Life without fire: My honest past

Section 1: The Mirror I Was Afraid to Face

There comes a point in life when all the noise fades, even the distractions tire you, and you’re left alone with a quiet but piercing and emotionally painful question: What have I really done with my life all these years? It wasn’t a single day that broke me. It was the slow piling of years — until one day, I woke up tired, lost, and unrecognizable to my own soul.

One morning — I don’t remember the date, but I remember the feeling — I looked in the mirror and saw a version of myself I could barely recognize — heavier, tired-eyed, and carrying a face that had lost its light. I looked older than I felt, unattractive even to myself. Not just physically, but emotionally — scattered, withdrawn, and hollow. Physically dull, mentally scattered, emotionally distant. I was tired, heavy, unmotivated. There was no spark, no fire. I had been avoiding this version of me for a long time — covering him with jokes, with food, with distractions, with “tomorrow.”

But that day, something cracked. It wasn’t a sudden change. It was a small, painful acceptance: This is where I am. And I’m not proud of it.

Section 2: A Decade of Drift

To be honest, I drifted through most of my twenties and early thirties I let distractions become my lifestyle. Social media spoiled my mornings, food was an emotional crutch, and binging web series replaced discipline. Though I kept busy —I wasn’t progressing. I confused movement with growth.

Meanwhile, others around me built stable lives. Some bought homes, others-built careers, some travelled, others saved. I watched their progress with silent shame. Not because I envied them — but because deep down, I knew I was capable too. I had the potential, but I was wasting it. And I had no one else to blame.

I even let go of some genuinely good opportunities — things that could’ve changed the course of my career or life. But I either delayed too much, doubted myself, or simply didn’t show up. People around me offered help, gave advice, tried to push me in the right direction. I ignored most of them. Not because I didn’t trust them — but because I had stopped trusting myself.

During this time, I was also losing friends. Not because I fought with anyone — but because I started withdrawing. I stopped showing up. I didn’t return calls, avoided messages, skipped plans. Eventually, people moved on — and I don’t blame them. I was just too ashamed of who I was becoming.

Even academically, it was a great struggle. I had to take multiple attempts to pass my university exams. Not because I wasn’t capable, but because I couldn’t stay focused. The burden of repeated failure crushed my confidence badly. Each attempt felt heavier than the last.

Over time, this drift turned into a totally new identity. I stopped expecting more from myself. I became okay with average, with “managing,” with telling myself next month I’ll change. But the months kept passing. And so did the years.

 Section 3: Cracks in Every Area of Life   

By the time I noticed the damage, it had spread everywhere in my life — like a silent leak that flooded the entire house.

Financially, I was always in a state of tension. It’s not that I never earned — I did. But I didn’t manage it well. I spent impulsively, didn’t save, and lacked any kind of system. I constantly felt like I was catching up. Debt started creeping in. There was no freedom, just survival.

Health-wise, I lost complete control. What started as the occasional overeating turned into a full-blown lifestyle of emotional binge eating and physical neglect. I gradually gained weight.  My clothes didn’t fit. My energy was gone. My face began to look bloated and tired, my skin lost its glow, and I started to avoid mirrors. I hated my look, but I didn’t have the courage to face it. I became deeply ashamed of my appearance in public. I avoided eye contact. I avoided photos. I avoided people. I would make excuses not to go to weddings or gatherings because I didn’t want to deal with the looks, the questions, or the comparisons.

Even climbing a flight of stairs made me breathless — and I would laugh it off outside while panicking inside. I told myself I’d fix it “next Monday” every week. That Monday never came.

Medically, I was on the verge of Diabetes and Hypertension. My reports had started showing warning signs. But what scared me the most wasn’t just the numbers — it was the fear I began to carry inside me. Someone in my extended family — young, just like me — died suddenly of a heart attack. And that shook me. I couldn’t shake the thought: What if I’m next? I feared dying young. I feared leaving things unfinished. I feared leaving behind a mess. But instead of changing my habits, I drowned the fear with even more distraction. That fear, though, never really left me.

Career-wise, I was deeply dissatisfied. I knew I hadn’t grown the way I should have. I avoided updating my skills, avoided challenges, avoided any situation that exposed how much I’d fallen behind. I pretended to be okay, but inside, I feared being irrelevant — and that fear made me smaller every day.

Emotionally, I was disconnected. From family, from friends, even from my own emotions. I stopped expressing. I avoided vulnerability. I built walls around my feelings and convinced myself that being “quiet” was being “strong.” But inside, I was crumbling. My self-esteem had hit rock bottom. I began doubting everything about myself — my worth, my abilities, my future. I wasn’t just failing in tasks — I was failing in identity. Even simple compliments made me uncomfortable because I felt like a fraud inside.

Spiritually, I felt hollow. I wasn’t connected to anything deeper. No inner peace, no reflection, no clarity. Just noise. I stopped praying, stopped meditating, stopped sitting with myself. I was floating through life — breathless and empty.

And the worst part? No one really knew how bad it was. I kept a normal face outside. I smiled. I talked. But inside, I was just… tired.

Section 4: This Is My Starting Point

So here I am — not standing on any podium, not holding a trophy, not giving lecture. Just standing in the middle of my own mess, finally willing to admit it. This is not a comeback story. This is the uncomfortable beginning of one.

I’m not writing this blog from a place of success. I’m writing it from the floor — the very bottom where self-esteem barely survives, and doubts scream louder than hope. But for the first time in years, I’m not running away from it. I’m facing it. I’m sitting in it. And I’m choosing to begin again.

This is my starting point — with all the guilt, regrets, extra weight, missed chances, broken routines, and old wounds. I don’t have a transformation plan or a shortcut. All I have is one honest decision: I refuse to drift anymore.

If you’re reading this and you’re somewhere similar — feeling like you’ve wasted years, like you’re behind, like you’re not who you wanted to be — then know that  you’re not alone. I’m right here with you. I’ve failed too. I’ve avoided mirrors too. But we still have time. Maybe not to erase the past, but to rewrite the future.

This blog isn’t about me teaching. It’s about me walking. Slowly. Consciously. One small, meaningful step at a time.

This is my starting point.
And maybe, it could be yours