Soul Reflections 🌹

A well-known tale of the Buddha tells of a man who angrily insulted him during a speech. Despite the insults, the Buddha remained calm and continued speaking.

When the man asked why he did not become angry, the Buddha asked, “If someone offers you a gift and you do not accept it, whose gift is it?” The man realised that anger, like an unaccepted gift, remains with the instigator, not the target.

The Buddha explained that if anger is not embraced, it burdens only the one who carries it. This story illustrates the idea that clinging to anger often harms the holder more than the intended victim.

Our feelings are ours to acknowledge, understand, and heal. While we cannot always control what we feel, we can choose how we respond. Refusing to allow others to dictate our emotional state is one of life’s greatest freedoms.

I may feel offended, but I don’t have to hold on to that feeling.

I may hear an insult, but I do not have to accept it as truth.

Others may show disrespect, but that does not determine my worth.

No one can make me feel unworthy when I recognise my own value.

No one can make me feel unloved when I cultivate love within myself.

No one can create lasting insecurity when I am grounded within myself.

When someone treats us poorly, it is often a reflection of their own inner struggles rather than an accurate reflection of who we are.

Instead of immediately feeling offended, we can recognise that behaviour often stems from a person’s current level of awareness, understanding, and emotional state.

We sometimes create our own distress by expecting others to react as we would in similar situations. However, everyone is navigating their own journey, shaped by unique backgrounds, experiences, and challenges.

People are at different stages of understanding in life, influenced by their personal experiences and circumstances.

Just as we would not expect a child in Year 1 to complete the homework of a Year 5 student, we should not become frustrated with those who attempt to belittle us. Instead, we can respond with understanding, recognising that they may simply be unable to grasp our perspective at this moment.

•••

As we journey through life, our understanding of love evolves.

In the beginning, as babies, love is simple. It is our parents holding us, warmth, safety and comfort. It is the quiet assurance that everything is alright.

As children, love becomes friendship. It is laughter in the playground, shared secrets, scraped knees and reassurance. It is knowing someone chooses to sit beside us.

In our teenage years, love feels electric and new. It is a racing heart, shy glances and the excitement of a first crush. It teaches us vulnerability and what it means to let someone see inside our hearts.

As adults, love deepens. It becomes partnership. It is trust and loyalty. It is choosing one another, not just once but every day. It is building a life side by side and standing steady through life's storms.

When we become parents or open our homes to pets, love expands once more. It becomes unconditional. It is caring for another being without keeping score. It is patience, protection, sacrifice and a love that asks for nothing in return.

Somewhere along the way, another truth reveals itself. Love must also begin within.

Self love is not selfish. It is recognising our worth, forgiving our imperfections and offering ourselves the same compassion we so easily give to others. When we nurture that love within, it flows outward more freely.

Then one day, perhaps quietly, an even deeper realisation arrives.

Love is not only something that exists between people. It is woven into existence itself.

The same unseen intelligence that keeps our hearts beating, heals our wounds, grows forests from seeds, moves the tides and turns darkness into dawn without effort or instruction is the same force that makes love possible.

We did not create this life, yet it sustains us every moment.

We breathe without thinking. Our bodies mend. The sun rises faithfully each morning. There is a quiet order, a steady wisdom in the universe that creates and sustains all things, including us.

When we recognise this, love feels larger. It feels connected to something beyond emotion. It feels like the energy that holds everything together.

So let us honour the love within ourselves.

Let us cherish the love we share with others.

And let us respect the greater existence that gives to us endlessly, asking nothing in return.

Because in the end, love is not merely something we feel.

It is part of what sustains us.

•••

It's strange how much we care about what other people think of us, when their thoughts, perspectives, and opinions are shaped by their own upbringing, experiences, conditioning, and the way they see themselves and the world. Everyone interprets people through the lens of their own their own life.

For example, someone who has experienced betrayal may find it difficult to trust others. Even if they meet someone who is genuinely kind and authentic, their past experiences might make them sceptical. In that moment they aren't really responding to who you are, they're responding to what life has taught them to expect.

This is why basing our value and self worth on other people's opinions doesn't truly make sense. Their perception of us often reflects their own fears, beliefs, and experiences more than it reflects our character.

At the same time, it's human nature to care about what others think. We're social beings, and for most of human history acceptance from the group meant safety and survival. Our brains are wired to pay attention to approval and rejection because belonging has always been deeply rooted in us.

Our sense of self also develops through feedback from others as we grow up, from parents, friends, teachers, and society. Over time those external voices can become internal ones, shaping how we see ourselves even when we know intellectually that people's judgments are influenced by their own experiences.

The healthier balance is not pretending we don't care at all, but learning not to build our identity on other people's opinions. Other people's views can be useful feedback, but they shouldn't define our worth.

A helpful way to think about it is this: Other people's opinions are information, not truth.

You can listen to feedback, reflect on it, and decide whether it aligns with your values and who you are. If it does, it can help you grow. If it doesn't, you can let it go.

At the end of the day, the most important relationship you'll ever have is the one you have with yourself. When you know who you are and live in alignment with your values, other people's perceptions lose the power to define you.

•••

Have you noticed that your mind creates imaginary situations and then starts suffering from them?

So much of our pain comes from stories that haven't even happened. The mind wanders into the future, creates fear, rejection, loss, or failure.. and the body begins to feel it as if it's real. We forget that most thoughts are only passing clouds, not truth.

Awareness is the gentle pause that changes everything. The moment you notice yourself getting lost in imagined problems, come back to now. Take a breath. Feel your body. Listen to the present moment instead of the noise in your mind.

Not every thought deserves your energy. Peace begins when you stop believing every story your mind tells you.

•••

When someone chooses to leave your life, trust that life is making space for what is truly meant for you. What leaves isn't a punishment, it's protection.

Why would you fight to keep someone who repeatedly made you question your worth, your peace, or your confidence? The right people don't require you to abandon your self-respect to keep them.

Here is what often begins to happen when you leave an unhealthy relationship behind:

Your nervous system begins to calm down.

Without constant criticism, unpredictability, or tension, your body no longer has to stay on high alert.

Stress hormones gradually decrease.

Less chronic stress can lead to better sleep, improved digestion, fewer headaches, and more consistent energy.

Your thinking becomes clearer.

