A journey of self-discovery and regret
There are nights when I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling an unbearable weight settle over me—a weight of unfulfilled dreams, of missed opportunities, of a life that hasn’t turned out the way I once imagined. I wonder, When did I stop trying? When did I become this person who is too afraid to fail, so much so that I don’t even take the first step?
I once was different – louder, fearless and always upfront when something wrong happened. My friends knew that version of me—the one who never hesitated to raise their voice, who fought against injustice, who had the courage to stand alone if necessary. I used to believe that words had power and that standing up for what was right mattered. I was never the one to stay silent. But the people I have met in the past year have seen a different side of me. A submissive side. The fire that once burned within me has faded. No more awaaz uthana (raising a voice), no more questioning what is right or wrong, no more standing up against the things that used to make my blood boil. I have turned into someone who observes but does not react, someone who listens but does not speak.
When I see people now discussing the very things I used to engage in—debating, questioning and resisting passionately – but I remain silent. Not because I don’t care, but because I am tired; tired of fighting battles that seem to lead nowhere; tired of pouring my energy into things that never change. Reality has hit me hard, and it has left me with the bitter realisation that maybe, just maybe, none of it mattered in the end.
And if none of it mattered, then what does that make me?
I used to believe I was capable of great things. I had dreams that burned brightly and ambitions that felt within reach. But somewhere along the way, that fire dimmed. Was it because of fear? Because of the voices—inside me and around me—that whispered, What if you fail? What if you make a fool of yourself? Over time, I let those voices dictate my actions, or rather, my inaction. I convinced myself that it was better to not try at all than to risk failing. And so, I became stuck.
I see people around me chasing their goals, pushing past obstacles and embracing life with open arms. And I sit on the sidelines, watching, pretending it doesn’t bother me. I tell myself that I am content with the little I have, with the simple things in life. Ironically, this is something I once associated with people who had no other choice—people who, in my eyes, had failed and settled for less. But now, I am doing the same. I call it gratitude, I call it acceptance, but deep down, I know the truth. It is fear. It is surrender.
To the world, I am happy. I smile, I laugh and I go about my day as if nothing is wrong. People think I have it together. They see me and assume that I am at peace with my life. But they don’t see what happens when the day ends when I am alone in the darkness of my own thoughts. They don’t see the weight I carry, the quiet tears, the self-doubt that creeps in like an unwelcome guest. Even those closest to me, the ones I trust the most, have no idea how I truly feel.
Every day, I put on a mask. I wear it so well that even I sometimes believe it. I wake up, get dressed and go about my routine, all while pretending that this is enough, that I am okay. But in the stillness of the night, when I have no one to fool but myself, the mask slips. And I realize that this is not what I wanted. This is not who I am.
The question haunts me: Who am I?
Am I the person who once believed in my own potential? Or am I the person who has let fear dictate my life? Have I truly failed, or is it just a story I tell myself to justify staying in my comfort zone?
I don’t know the answers. But I do know this—I don’t want to live like this forever. I don’t want to spend my life wondering what if. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe there is still a version of me, buried beneath the fear, waiting to be found. Maybe the first step is acknowledging that I have been hiding from myself for too long.
Maybe, just maybe, I can find my way back.
The writer holds a Masters degree in English from the Central University of Kashmir and is currently an educator at Birla Open Minds International School Pampore.
The writer, an MA in English from the Central University of Kashmir, is an educator at Birla Open Minds International School Pampore
NowsheenaMushtaq
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