I make tea when guests come over. Even when I’m tired. Even when my brother is sitting right there. I do it without thinking, like it’s stitched into my spine.

And he, he reaches for the heavier suitcase when we travel, moves the furniture, opens the stubborn jar. Not because he enjoys it. Because that’s what men do, right? That’s what he’s supposed to do.

Muscle Memory of Womanhood and Masculinity

In moments when I can watch myself from the outside, I feel an odd kind of betrayal; like I’ve let go of the version of me who stands tall for equality, who earns her own money, who refuses to wait for permission. But when guests walk in, that girl disappears. The tea gets made. The house gets cleaned. My body moves before my brain catches up.

And he too wonders, sometimes, late at night, why he’s expected to be strong all the time, why asking for help feels like weakness, why carrying the weight of “being the man” feels so damn heavy, even when no one’s watching.

Wanting What We Were Taught to Want

Still, in the same breath, I want flowers. I want someone to walk me home when it’s late, to lift the heavy boxes, to pick me up from a shady auto stand. Not because I can’t do it myself but because somewhere, I’ve been taught not to want to.

And he, too, wants to be seen beyond the strength expected of him, beyond the rules he never chose to follow.

Perhaps it sounds a lot like hypocrisy but I believe this is inheritance. It’s centuries of conditioning tangled into the scripts we don’t even realize we’re reading.

Roles That Outlive the People Who Wrote Them

We like to think we’ve moved forward. That with a few conversations, a few policy changes, a few Instagram posts, we’ve left the past behind and well on our way to a “woke” future. But gender roles don’t vanish just because we understand they’re outdated.

They live in our bodies.

They live in our silence.

They live in the moments we don’t even notice.

You don’t remember learning them, but you follow them like a sleeper agent who was told the password.

“Clean the house before the guests arrive.”

“Don’t speak too loudly.”

“Expect strength from men, softness from women.”

“Smile. Nod. Serve.”

You were rewarded for being obedient and he was praised for being tough.

You were taught to soften your voice and he was told to speak with authority.

You were shown how to make a home. While he was told to provide one.

These things are not always taught with cruelty. Sometimes they’re passed down with care, under the guise of “protection,” “respect,” or “tradition.” And so we internalize them as part of our identity and they become who we think we are.

Psychology, Culture, and the Gendered Brain

Psychology calls this gender schema theory. Basically, it means the internal map we start drawing in early childhood that tells us how boys and girls “should” behave. These frameworks are shaped by family, media, religion, and culture. They tell us what’s appropriate, acceptable, attractive.

They might begin as suggestions but over time, they harden into expectations. And once those expectations are ingrained, they become habits- automatic, and unthinking. That’s why even when we know better, we often don’t act differently. But we’re just defaulting, not failing.

The toughest part is the cognitive dissonance because even when we know gender roles are outdated, there’s guilt in not following them. Like feeling selfish for not helping or cold for not nurturing. Maybe you feel some kind of entitlement for expecting emotional support from your partner. Or disappointed when they don’t fit the gendered fantasy that you thought you outgrew.

This push and pull makes us feel like frauds, like imposters. Because we say we want equality, but we still crave the emotional rewards of old roles: the chivalry, the service, the power.

Religion and the Divine Order of Gender

Every major religion has played a part in reinforcing gender roles. Perhaps not always maliciously, but deeply and consistently. Gender roles were never just about personality or choice. It had so much to do with order, survival, and in many cases, power. Over centuries, those roles got baked into traditions, reinforced by stories, and eventually passed down like family heirlooms.

Across belief systems, be it Hinduism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Sikhism or any other,  you’ll find gendered ideals:

The devoted wife.

The noble protector.

The obedient daughter.

The authoritative father.

And while some of these roles may have served a purpose in historical contexts, they too have, in many ways, outlived their usefulness and instead, become prisons.

Religion codified these roles into something sacred. This meant that disobeying them wasn’t just a simple rebellion, it felt like SIN.

Ritual became rule. Rule became virtue. Virtue became shame.

But even when we begin to unlearn what religion, tradition, and family once taught us, the residue doesn’t wash off so easily.

These beliefs aren’t just in sermons or rituals but in every pause when we speak. Shame creeps in when we disobey and we feel like we are betraying our lineage for simply choosing differently.

And so, even with awareness, we are heavy leaden with the weight of roles we no longer believe in, feeling torn between who we are becoming and who we were told we must be.

The Guilt of Knowing Better

Many of us identify as progressive, independent, and empowered and maybe we really are.