Mental fog starts to lift because your brain is no longer spending so much energy anticipating conflict or trying to manage someone else's moods.

Your confidence rebuilds.

When you're no longer hearing negativity, your own voice becomes louder than theirs.

You stop walking on eggshells.

You can relax instead of constantly monitoring your words, actions, or emotions.

Your self-respect grows.

Choosing peace over chaos reminds you that your standards matter.

Your emotional resilience increases.

Every day you remain away from unhealthy dynamics proves you are capable of protecting yourself.

Your boundaries become stronger.

You become less willing to tolerate disrespect because you've experienced the cost of ignoring red flags.

Your identity returns.

You remember your opinions, interests, humour, and personality without someone constantly diminishing them.

You have more emotional energy.

Instead of managing unnecessary drama, you can invest your energy into people and goals that genuinely improve your life.

Your mood becomes more stable.

Without emotional highs and lows created by someone else's behaviour, life often feels more balanced.

You stop seeking approval from the wrong person.

Your worth is no longer dependent on someone else's changing opinion.

Your intuition becomes easier to trust.

Constant manipulation or negativity can make you doubt yourself. Distance helps restore confidence in your own judgment.

Healthy relationships become easier to recognise.

Once chaos is gone, respect, consistency, and kindness become your new standard.

Your future opens up.

Time and energy that were once spent fixing a difficult relationship can now be invested in your own growth.

Your body often feels lighter.

Many people notice fewer stress-related symptoms because their mind and body are no longer carrying constant emotional pressure.

Your decisions improve.

You're making choices from a place of clarity instead of fear, guilt, or emotional exhaustion.

You reclaim your dignity.

There is strength in accepting someone's decision instead of chasing someone who has already shown they don't value your presence.

You stop negotiating your value.

Your worth isn't something to convince another person of.

Peace replaces confusion.

Even if healing takes time, peace is always healthier than staying where you're repeatedly hurt.

Remember this...

Someone leaving does not reduce your value. It reveals that your paths no longer belong together.

Self-respect is accepting their decision without sacrificing your own dignity.

Healing is not getting them back. Healing is getting yourself back.

The greatest comeback isn't making someone regret leaving. It's building such a peaceful, confident life that you never again settle for anyone who makes you feel small.

Protect your peace.
Protect your standards.
Protect your health.
Protect your dignity.

Because the people who belong in your life will never require you to lose yourself in order to keep them.

•••

Today while walking along the beach, my sister and I spotted an elderly lady sitting in a chair with two other ladies standing beside her.

My sister instantly noticed the lady's beautifully painted blue nails and her turquoise blue headscarf. She smiled and said, "Wow, look at that lady's nails. Doesn't she look beautiful?"

I looked over, smiled and completely agreed.

As we walked by, still admiring her, the ladies looked at us and, quite understandably, thought we were staring. You could almost see the anger building on their faces before one of them said, "What are you looking at?!" The elderly lady threw her hands up and said, "Yeah, what is it you're looking at?"

I smiled and said, "We were just saying how absolutely beautiful we think you look."

My sister added, "And your nails look amazing!"

I've never seen someone's expression change so quickly. Within seconds, the anger melted away, their faces softened into the biggest smiles and they both said, "Thank you so much," as they waved goodbye.

It all happened in such a short space of time, but it really stayed with me.

It made me think about how easy it is to assume the worst. If we catch someone looking our way, we often think they're judging us or saying something unkind. Sometimes those thoughts come from past experiences or from the way we've learned to protect ourselves.

I truly believe that how we feel about ourselves often shapes how we see other people's intentions. When we're carrying hurt or self doubt, it's easy to assume everyone else sees us that way too. But when we learn to be kinder to ourselves, we stop expecting the worst from others.

One of my favourite books is The Four Agreements. One of the agreements is, 'Don't make assumptions.' It's such a simple idea, but a powerful one. We create so many stories in our minds that simply aren't true. Most of the time, a conversation, a question or even a kind word can completely change the picture.

Those lovely ladies probably have no idea they've given me something to reflect on today, but they really did.

A little kindness, a genuine compliment and a smile turned what could have been an unpleasant moment into a really lovely one. It was a beautiful reminder that we never really know what someone else is carrying, and that kindness almost always wins. 

•••

After writing my last reflection, Kindness Disarms Anger, I found myself thinking about how much deeper this lesson really goes.

Something as simple as believing someone looked at us the wrong way... a rude comment... an insult... a disagreement in traffic... these tiny moments have, tragically, escalated into violence. Lives have been changed forever because neither person was willing to let go.

In those moments, our greatest strength isn't proving we're right.

It's remaining in control of ourselves.

When we hand someone else the power to control our emotions, they begin steering us in a direction we never intended to go. Suddenly we're saying things we wouldn't normally say, acting in ways that don't reflect who we truly are, and making decisions that could have consequences lasting a lifetime.

Sometimes it's worth asking ourselves a few simple questions.

Is this argument worth my peace of mind?

Is proving a point worth risking my safety?

Is protecting my ego worth the possibility of never making it home to the people I love?

When you really stop and think about it, the answer becomes obvious.

No.

Some people carry so much pain, frustration or anger within them that they're ready to explode at the slightest spark. Their reaction isn't really about you... it's about the storm they're already carrying inside.

That doesn't mean we should never stand up for ourselves.

It means we should first ask whether the person standing in front of us is even in a state to hear what we're saying.

More often than not, they're not.

Once adrenaline takes over, clear thinking becomes much harder. Listening becomes almost impossible. Understanding gives way to the need to win.

And if the price of "winning" is an injury, a criminal record, broken relationships, or even a life lost...

Who really wins?

Nobody.

Walking away isn't weakness.

Sometimes walking away is the strongest decision we can make.

It means we've refused to let another person's anger become our own. It means we've protected our peace, our wellbeing and perhaps even our future. We've chosen not to carry someone else's emotional burden.

As the Buddha is often quoted as saying:

"If someone offers you a gift and you decline to accept it, to whom does the gift belong?"

"The giver."

Anger is much the same.

If we don't accept it, it remains with the person offering it.

Perhaps the greatest victory isn't winning an argument at all.

Perhaps it's walking away with our peace intact, returning safely to the people who love us, and refusing to become someone else's battlefield.

