personal-growth

Filling Space

Storm clouds gather in my throat –
quiet ache, a cold that won’t move.
Each word I choose feels like a step on thin ice.
The space between us hums,
static,
tired,
unforgiving.

“Let it be,” says a voice –
not the one rooted in peace,
but the sly one,
the one dressed as kindness,
telling me to fill the silence,
to soften myself,
to keep the peace at any cost.

So, I do.
I fill space with words that aren’t necessary.
Try hard.
Bridge the distance with explanations
when all that was needed
was quiet truth.
Respect that doesn’t need to prove itself.

And even when I speak my truth,
I rush to smooth it over –
making sure you’re comfortable,
that harmony remains.
I manage reactions that haven’t happened yet,
compensating for pain that could have come from honesty,
cushioning my own voice.

And beneath it all –
a small ache burns:
Why can’t I just be liked?

It’s not pride asking.
It’s the child – the one left unseen
when the room filled with noise and chaos.
The one who learned that safety
came from being agreeable.
Grief, dressed as gentleness.
Anger, hiding behind persuasiveness –
because sadness sounds more agreeable,
more passive,
less threatening.

Then, the weight returns.
The knowing:
I’ve done it again.
Square one.
The frustration of the cycle repeating.

And something soft opens –
a whisper, this time honest:
Help me.

Help me stop gripping.
Help me remember –
everyone walks their own path.
Help me loosen
the need to fix,
to please,
to control.

Right now – this moment –
is enough.
I can start again.

Let it go.
Breathe peace in.
Let gentleness find its way back.
One more time,
I choose calm.
I choose presence.
Now.

The Unbecoming Process: Finding Peace Within

In daily life, whatever we do – whether we experience negativity like anger, frustration, jealousy, or hurt – I’ve come to understand that if we look deeper and deeper into our actions, we’re all seeking the same thing: peace, happiness, and contentment.

I think all that negativity is our unconscious way of trying to prove our self-worth through our ego. We demonstrate this in ways we’re not even aware of – through our struggles, our pain, our reaching for something more – all in an attempt to show that we’re worthy of love and recognition.

In my own life journey, I’ve recognized these patterns – wanting to feel seen, feeling inferior, trying to be the best at everything, people-pleasing, being self-critical, or carrying shame. Through my meditation practice and self-awareness, I’ve come a long way in understanding these tendencies. While they still show up every now and then, I can now choose differently when I notice them. We all have our own ways of unconsciously trying to prove we deserve love and happiness.

The truth is, we don’t have to do anything to earn that peace or prove our worth. It’s already within us. Our Creator loves us completely, and we have always had this love. The unconscious ways in which we try to prove our self-worth to ourselves and to others around us is never needed.

Sometimes we go through difficult experiences and learn from them. We realize that certain behaviors, thoughts, or choices aren’t bringing us the happiness we’re seeking. We start to notice that when we look for fulfillment outside ourselves – whether through hurting others, seeking power or even through self-criticism and shame – it doesn’t satisfy us. All these patterns come from the ego trying to find worth and meaning, when we already possess infinite worth simply by being.

When we observe how our life unfolds with these patterns, we can see how they affect the quality of our life and the quality of our mind. We can make different choices and turn inward instead. We can ask ourselves deeper questions about why we do what we do, why we react the way we react.

Many people don’t want to do this inner work because we’re afraid of what we might find about ourselves. We’re afraid of our shadows, our mistakes, our deeper wounds. But those questions, when we’re brave enough to ask them, can lead us deeper into self-awareness and self-discovery. It’s like removing a thorn that got deep within us. Yes, it hurts when the thorn is in, and it hurts even when we try to get it out – but we need to do it to be healed.

This process is beautiful. It’s a way of unbecoming who we think we are to discover who we were always meant to be – how we were originally created. The unbecoming process is like peeling away layers of an onion. As you go deeper, removing each layer of conditioning, fear, and false identity, you get closer to the pure essence that was always there.