But why do we still feel a jolt of disappointment when a man doesn’t offer to pay? Why do men still feel pressured to be providers?

Why is it that even today, we raise daughters to dream big, but still teach them to say “sorry” too much.

Or tell sons to express themselves, but still stiffen when they cry too easily.

The truth is, we are quick to say “be who you are,” but we quietly celebrate when they stay in line.

And here lies the heart of the conflict:

We know the roles aren’t real. But we still feel guilty when we don’t play them. And the worst part is that, we sometimes resent others when they don’t play them either.

We expect ourselves to be evolved, but somewhere deep inside, we still want the roles to be filled. Maybe by us, by our partners, or by the world.

We feel like imposters in our own beliefs and constantly feel like we’re betraying something but we’re just not sure what.

Gender Role or Sex Role? Words That Define Us

Some roles are written into our bodies: chromosomes, hormones, anatomy. These are sex roles.

But most of the roles we live come from stories. Stories that shape our gestures, expectations, desires. Stories about what it means to be a woman or a man, soft or strong, nurturing or assertive. These are gender roles- taught, repeated, enforced. It’s what is stitched into lullabies, textbooks, temple rituals, and sitcom punchlines.

Some schools of psychology and sociology lean toward this understanding: most of what we think of as “natural” behavior is actually modeled, rewarded, and reinforced. In other words, behaviour is built, not born. Biology may set the stage, but culture writes the script. And we’ve all been cast before we even knew we were in a play.

How We Begin to Unlearn

You don’t need to burn the kitchen down just because you found yourself doing the dishes.

You don’t need to exile your dad or rewrite your childhood in a rage.

You don’t even have to stop liking flowers, or wanting someone to walk you home.

But you can notice.

You can pause before you perform.

You can ask: Is this who I am, or who I was trained to be?

You can name the double standards.

You can say no even when your upbringing tells you to smile and nod.

You can be both: loving and loud, soft and self-defining.

Because that guilt, the friction and the ever present internal tug-of-war is not a sign of failure but a sign that signals you are waking up inside a system that wants you asleep.

We might still make the tea. We might still carry the heavy boxes. But we’ll do it awake.

The post Why Do I Still Want to Be Picked Up From the Auto Stand? first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

And no one knew.

Maybe you feel it too.

Overstimulated, under-supported

That’s the thing- emotionally intelligent people also struggle to name their own pain. Even those trained in the art of listening- therapists, helpers, healers – get lost in their own noise.

You still show up, though. You get to work. You soften your voice, make space for their hurt, gently fit their pieces together while your own feel scattered across a hundred places.

Drowning Without a Sound

Sometimes the anxiety comes like a silent flood.
No warning, no noise, not dramatic.
Just a slow, steady drowning.

You might even look calm to everyone around you. But inside, your body is screaming in a language no one else seems to hear. The kind of scream that doesn’t make a sound because you don’t have the words to explain it.
Or the energy.
Or the permission.

When the panic doesn’t subside, I search for unfamiliarity. For new sensations, unlikely corners, unfamiliar textures. Anything to remind me I’m still here, still moving, still outside the spiral. Anything to distract me from the ache I couldn’t name.

And you don’t want pity. You don’t want a crisis hotline. You don’t want to talk about it. Not with a friend. Not with a therapist. Because how do you explain something you don’t understand?

Running on Empty

It’s a weird kind of burnout you know, the emotional kind. Not the “I’ve been working 16-hour days” kind, but the “I don’t have the capacity to feel another thing” kind.

You want to feel less.
But also, you want to feel something.

You want to rest.
But there’s always something that needs doing.

The world doesn’t stop. Deadlines don’t care.
And yet your brain is on fire.

So I do. I show up. I fix lives. I put the puzzle pieces together for other people, even when I feel like I’ve misplaced my own.

Overflowing, But Not Crumbling

If any of this sounds familiar, I just want to say, your body is begging for rest. Not sleep. But stillness. Safety. A break from having to be the one who always understands. Always absorbs. Always adapts.

You might not have words for what you’re feeling.
But you’re not the only one feeling it.

And maybe no one will fully understand. Maybe they’ll never quite get what you mean when you say “I’m fine” with a smile that feels like betrayal.
But someone out there reading this, breathing quietly like you are, gets it.

And that’s something.
That’s not everything.
But it’s something.

This isn’t a confession. It’s a reminder.