Because sometimes the bravest thing we can do is simply choose peace. ❤️

•••

Sometimes the greatest transformation comes not from becoming more, but from letting go of everything we thought we had to be.

For many years I've run my own business, building a large client base through eyebrow threading, holistic beauty treatments and, for the past five years, Reiki. Throughout that time, people have often told me, "You're so good at what you do."

When it comes to Reiki, the words I hear most often are, "You've helped me to heal."

Every time someone says that, my heart is full of gratitude. I understand the love behind those words, and I'm deeply honoured that someone has trusted me with such a vulnerable part of their journey.

But there is something I have always known deep within myself.

I am not the healer.

I am not the doer.

I am nothing.

And strangely enough, that has become the greatest gift of my life.

Now, when I say I am nothing, I don't mean I have no worth or that I don't matter. I mean I have spent years slowly emptying myself of everything that kept me separate from who I truly am.

The pride.

The need to control.

The ego.

The fear.

The expectations.

The limiting beliefs.

The conditioning.

The stories I'd collected throughout life.

The labels.

The identities.

The idea that I had to make everything happen.

Little by little, through surrender, trust, stillness and a willingness to let life unfold, those layers began to fall away.

Underneath them, I didn't find emptiness.

I found peace.

I found love.

I found joy.

I found something that had always been there.

The Divine.

There is an intelligence that sustains this entire universe.

The same intelligence that turns a tiny seed into a magnificent tree.

The same intelligence that forms a baby in the womb without us having to consciously instruct a single cell what to do.

The same intelligence that guides migrating birds across continents, orchestrates the changing seasons, keeps the planets in perfect motion and causes flowers to bloom exactly when they're meant to.

Nature doesn't struggle.

It doesn't force.

It simply expresses the intelligence flowing through it.

Life already knows how to live.

As I surrendered more deeply to that intelligence, something beautiful happened.

The stagnant version of myself, the one constantly trying to fix, control, prove and achieve, began to dissolve.

I became lighter.

Not empty in a lonely sense.

Empty in the most freeing sense imaginable.

Empty enough to allow something far greater than myself to move through me.

Empty enough to remember that I was never separate from it.

Then one day, Reiki quietly entered my life.

Or perhaps more accurately...

I became ready to notice it.

I began seeing the word Reiki everywhere. Online adverts, course recommendations, conversations and social media posts. It seemed to appear wherever I looked.

I'd heard of Reiki before but knew very little about it, so one evening I decided to research it properly.

Hours passed as I read article after article, completely fascinated.

One sentence in particular stopped me in my tracks.

"Reiki finds its practitioner when they're ready, not the other way around."

That sentence resonated deeply within me.

Suddenly all those little signs I'd been noticing made sense.

I enrolled on an online course simply to learn for myself.

As I continued studying, I kept seeing advertisements for in person Reiki training.

One Reiki master especially caught my attention. There was something about his picture that I couldn't explain. I felt immediately drawn to his warm, peaceful energy. Without overthinking it, I booked the course.

Over three incredible days, I completed Reiki Levels One and Two in Usui Reiki.

What I experienced there is difficult to put into words.

For the first time, I didn't just understand the concept of universal life force energy.

I experienced it.

Not as an idea.

Not as a belief.

But as something profoundly real.

We learned that this loving, intelligent life force is always available. That through humility, intention and compassion, we can invite this energy to flow wherever it is needed for the highest good of another, provided they are open to receiving it.

The practitioner doesn't decide where the energy goes.

The energy knows.

That is the beauty of it.

Although every person's experience is unique, it's important to understand that Reiki is not a replacement for medical care. I always encourage my clients to seek appropriate medical advice where needed. Reiki is a complementary practice that supports the body's natural ability to restore balance and wellbeing.

After completing my training, I practised every day.

Sometimes on myself.

Sometimes with friends and family.

The feedback amazed me.

Some described an overwhelming sense of peace.

Others felt physical pain ease almost immediately.

Some experienced a quiet mind for the first time in years after living with constant mental chatter.

As my practice grew, so did the stories people shared.

One woman had been unable to conceive for nine years. After receiving Reiki, she later became pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

Another client told me that cysts identified previously were no longer present a week after her session.

Others came carrying heartbreak after painful divorces, grief after losing loved ones or years of emotional burdens.

Session by session, many found themselves becoming calmer, stronger and more connected to themselves.

Not because Reiki erased life's challenges.

But because they began reconnecting with something much deeper than those challenges.

They began discovering the same thing I had.

That peace isn't something we create.

It's something we uncover.

As they slowly released old beliefs, painful conditioning, protective behaviours and the exhausting need to control every outcome, life began flowing more naturally.

They didn't become different people.

They became more themselves.

People often tell me these stories with tears in their eyes and then say,

"You've helped me to heal."

And every time I gently smile and say,

"No...

It wasn't me."

I may have been present.

I may have held the space.

I may have offered loving intention.

But the healing wasn't mine.

It belonged to the same Divine intelligence that has been healing this world since the beginning of time.

The best way I can describe it is this.

Imagine a beautiful plant.

The water is what nourishes it, allowing it to grow, flourish and blossom.

The watering can doesn't create the water.

It doesn't create the life within the plant.

It simply carries the water to where it's needed.

Without water, the watering can is simply an empty vessel.

And yet its emptiness is exactly what allows it to be useful.

That is how I see myself.

I am the watering can.

The Divine life force is the water.

My clients are the beautiful plants.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

The emptier I become of ego, pride, fear and the need to take ownership, the more freely that loving energy is able to flow.

That is why I say...

I am nothing.

Not because I lack value.

But because I have stopped believing I am the doer.

When we stop trying to be the one who controls everything, fixes everything or takes credit for everything, we become available for something infinitely wiser.

Whether you call it God, Divine Intelligence, Source, Universal Consciousness, Love or simply Life itself doesn't matter.

The name is far less important than the experience.

My prayer each day is simple.

May I remain an open vessel.

May I continue emptying myself of anything that blocks love.

May I remember that I am here to serve, not to possess.

To trust, not to control.

To witness, not to claim ownership.

Because when we become nothing...

we discover we have always been connected to everything.

And perhaps that is where true healing has been waiting all along.

With love,

Puja

If this resonates with you and you'd like to experience Reiki for yourself, I'd be honoured to welcome you.

