“𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒎𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔, 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆.” ~𝑼𝒏𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 

Perspective in the Storm

There are seasons in life when you feel like you’re finally in control—grounded, steady, heart aligned with your plans. And then, without warning, life reminds you that you’re not steering the entire ship. Especially when it comes to relationships, where another person’s words, choices, or silence can unravel everything you thought was solid. Lately, I’ve been navigating a quiet storm. Nothing dramatic on the outside, but inside—a swirl of unmet expectations, conversations left unfinished, and emotions too heavy to name. It’s been a strange emotional season, where the air feels thick and the weight sits quietly on your chest. And yet, somehow, I’ve managed to keep showing up for myself. One heavy moment at a time. I’m learning that facing discomfort doesn’t always mean fighting it. Sometimes, it means sitting with it, breathing through it, and letting it shape you without hardening you.

What I’ve realized is this: the deepest disappointments often come not from what people do—but from what we expected them to do. We carry these silent equations in our heads: if I treat you kindly, you’ll treat me the same. If I stay, you’ll stay too. But people aren’t math problems, and love isn’t always reciprocal. We all have our own wounds, and sometimes we project, withdraw, or disappoint—without meaning to. That doesn’t make the pain less valid, but it does make it more human. So instead of clinging to “why,” I’ve started gathering soul lessons—quiet truths that help me shift my perspective when I can’t shift the situation.

First, I’ve learned that happiness sometimes lies in adjusting our expectations. Life won’t always bend to our hopes, so we must learn to take ownership of our choices, our boundaries, and our reality. Second, we need to acknowledge patterns—not just words. If someone consistently shows up in a way that hurts or belittles, that is the truth, no matter how sweetly it’s wrapped. I’ve also had to remind myself to stop trying to engineer outcomes. Too often, I’ve caught myself craving a specific reaction—validation, apology, approval—and in that desire, I’ve twisted myself into shapes that don’t feel like home. That’s not connection. That’s survival. And I want more than that.

I’ve been trying to redirect my focus toward the people who choose me with consistency and care. The ones who make me feel safe in my own skin. Because energy flows where attention goes—and I’d rather pour into what’s nourishing than what’s draining. I’ve also realized how much power we give away by obsessing over people who don’t deserve front-row seats to our lives. The more we complain, the more space they take up. Sometimes silence is the boundary. Sometimes indifference is the closure. And sometimes, walking away isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.

Another truth I’m learning is that not every thought deserves airtime. If you can’t say something kind, to yourself or to others, maybe silence is grace. I’ve also had to remind myself of this hard but honest truth: we become like the people we surround ourselves with. If someone’s presence repeatedly leaves you feeling smaller, unheard, or unloved—it’s okay to step away. Self-respect often means walking out of the room where love has to be begged for.

There is also so much quiet power in self-awareness. The more we know ourselves—the tender parts and the thorny ones—the less we rely on other people’s opinions to shape us. Words only hurt when we let them land in places that feel insecure. But if you know who you are, truly and wholly, no one else gets to define your worth. And as for generalizations? They’re lazy. They strip people of nuance, reduce complexity to stereotypes. Life isn’t that simple. People aren’t that simple.

At the end of the day, we cannot control others. We can’t rewrite their pasts or predict their intentions. We can’t make them love us the way we want, or hold them still when they’re already drifting. But what we can do is choose joy. We can choose peace. We can create emotional distance where we need it, and carve out space where healing feels possible. Even when the world feels chaotic, we still get to decide how we respond. We still get to anchor ourselves in grace.

So if life throws you against the rock, don’t resist the wave. Kiss it. Let it crash. Let it teach. Let it refine. You’re not being punished. You’re being shaped.

With grace, and grit,
– Anj