A reminder that those who carry others often carry their own weight in silence. That even the ones who seem composed can be cracking inside. Especially for people who are used to being the caregivers, the listeners, the problem-solvers, the empaths- we get so good at helping others through their storms, we often forget to notice when we’re drowning too.

So here I am, sitting in an unfamiliar study room, fingers hovering over the keys, surrounded by quiet strangers.

And then I’ll wake up tomorrow. I’ll do it all again.
I just hope someone sees the version of me that didn’t make it to the room.

The post I’m Fine (And Other Lies I Tell) first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

The cost of cultural loyalty often lies in the battles we fight within ourselves. The kind that doesn’t make headlines but tugs relentlessly at our choices. It’s the constant push and pull between honoring cultural norms and chasing personal freedom. And while no one explicitly says “you can’t do this,” the silent pressures often speak louder than words.

Growing up in a culture rooted in tradition feels like walking a tightrope. Village councils and societal norms pulls us from one end while we also try to tiptoe into modernity.

We carry more than just our names. We carry our villages, our families, and the understanding that every mistake reflects on everyone we belong to.

Take the simple decision of moving abroad to work or study. Technically, there’s support. Parents cheer you on, friends wish you well, but there’s a lingering thought that follows you: “Should I be staying back?”

It’s not always loud, but it’s there. The cultural expectation that, one day, you’ll return home, settle down, and carry on the legacy. It’s not an obligation enforced by rules but by love, duty, and tradition.

There’s pride in belonging, but also guilt in stepping away from it.

Collectivist Guilt and Responsibility

And this isn’t just cultural, it’s psychological. Cultural loyalty creates belonging, but it can also cause guilt when personal dreams clash with group expectations. This concept of collectivist guilt (individuals feel responsible for group well-being) can slowly lead to anxiety, depression, and burnout.

In communities like ours, where cultures hold very strong communal ties, often foster a sense of collective responsibility. This means that individuals weigh their decisions against the larger good. It’s why many of us hesitate to pursue choices that could be seen as “selfish.”

Even everyday decisions like what you wear, how you express opinions, even the way you engage with your faith. Every choice is filtered through, “What will people think?” and ‘Will this reflect badly on my family?”

I remember when I first chose to study psychology. The reactions were a mix of confusion and concern.

There was genuine fear that delving into the human mind meant stepping away from God. Ironically, it was my faith that shaped my compassion for others.

The “Pray It Away” Culture: When Faith and Cultural Loyalty Collide

In many communities, therapy is often sidelined, with prayer centers being the first (and sometimes only) recourse. The belief isn’t malicious, generations have rooted this belief in the understanding that suffering is spiritual and healing comes through faith. But this often leaves mental health struggles in the shadows.

There’s another layer to this and it’s what psychologists call learned helplessness. When people are told, time and again, that prayer is the only path to healing, it can lead to resignation. Over time, it feels pointless to seek help elsewhere because the belief has been shaped that nothing else will work. It’s not a lack of faith, but a conditioned response.

Labeling mental health issues as spiritual failings silences people.

I’ve seen it happen. Someone struggling silently, told to “pray harder” or ‘”have more faith.” And when the struggle continues, it feels like a personal failure. Shame grows, and so does the isolation. People stop seeking support, not because they don’t need it, but because they believe it’s futile to ask for it.

But the truth is, therapy doesn’t diminish faith. If anything, it strengthens it by offering tools to navigate pain that prayer alone may not address. It helps break that cycle of helplessness, reminding people that seeking help isn’t a sign of weakness, but courage.

Bridging the Gap Between Prayer and Therapy

The Path Forward

Navigating cultural loyalty often brings up questions about personal choices. Selfish or Selfless? explores this reflection further, shedding light on the dilemma of decision-making.

The post Cultural Loyalty: The Burden of Being Rooted but Restless first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

I still say grace before meals. I still pray before bed and after I wake up just as I did growing up on Sunday school benches, youth services, memory verses, and sermons about heaven and hell. Even now, as an adult living on my own, some habits are stitched so deeply into my religious routine that they feel automatic.

But somewhere between those childhood rituals and adult reality, something else crept in, too. Something heavier, quieter. Harder to pray away.

Growing Up Faithful in a Fearful Mind

For so many of us raised in religious homes, adult anxiety doesn’t always come from trauma in the obvious sense. Sometimes it’s quieter. Sometimes it’s the soft, persistent fear of not measuring up. Of being watched. Judged. Left out of the “kingdom.”