•••

There's an old story about two Buddhist monks that has been shared for generations. It goes something like this.

Two Buddhist monks were travelling together when they came to a river. Standing at the riverbank was a young woman who was afraid to cross because the current was too strong.

One of the monks immediately picked her up, carried her safely across the river, and gently set her down on the other side. She thanked him and continued on her way.

The two monks walked on in silence.

Hours later, the second monk could no longer contain his frustration.

"How could you do that?" he asked. "We have taken vows not to touch women. You carried her in your arms!"

The first monk looked at him and replied,

"Brother, I set her down at the river hours ago. Why are you still carrying her?"

That simple question contains one of life's greatest lessons.

So often, it isn't the event itself that weighs us down. It's our decision to keep carrying it.

Someone says something that hurts us. A disagreement happens at work. A friend lets us down. A family member disappoints us. We replay the conversation over and over, imagining different responses, holding onto resentment, anger, or regret.

Meanwhile, the other person may have moved on entirely.

We become like the second monk, still carrying something that no longer needs to be carried.

But perhaps there's another question worth asking.

If I'm still carrying this, why?

Sometimes we continue to carry a situation because a part of us is asking to be heard. Perhaps something needs to be said. Perhaps a boundary needs to be set. Perhaps a conversation needs to happen. Ignoring that inner voice or pushing our feelings aside isn't the same as letting go. It often means we're simply carrying the weight in silence.

If there is an opportunity to resolve the situation with the other person, then perhaps that is the next step. Not to prove you're right or make them wrong, but to honour yourself enough to speak your truth with kindness and honesty.

However, not every story offers us that opportunity.

Sometimes the person is no longer in our life. Sometimes they're unwilling to listen. Sometimes the healthiest choice is accepting that we may never receive the apology, explanation or closure we hoped for.

In those moments, acceptance becomes our freedom.

Acceptance isn't agreeing with what happened. It isn't saying the hurt didn't matter. It's recognising that carrying the burden any longer only keeps us standing at the riverbank, while life is inviting us to continue our journey.

And perhaps there's another possibility to consider.

What if some of the people who hurt us were never meant to walk the whole path with us?

Sometimes life, fate, or the universe has a way of revealing who belongs in the next chapter of our lives and who doesn't. Painful as those moments can be, they often become turning points. A friendship changes. A relationship ends. A colleague betrays our trust. At first, all we see is the loss.

Later, we realise it created space for something healthier.

Maybe the lesson wasn't to hold on tighter.

Maybe it was to recognise that not everyone who joins us on the path is meant to complete the journey with us.

The first monk understood something the second monk did not. He knew when his role was complete. He helped the woman across the river, set her down, and continued walking. He didn't cling to the moment because it had already served its purpose.

Perhaps that's the invitation for all of us.

To recognise when something still needs our attention and have the courage to address it.

To recognise when resolution isn't possible and have the grace to accept it.

And to recognise when life is gently showing us that someone has reached the end of their journey beside us.

Imagine how much lighter life could feel if we asked ourselves the same question the first monk asked:

"Why am I still carrying this?"

The answer might be to have the conversation you've been avoiding.

It might be to forgive.

It might be to release.

Or it might simply be to thank the experience for its lesson and continue walking your own path.

Life gives us enough to carry already. We don't need to add unnecessary burdens to our backpacks.

The next time you find yourself replaying an old disagreement or dwelling on something that happened weeks, months, or even years ago, remember the two Buddhist monks at the river.

Ask yourself:

Have I already set this down... or am I still carrying it?

The answer may reveal that the heaviest burdens in our lives aren't always the ones placed upon us. They're often the ones we continue to carry long after they've served their purpose.

Sometimes, the greatest act of strength isn't holding on.

It's knowing when to speak, when to accept, and when to gently put the burden down and keep walking.

•••

In my last soul reflection, Why Are You Still Carrying It?, I shared the story of two Buddhist monks who came to a river and encountered a woman who needed help crossing.

One of the monks carried her across the river and continued on his way. The other monk struggled with what he had done, as their vows meant they were not supposed to touch women.

That reflection explored what we continue to carry long after a situation has passed.

But after sharing it, a friend asked me a really interesting question:

Why didn't the second monk simply ask his brother why he did it, so he could understand his reasoning?

It made me think about the story from a slightly different perspective.

Perhaps the first monk didn't need to explain himself because, in that moment, he knew exactly why he had acted.

He saw someone who needed help and he helped her.

Yes, their vows meant they were not supposed to touch women. But the intention behind his actions was not inappropriate. There was no sexual intention. He was simply helping another human being.

And perhaps this is something we sometimes forget.

We can become so focused on what someone did that we forget to consider why they did it.

The action may look wrong from the outside, but the intention behind it may tell a very different story.

Life isn't always as black and white as we would like it to be. Sometimes circumstances ask us to think beyond the rules and use our own judgement, compassion and wisdom.

The second monk could have asked his brother for an explanation. Perhaps that would have helped him understand.

But perhaps the deeper lesson is that we don't always need someone else to explain their actions before we can make sense of our own feelings about them.

Sometimes we have to look at things through our own eyes.

Some things don't have a perfect answer.

Some things simply have to be felt, understood and seen from a different perspective.

Perhaps the first monk understood that.

He knew his intention was pure. He knew why he had acted. And once the moment had passed, he continued walking.

The second monk was still trying to make sense of something that, perhaps, didn't need to make sense to anyone except the person who lived it.

Maybe that's another lesson hidden within this simple story.

We don't always have to agree with someone's actions to understand their intention.

And we don't always have to understand someone's choices to know what they mean for us.

Sometimes, wisdom is simply being willing to look beyond what happened and ask ourselves:

What else might I be missing?

•••

"If you love a flower, don't pick it up. Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be, for love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation.”

— Osho

When we first meet someone we admire, something about them draws us in.

Perhaps it is their smile, confidence, humour, independence, the way they see the world, or the little things they do without even realising it.

We are drawn to their light.

Then we fall in love.

We begin sharing our lives, and slowly, sometimes without meaning to, we may start wanting to change the very qualities that attracted us.

“Why don't you wear your hair differently?”

“Why do you always have to behave like that?”

“You'd look better without that.”

Each comment may seem insignificant on its own. But over time, they can make someone question themselves.

They become quieter.

They think before they speak.

