The human mind is remarkably adept at creating narratives. It takes isolated events, emotions, and passing thoughts and weaves them into stories that feel absolute and definitive. One moment you are simply experiencing a fleeting sense of discomfort, and the next, your mind has convinced you that this discomfort is evidence of something much greater - an inherent personal flaw, a permanent state of being, or an insurmountable problem.

Positivity is often presented as the key to happiness, resilience, and personal growth. We are told to "stay positive," "look on the bright side," and "focus on good vibes only." On the surface, these messages seem uplifting and well-intentioned. But what happens when positivity becomes a weapon rather than a source of encouragement?

For much of my life, I struggled with inner conflict. There were moments when I felt strong and in control, making rational decisions with confidence. At other times, I was overwhelmed by emotions that seemed to come out of nowhere, intense sadness, crippling self-doubt, or a deep-seated fear of failure. I found myself reacting in ways I did not fully understand, unable to connect the dots between my experiences and my emotional responses.

So, I finally did it. After months (or possibly years) of overthinking, googling, and mentally preparing myself with an unhealthy amount of Netflix escapism, I booked my first therapy session.

For a long time, I believed that trauma was something that would naturally fade with time. I thought that if I ignored it, buried it deep enough, or simply moved on with my life, it would lose its power. But I soon realised that this wasn’t the case. Instead of diminishing, my trauma seemed to resurface in unexpected ways, often feeling even more intense than when I first experienced it.

I used to be terrible at setting boundaries. I found myself constantly saying “yes” to things I didn’t truly want to do, allowing people to overstep my limits, and feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt whenever I attempted to stand up for myself. Sound familiar? If you’ve ever felt exhausted, drained, or resentful in your relationships—whether with family, friends, colleagues, or even romantic partners—there’s a strong chance that your boundaries need reinforcing.

There is a distinct kind of sorrow that accompanies witnessing a loved one’s descent into self-destruction. It is a slow, relentless form of heartbreak—one without a clear ending, no funeral to mourn, no closure to be found. Instead, it is a continual cycle of hope and disappointment. You see their potential, the life they could have, and yet they persist in making choices that lead them deeper into addiction, self-sabotage, or stagnation.

The super-ego is a deeply ingrained psychological structure that acts as an internal authority, shaping our thoughts, behaviours, and sense of self-worth. It often manifests as an inner critic, a persistent voice that evaluates, judges, and dictates our actions based on external expectations. Many individuals mistake this internal voice as an inherent part of their personality, believing that its strict self-monitoring is essential for growth, discipline, and success.

Addiction remains one of the most deeply misunderstood struggles an individual can experience. It is often perceived as a weakness, a matter of poor choices, or a moral failing, yet these interpretations barely scratch the surface of the complex reality that underpins it. Addiction is rarely about the substance or behaviour itself; instead, it is a symptom of deeper emotional, psychological, and sometimes physiological challenges.

There comes a time in life when we recognise that we are no longer the person we once were. Sometimes, this realisation is met with excitement - a clear sign of growth, transformation, and evolution into a better version of ourselves. Other times, it arrives with an unexpected and deeply unsettling sense of grief.

I have always been fascinated by dreams. Those strange, fleeting experiences that take over the mind while we sleep - sometimes surreal, sometimes terrifying, sometimes so vivid they linger in my thoughts for days. But what if dreams aren’t just random, meaningless sequences? What if they hold the key to understanding our deepest fears, emotions, and desires?

Fear. That ever-present, sneaky little voice that whispers, “You can’t do this.” It’s the feeling that grips your stomach just as you’re about to take a leap, the paralysis that stops you from sending that email, launching that business, or stepping up for an opportunity. I know it well. I’ve battled it, argued with it, and, at times, let it dictate my choices. But here’s what I’ve learned: fear is a liar, and self-doubt is it’s accomplice.