This is what remains when everything else falls away – love, peace, and our true nature. We feel at peace knowing we do not have to prove anything to anyone. We feel comfortable knowing we are not perfect, and this makes it easier for us to let down our guard and accept ourselves as we are. This also enables us, as a ripple effect, to be more present and naturally accepting and loving toward others. When we are accepting of our own imperfections and loving toward ourselves, it becomes natural to extend that same acceptance and love to others. The nature of pure love is giving rather than expecting, and this changes our dynamic in relationships.

This understanding doesn’t require any special experiences or practices. It’s available to us in every moment of daily life, in every challenge, in every choice to look within rather than outside ourselves for what we’re truly seeking. Meditation practices help us through this self-awareness journey and help us become comfortable with ourselves. They allow us to see ourselves through a lens of detachment, helping us be more loving and gentler toward ourselves.

The journey inward is the journey home to who we’ve always been.

Forgive or Forget? Navigating Relationships That Weren’t Meant to Be

As Mental Health Awareness Month prompts us to reflect on what truly nurtures our wellbeing, I find myself thinking about relationships – specifically, the ones that, despite our best efforts, aren’t meant to last.

I recently faced this with someone who once meant a great deal to me. After experiencing hurt, I valued the relationship enough to offer peace, to make things lighter, to do my best from my end. I genuinely tried to nurture what we had, hoping we could rebuild what was lost. Yet despite these sincere efforts, I eventually realized something important: sometimes the same patterns that caused the initial hurt remain, even after forgiveness has been offered and accepted.

Some relationships naturally drift apart, as though they were never truly meant to endure. The pattern can be particularly painful: a relationship forms, hurt occurs, distance grows, forgiveness follows, reconnection happens… only for the same cycle to repeat itself months or years later.

What I’ve learned about mental health through this experience is profound. Our inner voice often whispers the truth long before we’re ready to hear it. That feeling of something not being quite right – that’s wisdom trying to protect us.

I believe that prioritizing mental health means honoring those internal signals. It means recognizing when a connection depletes rather than replenishes us. It’s not about blame or holding grudges; it’s about acknowledging the reality of what is, rather than clinging to what we hoped could be.

Not every relationship that enters our life is meant to remain there permanently. Some connections serve their purpose for a season, teaching us necessary lessons before we continue separate paths.

The most valuable lesson I’ve learned is that forgiveness doesn’t obligate us to restore a relationship that repeatedly shows itself to be unhealthy.

I don’t believe we should forget the experiences that have shaped us. Each relationship – even the painful ones – has contributed to who we are today. These moments have taught us about boundaries, about ourselves, about what we truly need from connections that deserve space in our lives.

The journey toward better mental health often involves making peace with the reality that some chapters in our story are meant to close. This isn’t failure – it’s growth.

As Mental Health Awareness Month reminds us, we must come first in our own lives.

The greatest responsibility we have is to nurture our own wellbeing. No one else carries this responsibility for us – it is ours alone.

Sometimes, protecting that wellbeing means making thoughtful decisions about which relationships deserve our continued investment, which ones should be honored from a distance, and which should be released entirely.

This is crucial to our mental health – recognizing what brings us peace versus what disturbs it, acknowledging those feelings, and honoring them instead of pushing them aside. There’s wisdom in our discomfort that deserves to be heard.

There’s profound courage in recognizing when a relationship consistently disrupts your peace. Sometimes the most compassionate choice – both for yourself and the other person – is to release the expectation that things will be different next time.

Forgiveness doesn’t always mean restoration. Sometimes, it simply means freedom – the freedom to wish someone well on their journey while continuing your own, unburdened by regret or obligation.

In honoring our mental health, we learn that some of the most important boundaries we’ll ever set are the ones that protect our peace, even when others don’t understand. And that’s not just okay – it’s essential.

What have you realized about relationships that has been crucial for your mental health? What wisdom has your journey taught you about the connection between healthy boundaries and wellbeing?