They stop laughing as freely.

They begin seeing themselves through someone else's eyes.

Eventually, they may become very good at keeping the peace.

Don't say that.

Don't do that.

Don't be too much.

Don't rock the boat.

And then one day, the person who wanted all those changes may wonder:

“Where did the old you go?”

Perhaps the answer is:

“You asked me to change.”

Think about a flower.

You admire it because of the way it grows naturally, its colours, its leaves, its fragrance, perhaps even its thorns.

But if you pick it, trim it, remove what you don't like and try to make it fit perfectly into your home, eventually you may destroy the very thing you loved.

Perhaps we sometimes do the same with people.

We are attracted to someone's independence, but later want them to need us more.

We love their confidence, but become uncomfortable when they challenge us.

We admire their social nature, but dislike the attention they receive.

So we begin pruning.

A little less expressive.

A little less independent.

A little more like us.

Until eventually, we wonder where that vibrant person went.

Perhaps they didn't disappear.

Perhaps we helped extinguish them.

Of course, loving someone doesn't mean accepting everything they do. Healthy relationships need boundaries, honesty and difficult conversations.

But there is a difference between communicating a need and trying to redesign a person.

Perhaps the better question is:

“Am I helping them become more themselves, or more like the person I want them to be?”

People change. We all do.

We grow, discover new interests, develop different priorities and become people we never imagined we would be.

We shouldn't expect someone we love to remain frozen in the version of themselves we first met.

Real love means being willing to meet them again and again as they grow.

Sometimes we grow in the same direction. Sometimes we don't.

And sometimes love means accepting that two people may no longer want the same path.

But love should never require someone to lose themselves in order to stay.

Real love makes room for two whole people — two people who can evolve, surprise each other and remain individuals.

To admire without possessing.

To nurture without controlling.

To stand beside someone while allowing them to remain completely themselves.

Because the flower doesn't become more beautiful because we picked it.

It was beautiful because it was alive.

And perhaps people are the same.

Maybe the greatest act of love isn't holding someone so tightly that they cannot leave.

Maybe it is loving them in such a way that they never have to lose themselves to stay.

So before we ask someone to change, perhaps we should ask ourselves:

“What was it about them that made me fall in love with them in the first place?”

And then be careful not to become the reason it disappears.

Because sometimes, in trying so hard to make someone ours, we forget that we loved them most when they were simply themselves. 🌹

•••

Something happened at the gym today that made me smile.

A young man approached me and asked if I wanted to train together. It was fairly clear that his interest wasn't entirely about the workout.

I politely declined and said, “I'm flattered, but I'm too old for you. I'm 50.”

He looked at me as though I’d just told him I was from another planet and said, “You’re lying.”

Apparently, being accused of lying about my age has become a bit of a theme. It happens surprisingly often. Sometimes I even get asked for ID in the supermarket.

I have to admit, I find it funny.

But it also got me thinking about something deeper.

When I tell someone my age, what do they actually expect to see?

A frail little old lady with sensible shoes, a cardigan and a handbag full of tissues?

Because that's certainly not how I feel.

I feel young, not because I'm trying to hold onto youth, but because I look after my vessel.

I move my body. I nourish it. I rest. I try to live a slower, more peaceful life. And, as a Reiki practitioner, I've come to understand how much our inner state can be reflected in our outer one.

Peace has a way of showing itself on the face.

When we spend years rushing, worrying and putting everyone else first, the stress can show on our face. When we slow down, breathe, find stillness and take better care of ourselves, something begins to soften. Perhaps part of growing older is learning to put some of that weight down.

After decades of caring for others, a woman can finally begin to come home to herself.

Not in some dramatic transformation, but in small, beautiful ways.

She becomes a little more comfortable with who she is. A little less concerned with pleasing everyone. She learns what gives her energy and what quietly takes it away.

And perhaps that freedom has its own kind of radiance.

You can see it in a woman's face at 40, 50, 60 or 70. Not in how young she looks, but in a softness and radiance that comes from within.

It's presence.

It's peace.

It's the quiet glow that comes from becoming more at home in your own skin.

So no, I'm not trying to look younger than I am.

I'm simply taking care of the body I've been given, nurturing my mind, protecting my peace and allowing my soul to shine through.

And perhaps that's what people aren't expecting when they hear my age.

Although, having said all that, I did forget my glasses at the gym today and had to ask a young boy to help me open my locker because I couldn't see the combination.

So perhaps I'm doing quite well for my age…

I just need to remember my glasses. 🙃

•••

What if children arrive already knowing far more than we give them credit for?

A baby knows how to seek nourishment, how to reach for connection, how to communicate discomfort, how to follow a face, a voice, a feeling.

They instinctively move towards warmth, safety, play, rhythm and connection. As they grow, they know what delights them, what interests them, what feels natural to them.

They explore without needing permission to be curious. They create without worrying whether what they make is “good.”

They move, imagine, question, laugh, love and discover from an intelligence that seems to exist before instruction.

Perhaps that intelligence is part of the divine source from which all existence came.

And of course, we have a responsibility to protect them.

Teaching a child not to touch a hot iron, put something into an electrical socket, run into a road or go somewhere dangerous is loving guidance.

There is a difference between teaching a child about genuine danger and teaching them to inherit our fears.

But somewhere along the way, something often changes.

The child begins discovering themselves. They develop their own preferences, personalities, interests, ways of thinking and ways of creating. And instead of simply being there to guide them when they need us, we can begin telling them who they should be.

“Don't do that.”

“That's not practical.”

“That isn't a proper career.”

“People will think that's strange.”

“You should be more like…”

“That's not what boys/girls do.”

“You need to get good grades.”

“You need to fit in.”

“You need to be successful.”

“You need to be sensible.”

“You need to be acceptable.”

And slowly, the child learns that being themselves isn't always welcomed.

Their natural curiosity becomes something to manage. Their creativity becomes something to measure. Their interests become something to justify. Their intuition becomes something to doubt.

We call it guidance.

But sometimes it becomes moulding.

And there is a profound difference.

Why do we lose trust in a child's ability to know themselves?

Why do we assume that because we have lived longer, we necessarily know who they are meant to become?

Perhaps our role was never to design their lives for them.

Perhaps it was to protect them while they discover their own.

