon, when I saw it – a picture of Gandhi with his words about truth. It stopped me in my tracks and made me think about all the times I’ve struggled with speaking my truth.

You know how it goes – those moments when you need to say something important to someone you care about, something that might hurt a little but needs to be said. For years, my pattern was so predictable. I’d share my truth, see the hurt in their eyes, and immediately say “Sorry.” It felt like the right thing to do at the time, this little word that was supposed to soften the blow.

But oh, how that backfired. Instead of focusing on what really mattered, the conversation would shift: “There you go again, saying hurtful things and then just saying sorry.” My attempt to be kind was actually undermining the important things I needed to say.

It’s funny how a simple quote can suddenly make everything so clear, showing you a better way forward. I guess that’s how wisdom works – it waits patiently until we’re ready to receive it, until we’re in exactly the right place to understand.

I’m holding this lesson close to my heart now, accepting it with gratitude. Do I know if I’ll get it right every time? Probably not. This is more of a journey than a destination, I think. But I’m making a promise to myself – to practice this new way of being, to learn how to speak truth with both courage and love.

And when it feels too hard (because sometimes it will), I’m learning to surrender it to God, asking for help to find that sweet spot where truth meets kindness. To be strong enough to stand in my truth, gentle enough to deliver it with love, and wise enough to know the difference.

It’s a practice, this dance of speaking truth. Sometimes we’ll step on toes, sometimes we’ll float gracefully through. But maybe that’s okay – maybe that’s exactly how we learn to be both honest and kind.

Learning to Let Go

I’ve been thinking about an old story from the Mahabharata lately, one that keeps coming back to me. It’s about Karna and Duryodhana, two friends bound by loyalty. Karna, given away as a baby, grew up facing endless whispers about his birth. In Duryodhana, he found more than just protection – he found validation, someone who made him feel seen and worthy when others looked away. This validation created such deep gratitude in Karna that he stayed, even as Duryodhana walked a darker path.

Sitting with this story, I began to see something in myself. We all have our own version of Duryodhana, but it’s not another person – it’s a voice inside us. I’ve come to know this voice well. It validates every hurt, justifies every reaction, makes every emotion feel right and true. Just like Duryodhana did for Karna, this voice makes us feel understood, making it harder to see how it slowly leads us into darkness.

At first, it feels like comfort. Like having a friend who always takes your side, who has an explanation for every emotion, a reason for every reaction. But lately, I’ve noticed something about this inner voice – it never lets me move forward. Instead, it keeps me centered in my own story, making everything about me, my hurts, my reactions. When I listen to it, I sink deeper into darkness, into fear and anger that feel impossible to escape.

The strange thing is, even when I realized this wasn’t helping me grow, I found myself so deeply entangled with this voice that I couldn’t tell where it ended and I began. It had become such a part of my identity that the thought of letting it go felt like losing a piece of myself. I was stuck, not because the voice was helping me, but because I had forgotten how to exist without its constant validation.

But here’s what I’m learning – letting go doesn’t have to be a battle. Just like a plant withers without water, this part of ourselves grows quiet when we stop feeding it our energy. We don’t need to fight it. We just need to gently turn away, to say, “I understand you were trying to protect me, but I don’t need this protection anymore.”

Sometimes I still hear that voice. But now I know I have a choice. I can either get tangled in its story of hurt, or I can simply return to this moment, where life is actually happening. It’s like stepping out of a dark room into sunlight – suddenly everything is clearer, more alive.

In these moments of clarity, I feel closer to something bigger than myself. Not lost in yesterday’s pain or tomorrow’s fears, but here – where peace lives, where love flows, where I can finally be who I’m meant to be.

I’m discovering that true freedom isn’t just about breaking free from that voice – it’s about releasing ourselves from all these stories we’ve wrapped so tightly around ourselves. When we stop making everything about us, stop needing that constant validation, something shifts. We find ourselves able to move more freely, to see beyond our own small world of hurts and reactions.

And when that old familiar voice comes back? I remind myself: I don’t need to push it away. I don’t need to feel stuck in its grip. I just need to let it be, while choosing to stay here, in this moment, where life is actually happening.