See, religious anxiety isn’t always loud. Sometimes it shows up as perfectionism. Overthinking. The constant replaying of conversations, scanning for the thing you might’ve said wrong. Sometimes it’s that urge to confess thoughts you haven’t even acted on, just in case.

I’m not saying religion is the villain here. I’m still a believer practicing my faith the best way I know how but growing up in a setting where doubts meant weakness and suffering was just “God testing you” ? Yeah, that tends to leave a mark.

The Lingering Weight of “Goodness”

It starts small.

When you’re a kid, it’s just the rules. You follow them because you’re told they keep you good, pure, worthy. But over time, “goodness” stops being about actions and starts becoming something you attach to your identity. Something fragile that you can lose.

And sure, guilt has its place. It reminds us where we’ve strayed. But when you learn it through the lens of sin and punishment, it becomes something heavier. It turns into chronic self-surveillance. And suddenly, what was supposed to be a source of comfort becomes an endless loop of trying to be “better,” “holier,” “more worthy.”

As a therapist and as a Christian, I’ve had to spend years untangling those knots. Asking myself where my faith ends and where fear begins. Learning how to keep the rituals that bring me peace while unlearning the ones that keep me small.

Religious Shame, Learned Young and Carried Long

Religious shame is different from ordinary shame.

Because when morality is tied to your worth as a person, mistakes stop being moments. They become identities. You don’t just mess up. You ARE messed up.

Religious shame prides itself in telling you that certain parts of you- your curiosity, your feelings, your doubts- are wrong for simply existing. And even years later, when you know better, when you’re actively unlearning it all, there’s still that quiet voice whispering, “But what if you’re wrong? What if you’re bad after all?”

The Therapist’s Religious Dilemma

Because isn’t the whole point of helping people… to help people? Isn’t empathy supposed to stretch beyond our personal beliefs?

Faith should never be a filter for who deserves care. And yet, in spaces like ours, where religion isn’t just part of the culture, it IS the culture, those lines blur way too easily.

Whichever one you listen to; it’s all the same lesson.

Rewriting the Rules

This is the complicated part for me.

After over a decade of learning how the human mind works, how it breaks, how it bends, how it heals, the more I started to see the tangled threads between religion and mental health.

No matter what your faith looks like, a lot of us are carrying this invisible pressure to be good enough. To earn love. To avoid punishment. To belong.

I’ve also seen the good- the hope, the structure, the peace that faith can bring. I still experience that myself. But I know now that it’s okay to separate faith from the fear and control that sometimes come packaged with it.

And more than anything, you are allowed to stop proving your worth.

Where I Find Peace Now

And if that relationship makes you feel anxious, afraid, or unworthy? It’s time to reimagine it. Because peace shouldn’t feel like a reward you earn for behaving perfectly. It should be the ground you stand on, no matter what.

But that’s just me, in my Baptist life, in my Christian ways.

And when you find that…

The post God, Guilt, and the Quiet Panic of Growing Up Religious first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

Life is a constant tug-of-war between being selfish or selfless. Do we chase dreams that fulfill us but might distance us from loved ones, or do we stay grounded, sacrificing personal goals for the sake of family and stability? It’s a dilemma that doesn’t have a one-size-fits-all answer.

Would you rather experience ultimate life satisfaction or choose self-sustenance if it meant sacrificing the life you truly want? Scenarios where both align are rare, and to those who have them, I salute with the highest stature.

The Weight of Passion

Bukowski, one of my favorite writers, wrote,

and I think that this phrase carries so much weight in the idea that following our passions doesn’t always result in what most people’s ideal life looks like.

‘Most people’ being our own family, friends and in large, the society we live in. Some are keener on achieving that ‘ideal standard of living’ and that may be what gives them life satisfaction and that’s okay; while the rest can strive for life satisfaction with one penny a day type of life.

These are the selfish or selfless choices that define our lives.

It all boils down to whether we can sleep dreaming about running through hay fields in dungarees and rosy cheeks or whether we dream the type of dreams where the ground keeps falling beneath us and we can’t stop running.

The Illusion of No Choice

Some say that’s just how life works- you can’t always get what you want. But I choose to believe otherwise. I think we always have a choice, even when it’s the hardest one to make.

It’s like needing night to appreciate the day, or silence to understand sound. You can’t know light without a little darkness. Life is full of these contrasts. Some people accept things as they come, and others push to change them. Funny how we always seem to want what we don’t have. When choices are limited, we crave more. When we have too many, we wish for simplicity.