Because every child eventually encounters the weight of expectations: family beliefs, cultural norms, academic pressure, comparison, achievement, appearance, popularity, financial expectations, gender roles, social conditioning, fear of failure, fear of judgement and the endless pressure to become someone the world considers successful.

And beneath all of that, the authentic self can become buried.

Then decades pass.

And sometimes that child becomes an adult who suddenly realises:

I don't know who I am anymore.

They have done what was expected. Chosen what was sensible. Followed the path that made everyone proud.

Yet something inside still feels empty.

Maybe this is part of what we call a midlife crisis.

Perhaps what looks like rebellion is sometimes a return.

A person finally questioning the life they were taught to live. Leaving behind identities that no longer fit. Exploring spirituality. Seeking healing. Changing careers. Creating. Travelling. Falling in love with life again. Sometimes even making choices others consider reckless because, for the first time, they are trying to feel something that belongs to them.

Not every choice made in this search is necessarily wise. Freedom doesn't mean abandoning discernment.

But perhaps we should ask what created the hunger for freedom in the first place.

Because every time a person was told their instincts were wrong, their interests were impractical, their feelings were too much, their dreams were unrealistic, or their authentic expression was unacceptable, another piece of their natural self may have been pushed into hiding.

And then, years later, they begin the journey home.

Perhaps this is why so many of us eventually turn inward.

We were born whole.

Born with light.

Born connected to something greater than ourselves.

And then life taught us to search outside ourselves for what was already within.

Look at nature.

A tree doesn't spend its life trying to become another tree. A river doesn't apologise for flowing. A flower doesn't wonder whether it is acceptable to bloom. Nature unfolds according to its own inherent intelligence.

So why do we find it so difficult to offer that same trust to the little beings entrusted to us?

Children don't need us to manufacture their identities.

They need safety.

They need boundaries where there is genuine danger.

They need love.

They need presence.

They need someone beside them while they discover the extraordinary mystery of who they already are.

There is guidance that protects.

And there is control that shapes.

There is wisdom in knowing the difference.

Perhaps the greatest gift we can give a child isn't a perfectly designed future.

Perhaps it is the freedom to discover their own.

To let their light remain visible.

To nurture without possessing.

To guide without defining.

To be there when they need us, while trusting the intelligence within them.

So they don't have to spend decades trying to find their way back to themselves.

Maybe the beauty isn't in teaching children who to become.

Maybe it's in protecting the space where they can become who they already are.

And perhaps, if we can do that, they won't have to spend their lives searching for the light they were never truly separated from.

•••

There is an old story about three blind men who encounter an elephant for the first time.

They hear the elephant nearby and, curious about what this strange creature might be, decide to go and investigate.

One of them reaches out and grabs the elephant’s tail.

“It’s a rope,” he says.

Another reaches out and wraps his arms around the elephant’s leg.

“No,” he says. “It’s more like a tree. It’s thick and solid.”

The third man places his hands against the elephant’s side.

“You’re both wrong,” he says. “An elephant is like a wall. It’s huge, broad, and flat.”

And so they begin to argue.

Each man is completely convinced that he knows what an elephant is.

And, in a way, each of them is right.

They are simply experiencing different parts of the same thing.

The problem isn’t that they are wrong about what they felt.

The problem is that they mistake their own experience of the elephant for the entirety of the elephant.

I think we do something remarkably similar with people.

We meet someone, spend a few hours with them, have a conversation, witness a reaction, or see them in a particular situation, and we begin constructing a version of who they are in our minds.

Maybe someone knows you as the quiet one.

You don't talk much around them, so that's the version of you they carry.

Someone else knows you as the person who never stops talking.

Around them, you're loud, playful, opinionated, maybe even a little annoying.

Sometimes, a version of us is created before we’ve even spoken a word, simply from the way we look.

Someone has experienced your guarded side and decided you're cold.

Someone else has experienced your tenderness and knows you as kind and caring.

Someone thinks you're confident.

Someone thinks you're insecure.

Someone thinks you're distant.

Someone thinks you're incredibly warm.

Someone thinks you're serious.

Someone else thinks you're the funniest person they've ever met.

And here's the strange part:

They may all be telling the truth.

Not because you are fake.

Not because you are constantly changing who you are to please people.

But because every person only experiences a piece of you.

There are different versions of you living inside the minds of the people you've encountered.

The version your mother knows.

The version your best friend knows.

The version your coworker knows.

They are all perceptions.

Pieces.

Snapshots.

Experiences filtered through someone else's history, expectations, insecurities, assumptions, and circumstances.

That's something I've found strangely freeing.

Because it means I don't have to spend my life trying to control how everyone sees me.

And yet, so many of us do exactly that.

We replay conversations.

Did I say too much?

Did I seem rude?

Do they think I'm awkward?

What if they misunderstood me?

What if they don't like me?

We try to edit ourselves in real time, hoping we can somehow create one universally approved version of ourselves.

But that's impossible.

You could be the kindest person in the world and someone will still decide you're selfish.

You could be incredibly confident and someone will call you arrogant.

You could be quiet because you're thoughtful, and someone will interpret it as being unfriendly.

You could speak your mind because you're honest, and someone will decide you're difficult.

You could give everything you have to someone, and they may still remember the one thing you didn't give.

That's the uncomfortable truth about being human:

You are not in control of the version of you that exists in someone else's mind.

And maybe you're not supposed to be.

The goal isn't to make everyone see you correctly.

They won't.

Not because everyone will understand you.

They won't.

Not because everyone will like you.

They won't.

Not because being authentic guarantees that people will see the best in you.

It doesn't.

Be authentic because there is something exhausting about constantly performing a version of yourself that you think other people will approve of.

Eventually, you forget which version is actually yours.

The elephant doesn't become a rope because someone touched its tail.

It doesn't become a tree because someone held its leg.

And it doesn't become a wall because someone placed their hands against its side.

It remains an elephant.

And perhaps that's the lesson.

People will encounter different parts of you.

They will tell stories about you from the pieces they've experienced.

Some will understand you deeply.

Some will misunderstand you completely.

Some will see your softness.

Some will see your strength.

Some will see qualities in you that you didn't even know were there.

Some will see your flaws.

Let them.

You don't have to climb inside every person's mind and rearrange the version of you they've created there.

You just have to keep becoming more honest about who you are when no one else is looking.