Now: Where Peace Lives

From the peace and quiet that has become my sanctuary through meditation, I could observe with clarity. The stillness allows me to watch my emotions unfold without being consumed by them; just like watching waves from the shore rather than being tossed in them. Recent hurt had left its mark, and yes – I did get pulled into the waves of emotion at first. I felt the disappointment, saw myself slipping into familiar perspectives of feeling dismissed and misunderstood. But something was different this time. Thanks to my meditation practice, I noticed when I was getting sucked into these patterns.

I stood at a crossroads. One path led down the familiar spiral of frustration and sadness – a pattern I knew too well from previous hurts. The other path, less traveled but more promising, offered present-moment peace. The choice became clear: I could either be sucked into pain or choose happiness.

Despite feeling dismissed, misunderstood, and disrespected, I found courage in surrender. Not surrender as defeat, but as acceptance – giving myself permission to let go of what I couldn’t control. This wasn’t about dismissing valuable lessons or ignoring genuine emotions. Instead, it was about choosing to be present rather than dwelling in past hurts.

I realized something powerful about past hurts – they only exist in our memory now. The actual moment of hurt has already passed. What I’m feeling in this present moment isn’t the hurt itself, but my mind’s echo of it. The experience that caused such pain isn’t happening right now; it’s my thoughts about it that keep it alive.

From my place of clarity, I could see that dwelling in past hurts is like watching the same painful movie over and over in my mind. While the original experience was real, my present moment is free from it – unless I choose to replay it. Each moment offers a new beginning, a chance to choose peace over replaying pain.

Sometimes this choice feels hard. These patterns have a pull, trying to drag me into darkness very stealthily. I have found a simple anchor to help myself out: to breathe and ask myself,
“Is everything good right now, in this very moment? “
Right here, right now, in this breath, things are actually okay.

My meditation practice helped me understand: the present moment is always free from past hurts. It’s our thoughts about the past that create constant suffering. When I truly grasp this, I can choose to rest in the peace of now rather than reliving what’s already finished.

What I’ve learned is profound yet simple:

I can control my responses, not others’ perceptions
Peace doesn’t require others’ validation
Being gentle with myself isn’t weakness – its wisdom
My happiness needn’t depend on circumstances I can’t change
Most importantly, choosing my mental peace isn’t selfish – its necessary. I don’t have to sacrifice my well-being to maintain harmony or satisfy everyone else’ expectations.

My mental well-being matters. I don’t have to bend myself into uncomfortable shapes to accommodate situations beyond my control. Like a river finding its natural course, I can flow with what feels organic and true to my nature.

I have learned to listen to the voice in my heart that guides me toward what feels best for me. There’s a difference between being accommodating and bending backwards at the cost of my peace. I choose to go with the flow of what feels natural and organic, even if that means some relationships or situations might need to shift.

In this moment of clarity, I feel free. There’s no judgement to give or receive. Life flows through me like a river, and I’ve chosen to stop swimming against its current. I understand that protecting my peace isn’t just a right – it’s a responsibility I have to myself.

A New Chance Each Dawn

That famous line from the movie, Groundhog Day, has always stayed with me:

“I wake up every day, right here, right in Punxsutawney, and it’s always February 2nd, and there’s nothing I can do about it.“

It’s funny how a lighthearted movie from 1993 would later help me understand something profound about daily life.

Living in our top-floor condo, I’m blessed to witness each sunrise through the glass walls of our home. These morning moments have been sacred – a time to be present with our Creator, to feel gratitude, and to ask guidance to align my actions with His Will. As I practiced living more from the Heart, these sunrises took on a deeper meaning, gently reminding me to pause and connect with what truly matters.

During a phase when I got caught in some patterns that triggered the negativities within, I felt a fleeting sense of hopelessness about myself. But like many difficult moments, this one led to an unexpected gift of understanding.

One morning, while praying and watching the sun rise, I was reminded of Groundhog Day. In the movie, the protagonist wakes every morning to the same day, initially feeling stuck and frustrated. But as he begins to embrace the repetition, he discovers he can make better choices and live from a more meaningful place. I realized that each day offers us the same opportunity. Each morning is a fresh chance to choose our Creator in everything we do.