But when faced with selfish or selfless choices, we can either accept the limits or fight to create the life we desire.

Simple? No. But possible? Always.

The Selfish Side of Being Selfless (And Vice Versa)

Some may say that this philosophy is selfish because we are draining our blood, sweat and tears for something that’s truly and solely for us; but for the self it’s a selfless deed –for selflessly loving ourselves so much that we are ready to do something so earnestly, without knowing fatigue to achieve the end goal.

The Emotional Tug-of-War in Selfish or Selfless Choices

Consider this: you’re offered your dream job, but it’s far from home. Your parents, aging or ailing, rely on you. Do you stay close, choosing stability and family, or take the job and bear the weight of distance? Each option carries its own pain and reward.

• Taking the job could feel selfless—a sacrifice to build a better future, possibly to support your family more significantly later. Yet, outsiders might view it as selfish, as if you’re abandoning your roots.
• Staying home could be seen as selfless, a noble sacrifice. But some might see it as a loss of opportunity, a sacrifice of personal dreams.

Neither choice is easy, and each comes with its own burden of judgment and consequence.

The Weight of Opinions in Selfish or Selfless Choic

What I’m trying to convey is that no matter what decision you make, there will always be a good and bad side to it from all perspectives. For instance, you take the job and move away from home, then for you, it’s a selfless deed to yourself to carry the burden and heartache of leaving your family behind to pursue your dreams probably to support your family in the future. While people see it as a selfish deed because “you are ungrateful and don’t love your parents who have supported you your whole life.”

In the other instance, if you don’t take the job, you’re crazy! You lost the opportunity of a lifetime! While there may be people who appreciate your decision to reject the job, I think that the lamentations of our parents will supersede our sacrifices, perhaps being reminded on the daily and having to relive that for the rest of our lives. This is the narrative that has been heard and listened to for a lot of us.

Finding Peace with Selfish or Selfless Choices

The core of this dilemma isn’t about being selfish or selfless. It’s about understanding that every choice has its own complexity, shadowed by personal values and societal expectations. This blog isn’t just to share my thoughts but also to remind you- you’re not alone in feeling trapped in these dilemmas. Or maybe, it’s just to validate that I’m not the only one!

If you’ve ever felt the weight of societal or familial expectations shaping your decisions, especially when it comes to faith and identity, you might find some comfort in my reflections on navigating guilt and belief in God, Guilt, and the Quiet Panic of Growing Up Religious.

The post Selfish or Selfless Choices: How to Decide When Both Feel Wrong first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

What are you going to be in 5 years?

There’s something about being defeated by your own thoughts that break you as a person.

When I was in the 6^th grade, I read a poem that said, ‘I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.’ It shed light and paved way for my unending ambitions and goals that changed as quickly as the seasons. Back then, so much of what the world held for me were endless opportunities.

When 9^th grade rolled around, I read about the struggles of a family to keep the water ‘up to the brim’ and ‘selfish little monsters’ who threw away half full glasses of water. I don’t know what I thought then but in retrospect, I think that it perfectly signifies what the world became in a short span of 4 years.

Some would say 4 years is a long time, but I beg to differ. It’s still one year short of the 5-year plans the world clings to. I think that’s what is so messed up about the world. We’re expected to map out who we’ll be and what we’ll achieve in 5 years- an impossible task at least for me.

The Unpredictable 5 Years

“You have to love yourself, before you love anyone else“

I always thought that was complete hogwash.

I hopped on the bandwagon and held their flag as we raced passed others because to me, ‘if 50,000 people say the moon is black, then it is.’ I was a contortionist for the crowd and I was good at it.

Until I had to rest my eyes from the dread of the day’s events and I found pools of tears where my eyeliner made the perfect wing. The world was a step down from hell and I didn’t know it at the time, neither did they.

All I had to do was look pretty and smile, laugh at insults, and make fun of people who cared. I smiled so wide, my lips were chapped; I laughed loud, I silenced my thoughts.  

No one had to know about the nights my thoughts brought me to my knees; pleading to let it end. No one had to know about the chapped lips and the skinned knees because the world helped you cover it up.

All the clothes to hide your scars, all the makeup to hide your tear stains and most of all; the world gave you expectations.

And like I said, ‘if 50,000 people say it’s okay, then it’s okay.’

It wasn’t just about fitting in; we had to be different too.

“You should be different but not too much that people think we’re weird. We should be like them, but not too much; just enough to make them like us.”

How many more of ‘just a little bit’ until it’s all that you are?