Because at the end of the day, there will never be just one version of you.

There will be hundreds.

Maybe thousands.

A different one living in every mind you've touched.

Maybe we've outgrown a version of ourselves, but other people may continue carrying it forward.  

And that's okay.

You don't have to be concerned about everyone's perception of you.

Perhaps the most freeing thing is to be fully ourselves, without needing to be fully understood.

•••

After writing my last reflection, 'The Thousand Versions of You', I came across a post about hermeneutics, and it immediately made me think about what I had been exploring. I'd been reflecting on how there isn't really one version of us that exists independently of everyone else. Instead, there are countless versions of us, shaped by each person's experience of us, their history, conditioning, memories, expectations and the way they see the world.

Hermeneutics is essentially the study of interpretation, how we understand what someone has said, written or done. But perhaps words don't simply transfer meaning. They trigger it. What someone hears is shaped not only by what we intended to say, but by everything they bring with them.

What struck me is that we don't simply hear what another person says; we interpret it.

And our interpretation is never completely separate from who we are. The same words can mean something very different to two people because each person is listening through their own experiences, conditioning, beliefs and perceptions.

A sentence that feels loving to one person might feel dismissive to another.

This brings me back to the thousand versions of you.

We don't just experience people, we interpret them.

In a sense, we become a kind of text that other people are constantly reading, each through the language of their own life.

And maybe that doesn't mean one person is right and another is wrong.

It means, that meaning is often more complicated than we realise.

We can be sincere in what we meant and still be understood differently.

We can know ourselves deeply and still be interpreted in ways that surprise us.

Maybe being human is simply living in that space between what we mean, what we express, and what another person is able to hear. And perhaps, we can make peace with that.

•••

One of my favourite books is The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

There is a beautiful story about a young shepherd named Santiago who dreams of finding a treasure near the Egyptian pyramids.

So he sets off on a journey to find it.

Along the way he experiences loss, fear, love, excitement, disappointment and transformation. He meets people who teach him important lessons, and slowly he begins to understand himself, his purpose and the path he is meant to follow, what the book calls his “Personal Legend.”

Eventually, after travelling all the way to the pyramids, he discovers that the treasure he has been searching for is actually buried back in Spain, beneath a sycamore tree at the ruins of the old church where his journey began.

He had travelled so far to discover that what he was looking for had been closer to home than he realised.

But the journey wasn't wasted.

He needed to take the journey to become the person who could understand the treasure.

I think about this story whenever I think about how we search for happiness.

Because how often do we do exactly the same thing?

We find something that gives us a little spark of happiness, and before long we're chasing the next thing.

The next experience.

The next relationship.

The next purchase.

The next achievement.

The next high.

We tell ourselves that when we have that next thing, we'll feel happier, more successful, more fulfilled, more alive.

And for a little while, we do.

Then the feeling fades.

So we start looking again.

And again.

And again.

Until we can spend an entire lifetime travelling further and further away from ourselves, searching for something we believe will finally make us feel whole.

But what if we've been looking in the wrong direction?

What if the thing we're searching for isn't somewhere out there?

What if the journey is actually leading us back to ourselves?

And this is where I think our compulsive need for more becomes such an interesting part of the human story.

Because underneath so many of our habits and compulsions is that same desire.

To feel something.

To escape something.

To become something.

To finally feel enough.

What are we trying to feel?

Take alcohol.

The first glass can feel lovely. It makes us a little tipsy, relaxed, happy, perhaps a little more carefree.

Then, over time, that same amount doesn't quite give us the feeling it once did.

So we have another.

And another.

And eventually, what started as something we enjoyed can become something we feel we need.

This is one of the ways addiction can develop. Our brains can become accustomed to repeated stimulation, meaning we may need more of something to experience the same effect.

Drugs can follow a similar pattern. The amount that once created the high may no longer feel enough, so more is taken in the search for that original feeling.

And it isn't only substances.

The same desire for stimulation, pleasure, relief or escape can show up in so many areas of our lives.

Take social media.

You pick up your phone for “two minutes.”

Forty five minutes later, you're watching a video of someone you've never met reorganising their fridge while simultaneously wondering why your life isn't more organised.

It seems harmless, but there is something deeper happening.

We're looking for stimulation.

We're looking for connection.

We're looking for validation.

We're looking for something to make us feel something.

The same can happen with sex, shopping, gambling, food, relationships, gaming or pornography.

The experience gives us a feeling.

Excitement.

Comfort.

Relief.

Validation.

Escape.

For a little while, we don't have to feel whatever was underneath it.

And that can be incredibly powerful.

Because sometimes we're not actually addicted to the thing.

We're addicted to how the thing makes us feel.

Or, more accurately, how it helps us not feel.

The Expensive Pursuit of Happiness

And this isn't always as obvious as alcohol or drugs.

Sometimes our search for the next high looks completely normal.

We book the expensive holiday we can't really afford because we desperately need something to look forward to.

The excitement is real.

The countdown begins.

We imagine ourselves sitting somewhere beautiful, switching off from work and finally feeling happy.

Then the holiday comes.

We have an amazing time.

We take the photographs.

We post them.

We come home.

And the feeling fades.

Except now there's a credit card bill waiting for us.

So we're back to work, stressed, trying to pay for the happiness we already had.

The same thing can happen with an expensive car.

We see it.

We imagine driving it.

We imagine how successful we'll look.

We imagine what people will think when they see us in it.

So we put it on finance.

For a while, we get that wonderful feeling.

The new car smell.

The attention.

The excitement.

The feeling that we've finally made it.

Then the monthly payment arrives.

And arrives again.

And again.

Suddenly, the thing we bought to make us feel successful is making us more financially stressed than we were before.

And the same can happen with phones, designer clothes, gadgets and all the other things we can convince ourselves we need.

Now, I'm not suggesting we shouldn't have holidays, nice cars, beautiful things or the latest phone.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying those things when they are affordable and genuinely add something to our lives.

The question is what happens afterwards.

If the holiday leaves us with months of financial stress, or the car we bought to make us feel successful leaves us struggling to meet the repayments, perhaps it's worth asking ourselves what we were really buying.

Were we buying the experience?

Or were we buying the feeling of how we thought it would make us look?

Were we buying the car?

Or the identity that came with it?

Were we buying the phone?

