Mental Health Vent

Off-season in Spiti is six months of snow and very few humans. Sounds peaceful, gets lonely. I've learned winter isn't empty, it's just quiet asking you to sit with yourself. Some years I'm better at it than others.

I'm a nurse in Nagaon. I hold other people's fear all day, and some nights I come home with no one to hold mine. Learning slowly that caring for everyone doesn't mean I get to disappear. Still learning.

Musician life looks romantic from outside. Inside it's three gigs cancelled, an empty week, and doubting whether any of it matters. Some days I just tune the guitar and don't play, and that's enough to get through.

To the young ones here carrying so much so quietly — I taught for thirty years, and I promise you the brightest students were often the most frightened. You are allowed to struggle. It does not make you any less. Come, tell Thamma.

First time living away from home, and some nights the homesickness sits on my chest like an actual weight. I smile through class, then cry while folding my clothes. Is this normal, or am I just weak? Genuinely asking.

Moved to a new city alone for work and nobody warns you how loud an empty room gets on a Sunday. Some days I'm completely fine; some days I video-call my mother just to hear the background noise of home.

The house is very quiet now

I don't know if this is the right room for an old woman. But some evenings after the tiffins go out, I sit alone and miss noise so much it hurts. Cooking for others is how I keep going. Just wanted to say it somewhere.

Papa never says it but

My father is a government schoolteacher, retiring in two years. He never pressures me in words, but I saw him quietly cancel his knee surgery to fund my coaching. That guilt studies alongside me every day.

Ek student result kharab hone pe bahut udaas tha. Maine kaha marks kagaz pe hain, tum uss kagaz se bade ho. Likhta yaha isliye hoon kyunki yeh baat shayad kisi bade ko bhi aaj sunni ho. Tum kisi number se bahut zyada ho, beta.

Some mornings I open the newspaper and my chest just tightens before I read a single line. Anyone else feel this exam living inside your body? I've started walking to the Sangam at 6am just to remind myself the world is bigger than a cutoff.

For years my whole identity was 'someone's mummy'. Now that the children need me less, some days there's a strange empty silence at 11am that nobody warns you about. I'm slowly learning that I am still a full person, not just a role that's ending.

Living upside down does things to the mind. I sleep when the sun is loud and wake when it leaves. Some weeks I forget what a normal Sunday feels like. Trying to be gentle with myself instead of calling it weakness.

Some days the guilt of 'not studying enough' is heavier than the studying itself. I took a full day off yesterday and cried and slept and it felt illegal. Reminder to self and to whoever reads this: rest is not the same as quitting.

We lost a patient on my shift last night, an old gentleman who used to call me 'beta' every morning. I clocked out, sat in my car in the hospital parking, and just breathed for ten minutes. Nobody trains you for the empty bed.

The Sunday scaries are REAL. By 6pm I'm already dreading Monday standup and rehearsing what I'll say about my 'blockers'. Slowly learning that resting isn't a productivity crime. Slowly.

Teaching sixty children in one room means I give away all my patience by 2pm and come home with none for myself. I've started keeping ten minutes on the terrace before entering the house, just to become a person again before becoming a mother and wife. That small door between two lives keeps me sane.

Some nights the syllabus feels like a wall that keeps getting taller. I've learned to just close the book, wash my face, and message one friend instead of spiralling alone at 2am. Small thing, but it stops the panic from swallowing the whole night.

Nurses aren't made of steel

We're trained to check everyone's vitals except our own. After a rough shift I cried quietly in the hospital stairwell, wiped my face, and went back out to smile at the next patient. We're not made of steel — just a lot of practice.

My son moved to Pune for his job and the house became so quiet I catch myself talking to the pressure cooker. Cooking for other people's children fills the silence a little. Nobody warns mothers about the empty-nest ache.

Comparison is the quiet killer in exam life — someone always cleared younger, studied longer, cried less. I've started closing the app that shows other people's results. My race, my lane, my timing. Still learning to fully believe it.

The gym saved me, but let me be honest — no amount of deadlift fixes what you won't talk about. I lift heavy and I still call my friend when my chest feels tight for no reason. Muscles aren't armour. Talking is.

college looks like everyone has it figured out and i'm just vibing in pure survival mode with a cute wallpaper. some days the anime openings are the only thing getting me out of bed, and i've decided that's allowed. we heal in small silly ways.

A boy stayed back after class today and finally said he's scared of disappointing his father. I told him what I tell all of them — marks fade, but a kind heart you keep forever. I think some of you reading this needed to hear that too.

First time I watched a patient pass away during clinicals, I couldn't eat for two days. My senior held my hand and said, 'you feel it because you care — don't ever lose that.' I'm keeping those words.

Founder burnout is real and nobody puts it on the LinkedIn highlight reel. Some mornings I open the laptop and just stare at it. Started therapy last month — genuinely the best 'business expense' yet.

After some money trouble at home I stopped sleeping properly for months and told nobody. Slowly, morning chai with the other teachers pulled me back. Please, whoever is reading late, don't carry it all alone.

Some days the anxiety is a quiet fog and I just go through classes like a background character in my own life. Walking around the Udupi temple streets in the evening helps a little, the crowd and lights remind me the world is still moving. Writing this so future-me remembers the fog does lift.

I hold it together for patients all day and then have nothing left for myself at night. Learning slowly that resting is not laziness, it is refuelling. Sharing this mostly so tomorrow-me reads it and actually sleeps.

People come to my class for abs and leave talking about their divorces, their bosses, their loneliness. The body opens up and the heart follows. I've become half instructor, half therapist, and I don't mind.

Nobody asks an auto driver how he's doing. So let me say it here — some weeks the tiredness is not in the legs, it's somewhere inside. But my kids' school photos on the dashboard keep the wheel turning.

Everyone in my street asks 'exam aayducha?' like it's a greeting. Some days I want to just say I don't know if I'm strong enough for a fifth attempt, but I smile and say 'varum aunty'.