Pulling myself under the covers, feeling the weight of the blankets on my chest like an elephant’s foot atop me, I try to slowly drift into a deep slumber but it rarely ever comes to take me. Lying under my own weight, everything comes back and I’m taken to an awfully familiar place. So the night starts.

5 years ago, I woke up to hypnic jerks every single day. To some, that’s biology. To others, that’s the body’s way of yanking you awake, to keep you alive, if you’re dying in your dreams. I read that somewhere.

But to me it felt like I wanted to go where the dreams were taking me but my body wasn’t ready to give up. This was not living nor was it survival. This was me, cutting down the days to go like a prisoner sentenced to life.

In kindergarten, I was the little brave one. Fast forward 12 years and there I was, scared of my own thoughts, afraid to be me. I can’t piece together a reason for who I was and maybe I can never narrow it down. You see, life’s like that.

The Turning Point

Let’s skip a few years to when I was 19. I stumble upon the greatest inspiration of my life: Bukowski;

What fascinates me about this line is that he writes “IF” you have the ability to love, insinuating that you may or may not be have the ability to love.

It’s the most refreshing thought to the mind if you have been beaten down black and blue by the world trying to shove their idea of love down your throat- to teach you what love is supposed to be or how we are supposed to love, who, and when.

For the first time in a very long time, I doubled down and walked with my thoughts. I bounced on the springboard and deep dove into the darkest tunnels.

And no, it’s not an admirable moment, I’ll admit, I was ashamed at what I let the world do to me in many ways than not. It’s not like the movies and the books and the stories where there’s daylight when you finally have an epiphany and after dawn, you’re a whole new person.

“Remember to breathe”

I repeated over and over to myself.

It’s funny because you’d think you don’t have to remind yourself of the most basic human reflex but to me it felt like a subconscious energy just trying to let it all end because the brain is registering immense pain and discomfort from all the poking and nudging into tunnels, boxes and areas marked with big red Xs which have probably gathered dust through the years.

It’s not so easy to change a narrative you’re so familiar with and to negate thoughts that are deep-rooted in your whole being.

If tomorrow the world was going to run out of potatoes; just- no more potatoes ever! And of course we can’t know what the future holds so we don’t stock up on potatoes and the world became POTATO-LESS and we’d just have to do without it for the rest of humanity.

No mashed sides, no baked lumps of heaven, no fries! Can you imagine living without fries? It’s one thing to never have had fries in your life and another to have it taken away from you.

Anyway, what I’m saying is, if you had to do without a potato when all you’ve known is the potato then it won’t be easy to adjust to the idea. Heck, I’ll bet many of us would still order fries at restaurants like a habit that’s difficult to get rid of.

After 5 years

Just like that, when all you’ve known is this narrative, this person and all the things, the stories, and the people who made you, you; it’s difficult. We are all intricately intertwined with each other in so many ways, we may not even realize it now but it’s because of this complexity that changing one’s narrative isn’t easy.

What affects you, affects people around you, and around them and like a chain reaction, every little action plays part. Narrative therapy is centered on this idea, to change your idea of you and your life for the better but for that you must able willing to make the sacrifices, to take the blows and to still stand up even when it feels like you’ve broken all your bones in your body.

A humongous amount of conscious effort and 5 years later, here we are.

It felt like I was waking up from a terrible dream. Not the kind where you’re jolted awake, no. It was the kind that you wake up from and feel a sense of relief that it was just a dream. It was like I could breathe again and the elephant’s foot was now warm and comforting.

So yes, there’s something about being defeated by your own thoughts that break you as a person.

But ‘broken’ is not ‘useless’ and I think we often interchange these meanings and forget which narrative to follow.

Broken can be repaired; broken is in the past; broken paves way for new things.

The post 5 Years: From Broken to Becoming first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

He comes in the morning when the clock strikes 1:00.

I’m struggling to hold on to my sister hanging from a cliff. I don’t know how we’re in the midst of an Armageddon, running for our lives and fighting off demons. Like quicksand, the ground beneath us is pulling us towards the earth’s core. Each step feels so heavy it pulls our feet down as we try to outrun them. Every time we stop, the ground below us starts falling like the earth was hungry for a million years and now it’s ready to swallow us whole so we keep running.

Sometimes it feels like my joints have given up, and I’m only running because I think I am. I feel every little pain.

I can feel the small scraps of stones bouncing up and hitting me as I run past it; there are broken glasses, nails and sharp edged pebbles that poke through my worn out sneakers and into my feet.