Or the attention, status or sense of success we believed it would give us?

Because sometimes the smaller, simpler and more affordable version can bring just as much joy.

A weekend away instead of an expensive holiday.

A reliable car instead of the one that stretches the budget.

A phone that does everything we actually need instead of the newest model.

A meal with people we love instead of something designed to impress everyone on Instagram.

The happiness doesn't always come from the price tag.

Sometimes it comes from the experience itself.

And there is a beautiful kind of freedom in enjoying what you can comfortably afford without needing it to prove anything about you.

What Is Underneath It?

This is the question I find much more interesting than simply asking why people become addicted.

What is the behaviour really trying to give us?

What are we trying to escape?

What are we trying to fill?

For one person it might be loneliness.

For another, anxiety.

For someone else, shame, grief, boredom, rejection or a deep feeling of not being good enough.

Maybe we don't even know.

We just know that when we drink, we relax.

When we scroll, we don't have to think.

When we gamble, we feel alive.

When we work, we feel important.

When someone desires us, we feel worthy.

When we shop, we feel excited.

When we buy something expensive, we feel successful.

When we take a holiday, we feel free.

And when the feeling disappears, we look for the next thing that will bring it back.

And there it is.

That little word that sits underneath so much of our behaviour.

Escape.

The Problem With the Next Hit

The trouble is that the feeling doesn't last.

The wine wears off.

The high disappears.

The notification stops.

The shopping buzz fades.

The excitement settles.

The holiday ends.

The new car becomes the car you drive every day.

The new phone becomes the phone you use to scroll.

The new relationship becomes familiar.

And we're back with ourselves.

So we reach for the thing again.

This is where the cycle can become destructive.

What started as pleasure can become relief.

Relief can become a habit.

The habit can become dependency.

And eventually, something that once made us feel good can become something we feel we need just to feel normal.

It's a clever little trap.

We keep using the thing that is hurting us because, for a moment, it helps us escape the thing that hurts inside us.

We Have Forgotten How to Sit With Ourselves

We live in a world where we don't really have to experience an uncomfortable feeling for very long.

We're bored?

Phone.

Lonely?

Netflix.

Sad?

Junk food.

Anxious?

Scroll.

Can't sleep?

Scroll some more, obviously.

We have become incredibly good at distracting ourselves.

But what happens when we stop?

What happens when the phone is down?

When the house is quiet?

When there is no music, no television, no notification, no one to talk to and nothing to consume?

We're left with ourselves.

And for some people, that can feel surprisingly uncomfortable.

Because silence has a funny way of showing us what we've been avoiding.

Maybe the Answer Isn't More

We are constantly being encouraged to add something to ourselves.

More success.

More money.

More beauty.

More followers.

More experiences.

More possessions.

More pleasure.

But contentment doesn't necessarily come from adding more.

It can come from understanding ourselves.

From going within.

From becoming curious about our wounds, our needs, our fears and our patterns.

From asking ourselves:

What am I really feeling?

What am I trying not to feel?

What happens just before I reach for this?

What am I trying to escape?

What do I believe I need from the outside world to feel worthy?

These aren't always easy questions.

Sometimes we need help answering them.

Therapy can help. Meditation can help. Journaling can help. Support groups, addiction treatment and connection with safe people can help.

There are many paths into ourselves.

The important thing is that we begin turning towards ourselves instead of constantly running away.

I Know This Kind of Contentment Is Possible

I've experienced the other side of it.

I've had times in my life when I looked outside of myself for validation, happiness and a sense of worth. It was only when I began to truly go within, understand my wounds and heal the parts of myself I had been avoiding that I discovered something very different.

I discovered that life doesn't have to be constantly exciting to be beautiful.

There is so much joy in the simple things.

Nature.

A quiet morning.

Looking after your body.

Meditation.

A meal.

A film.

Time with people you love.

Or simply being alone and feeling completely at peace with your own company.

I don't need to escape my life to enjoy it anymore.

I can slow down and actually experience it.

And that, for me, is what contentment feels like.

Coming Home

Our bodies are constantly working for us.

Our hearts beat.

Our lungs breathe.

Our wounds heal.

Our bodies are doing everything they can to keep us alive.

And yet we can spend so much of our lives overriding them.

We don't listen when we're tired.

We don't listen when we're overwhelmed.

We don't listen when we're hurting.

We fill the silence.

We numb the discomfort.

We chase the next high.

And all the while, our bodies are quietly asking us to come back.

Slow down.

Listen.

Rest.

Feel.

Be here.

Pleasure isn't the enemy.

A glass of wine isn't the enemy. Sex isn't the enemy. Food isn't the enemy. Technology isn't the enemy. Going on holiday isn't the enemy. Buying something beautiful isn't the enemy.

The problem comes when we need these things to regulate our entire emotional world.

When we can't be okay unless something outside of us makes us okay.

That is when it's worth looking deeper.

Because we may be chasing excitement when what we really need is connection.

We may be chasing success when what we really need is self worth.

We may be chasing stimulation when what we really need is peace.

We may be chasing another person when what we really need is to learn how to feel whole within ourselves.

We spend so much time trying to become someone.

Someone successful.

Someone attractive.

Someone important.

Someone desirable.

Someone who has it all together.

But healing isn't always about becoming someone new.

Sometimes it's about releasing all the things we were never meant to carry.

The expectations.

The identities.

The shame.

The stories.

The belief that we have to be more, do more and have more to finally be enough.

Maybe we don't need more.

Maybe we need less noise and more presence.

Less distraction and more connection.

Less running and more sitting with ourselves.

Because underneath all those layers, there is a version of us that doesn't need another hit.

It doesn't need another notification.

Another achievement.

Another person.

Another drink.

Another purchase.

Another holiday.

Another car.

Another high.

It simply needs to be heard.

Loved.

Understood.

And allowed to be.

Maybe the void isn't asking us to fill it.

Just like Santiago needed to make that journey to discover what was waiting for him at home, perhaps we sometimes need to experience the searching, the chasing and the “more” before we finally realise what we were looking for was within us all along.

Sometimes we have to become tired of searching before we finally stop and think, “Wait a minute… perhaps it's time to come home.”

Maybe it's asking us to finally listen to it.

And that is where peace reveals itself.

By coming home to ourselves. 🌿

•••