I began to see every day as a gift – a single day to walk, talk, eat, drink, listen, and interact from the Heart, for our Creator. This perspective led me to start a nightly journaling practice. At the end of each day, I reflect on moments I’m grateful for and areas where I can grow. Then, in prayer, I surrender all my efforts and desires to our Creator, trusting that His Will is far greater than anything I can imagine or understand.

Over time, this practice became like a lighthearted game I play with myself – taking away any heaviness or stress about “doing it right.” Each sunrise becomes a cheerful “here we go again” moment, like the movie, but with playful enthusiasm for the new opportunity ahead. This sense of play makes it easier to be gentle with myself, to approach each day’s choices with curiosity rather than judgment.

This spirit of playfulness extended into every part of my day. Whether responding to work emails, doing household chores, or scrolling through my phone – each moment became another chance to choose our Creator’s love. Even technology, which often pulls us away from presence, became part of this gentle game of staying heart-centered.

Each sunrise reminds me that our Creator gives us a new day, a new chance to choose love. Just as the sun rises fresh each morning, we too can begin again, carrying this lightness into everything we do – from the biggest decisions to the smallest daily tasks. At day’s end, reflecting in my journal helps me notice these moments – both when I remembered to act from the Heart and when I forgot. This isn’t about judging myself, but about gently observing and learning, always with that playful spirit of “let’s try again tomorrow.”

Each day brings this gentle reminder – that like the protagonist in Groundhog Day, we can choose to see repetition not as being stuck, but as a gift of continuous renewal. In this simple practice of greeting each dawn with gratitude, reflecting each evening with humility, and carrying a playful heart through it all has taught me to make each “same day” new again.

Perhaps you too have found your own way of making each day a fresh beginning. I’d love to hear how you approach this daily journey of the heart.

Observing the Parts Within

Growing up, I was an overthinker – anxiety following me through various situations, likely shaped by my childhood environment. I would get caught in cycles of self-doubt, constantly revisiting situations and imagining how I could have done things differently.

During my depression phase, these patterns intensified. I experienced outbursts of anger and sadness that felt beyond my control. The emotions became toxic, much like being in unhealthy relationships. I realized that just as I would eventually choose to distance myself from toxic relationships – stepping away from their drama rather than engaging – I needed to learn to do the same with these overwhelming emotional patterns.

What brought clarity was understanding that our True Self isn’t any of these parts within us – the anxiety that spins stories of what could go wrong, the inner critic that constantly judges, the part that flares with anger when feeling unseen, or the shame that whispers we’re not enough. Just as I learned to handle difficult relationships by choosing when to engage, I discovered I could do the same with these inner voices. When self-doubt starts its familiar spiral, when anger rises unexpectedly, when fear tries to take control – I can observe these parts of myself without getting lost in their stories. These all stem from the “I” – the ego. This simple knowing has changed how I navigate my inner world.

Spiritually, I’ve come to see myself as a child of God, imperfect yet deeply loved. When I notice those challenging parts within me – anger, arrogance, greed, pride – I pause, breathe, and ask for help. It’s easier to find peace when I remember I’m within His arms. This understanding has shifted how I view healing – God truly takes care of us, healing not just the surface but the very roots of our pain.

The breakthrough came when I stopped feeling ashamed of my imperfections in prayer. I realized I don’t need to be perfect to seek Him – in fact, it’s my very imperfection that draws me closer. This has been a profound paradigm shift: I don’t have to take myself so seriously because of my imperfections. Instead, I can remain aware and consistently choose love.

I am deeply grateful to my spiritual teacher, Mr. Irmansyah Effendi, whose guidance helped me understand these truths at a deeper spiritual level. Through his Heart practices, I’ve learned to observe and work with these parts of myself in a way that brings genuine peace and understanding.

Perhaps you too have noticed different parts within yourself – voices that judge, worry, or react. Have you ever considered that these parts, which don’t stem from love, might not be the real you? What if you could observe them with the same distance you might observe challenging people in your life? Sometimes just creating that small space between ourselves and these emotions – recognizing that they’re parts we experience but not our true essence – can open up unexpected paths to peace.