I can feel all the open wounds.

I can feel them throbbing.

I can feel the blood soaking through my socks.

Sudden Stillness

And then suddenly, like nothing happened, everything comes to a halt. Eerie stillness envelops us, as my breath finally starts to normalize. I turn to look at my sister but I can’t see her. Frantically, I’m crying out her name and looking around only to realize that we’re almost at the peak of the hill. There’s nothing but dust that covers the valleys around us.

I hear my name but it sounds like it’s coming from underneath the ground. I place my ear to the ground and slither my way towards the sound. At the edge of the cliff, I find her. She’s hanging by a branch. Instinctively, I reach out, grabbing her hand.

I got a hold of her right hand but I can feel my body getting hot; it starts from my head- it starts to feel like it’s going to explode from pressure, then my ears get warmer.

I can feel the sweat beginning to gather near my temples, my palms are also getting sweaty. I feel her slowly slipping through my fingers. I feel the sweat from my brows, gathering at the tip of my nose, leaving my body and falling. I’m watching it free fall, trying if I can see it reach the bottom, listening for a splatter. I don’t hear it reach the bottom.

My heart is pounding right out of my chest. I’m barely holding on with my feet buried in the gravel.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE DIE IN OUR DREAMS?

Before I could wander off into that thought; in a flash, mustering inhuman-like strength, I yank her whole body up and we lay panting and gasping for air.

That’s something admirable about dreams.

Anything is possible; nothing is impossible.

I pull her up, and we collapse, panting and laughing. The absurdity of it makes us laugh harder.

This feels weirdly wholesome.

Like clockwork, it’s 1:00 AM in the real world but I have no way of knowing this because I’ve been told you can’t tell time in a dream. It’s got something to do with our left and right hemispheres; like how one works without the other.

The brain, it seems, is perpetually in a complicated relationship; sometimes it prefers to work alone and sometimes it’s a needy friend who constantly craves for attention from the other side. I say this because I’ve read that when one part of our brain tries to sleep more quickly than the other, we are jolted awake. Talk about petty!

Right on cue, my body also responds with a jolt. And suddenly I realize that I can’t move.

Oh no. Not this again!

It’s midsummer and I hardly have a blanket on me but it feels like boulders and boulders of rocks atop me. I’m screaming for help but nothing escapes my mouth other than frail breaths. My jaws are so heavy. The pain is excruciating.

10 years ago, at a campfire, my friend told me to “always move your toes” when you feel like you’re trapped or you can’t move or talk in your sleep. And I’ve remembered that even after all these years because I’ve had to use that more often than I would like to admit. I don’t quite understand the logic to it but I don’t think she did either. Logic or not, it’s my only anchor.

The Shadow at the Bedside

The gut wrenching moment comes when I realize that this is happening in real time. I’m awake and aware of what is happening to my body. I can feel the stiffness in my bones. My breaths: short and stunted.

I can feel the room- I can feel the breeze from the open window beside my bed, I hear the rattling of the ceiling fan above me and I can feel his presence at the edge of my bed.

So quiet, so tall, he hovers over my bed. I wonder why he isn’t doing anything. I’m anticipating an attack. Isn’t that always the case? The action in itself isn’t nearly as horrific as the anticipating thought.

“It’s always darkest before the storm”

because I guess, at least we see lightning in the storm.

My eyes are shut. I don’t know if I’m trying to keep them shut or if I am unable to open them. The darkness somehow, is so comforting. I could turn on my bedside lamp but the horror of seeing something in the light paralyzes me. 

My limbs are rigid.

I can’t move my body, not the slightest bit; not even to touch my Bible that I keep under my pillow.

And I’m thinking of all the ways that I can find comfort if I just reached under my pillow. It’s not that far away- if I just turn, if I just shrug my shoulder a little, if I just move my head towards it, if I just…

There’s just something about being bested by your own subconscious that breaks you as a human being.

I don’t want to give up but as I’m struggling, he’s smirking at my feeble attempts, hushing me, drying my tears. He climbs onto the bed, lies down beside me and holds me.

My back is turned to him and he lifts his head, his lips pressed to my ear, and whispers, “never sleep again.” I feel a gush of wind enter my ear like someone tried to blow dry it. Suddenly I can open my eyes.

I’m in a fetal position, in a pool of my own sweat. The curtains are dancing with the rhythm of the breeze and I reach under my pillow.

The post THE MAN AT THE EDGE OF MY BED first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

Think about what you’ve wanted to be as a kid. For most of us, the world was happy and kind and we could be anything we wanted to be. Fast forward and here we are, writing a blog in the middle of a lockdown, reading about “flattening the curve,” and listening to podcasts that list everything wrong with the world.

Such a downer, isn’t it?

We’ve wanted to be medical health professionals to save someone.

We wanted to be educationists to teach someone.

We also wanted to be artists to inspire someone

To be in businesses to help someone

To be politicians to uplift someone.

And we wanted to be in services to assist someone.

But right now, the world feels vague and uncertain. With leaden steps, all that we worked towards is piling up and becoming what I would like to call, TRASH.

We’re still pushed towards a lot of deadlines and expectations that seem meaningless now. What we were taught as children: “to follow our dreams” has gone right into the gutter because all I dream about is larger than life cats that birth humans with whiskers and I’m not even a cat person.

The Hard Truth

What has left me totally flabbergasted is the idea that we have brought these pandemic woes upon ourselves. I mean it’s hard to admit mistakes and own up to what the world says is our own fault. But 3 months into this lockdown and I’m starting to accept this heavy truth. We are terrible at this; at being humans.

Not always, not everyone, but enough to make a global mess.

I don’t speak for everybody and I’ll bet my life on it because even to blog has taken me several years. I’ve always been afraid of what my ideas might sound like to some. I’m not all for “constructive criticism” however immature that makes me sound. I guess what I’m trying to say is that this realization has brought me full circle. Now I’m looking at my own life and see how much time I’ve wasted being bothered by something that is innately us.

Facing the Existential Crisis

The pandemic has forced us to sit with ourselves, and that’s a scary place to be. So, yes, we’re not the best at being humane towards our own species and that’s another problem altogether. But right now, trying to live with a virus that has the power to wipe out humanity has left me in an existential crisis that maybe most of us don’t want to address.

And the only way to come out of this still standing strong is perhaps, take a moment and look at the lives that we’ve created and fostered and nurtured into something so terrible that I’ll bet the devil is even afraid to tempt us anymore.

Maybe pondering upon this thought will push us to do something a little more than pass the blame and live perpetually smacking our heads and gasping at headlines.

It’s not about grand gestures, but small steps towards being kinder, more aware, and maybe just a little less human in all the ways that hurt us.

Just Figuring It Out

It all sounds so dreadful and I sure didn’t think this is how my first blog was gonna go. A Friday afternoon, sitting in the sun, thinking about a cat that birthed humans and writing this almost depressing post about what it is like to be human in 2020.

The post PANDEMIC WOES first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.

I’ve always been a sucker for books, office supplies, and overthinking life at 2 AM. So, it feels only natural that I’d end up here- writing, venting, and maybe, just maybe, making some sense of it all.

Why start this blog?

Because it’s my outlet.

We all have to start somewhere.

And because sometimes, you just need to throw your thoughts into the universe and see what sticks.

Mental health is one of those things that’s always around, quietly hanging out in the background of our lives. It’s like that one friend who doesn’t say much but is always there. And yet, despite living in a world that’s obsessed with “self-care” and “wellness routines,” we somehow skip over the basics of keeping our minds genuinely healthy. It’s like we all have gym memberships for our bodies but forget the mental treadmill entirely.

So, here I am- creating a little corner of the internet where thoughts, experiences, and maybe even a few rants can live. A place to share, vent, and occasionally make peace with the chaos.

I don’t have all the answers. Honestly, most days, I’m just figuring it out as I go (aren’t we all?). But if you’re here, reading this, maybe you’re looking for the same thing: a bit of real talk, a little comfort, and the reassurance that you’re not the only one navigating the maze of mental wellness.

What You Can Expect

This blog is a little bit of everything:

• Reflections on mental health and personal growth.
• Thoughts on overthinking, self-doubt, and figuring life out.
• Honest conversations about things we often keep to ourselves.

If you’ve ever felt like your mind is a mess, or if you ever overthink simple thinks or have thought of a conversation from five years ago (because same), then maybe you’ll find something here that feels familiar.

Join the Conversation

I hope this space feels like an open dialogue- where it’s okay to be vulnerable, confused, or just curious. If you’re looking for a place that doesn’t shy away from the messy parts of life, welcome.

If you’d like to start with some relatable reads, check out What goes into building a healthy mindset?.

Here’s to starting somewhere, to writing it out, and to figuring it out together.

The post Why I’m Here (And Why You Might Be Too) first appeared on SUNGJEM AIER.