EvolutionInsights

Chapter 1: When Strength Breaks Down — and Breakthroughs Begin

When my son Riyansh was born, I thought I was ready. I had read the books, followed the advice, and believe I could manage it all. The feeding schedules, the sleep routines, the developmental milestones — I had it all planned. But nothing prepares you for the emotional weight of parenting. It’s not just about holding your baby — it’s about holding your breath, your tears, your identity, and your sense of control, all at once.

It’s the quiet 3 a.m. moments when your baby finally sleeps, but your mind doesn’t.
It’s the decision fatigue, the invisible labor, the constant second-guessing.
It’s love — fierce and consuming — paired with an equally intense exhaustion.

One night, after staying awake for more than a full day, I cried quietly on the bathroom floor.
Not because I was weak — but because I was tired of being strong every second.

That night became a turning point.

I stopped waiting for someone to give me permission.
I asked for help.
I allowed myself five quiet minutes with a cup of tea.
I stopped trying to “bounce back” and started asking what I needed to feel whole again.

That’s when self-awareness started to bloom.

But the journey didn’t stop there. What followed was a deeper reckoning with identity — who I was outside of being a mother, and how I could honor both the woman I was becoming and the one I used to be. That quiet breakdown was the beginning of everything shifting — not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but slowly, gently, like light returning after a long night.

Chapter 2: The Pause That Grew Me

Taking a break from my career brought guilt I didn’t expect. While others on LinkedIn were getting promoted and thriving, I was learning how to get my child to nap without tears. But in those “silent” months, I grew. I developed emotional resilience, adaptability, and clarity. “That so-called career gap taught me more about resilience and leadership than any corporate title ever could.”

I no longer see it as a gap. I see it as sacred space for transformation.

Returning to work wasn’t a straight line. After my maternity break, I rejoined as a QA — quiet, observant, still rebuilding my confidence. I didn’t step into leadership right away. But about a year in, something shifted. I began supporting a Scrum Master informally. At first, it was just guidance here and there — but soon, I found myself mentoring, facilitating, and slowly rediscovering my voice.

That experience reminded me of something I had forgotten in the chaos of parenting and self-doubt: I knew how to lead. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

Two years into my return, I officially stepped into the role of Scrum Master. By then, I wasn’t just “back at work” — I was leading with empathy, teaching from lived experience, and healing by helping others grow.

When I began mentoring a junior Scrum Master, I uncovered something deeper: purpose. Helping someone else build confidence reflected my own growth back to me. Conducting organization-wide sessions on Scrum ceremonies helped me reconnect with my leadership voice.

Work became more than tasks and timelines —
it became part of my healing.

Chapter 3:Writing My Way Back to Me

Writing this blog has become more than a habit — it has become a lifeline.

In a world that often expects perfection, performance, and polished smiles, this space became my sanctuary. Here, I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to carry every role — mother, professional, daughter, partner — with practiced ease. I can just be me.

Each post I write peels away a layer.
Some days, it’s raw — like reopening a wound I thought had healed.
Other days, it’s soft — like sitting with a cup of tea and whispering truths I’ve long held inside.

I’ve learned that clarity doesn’t come from having all the answers.
It comes from asking better questions.
It comes from pausing, listening, and naming what I feel — even when the words are shaky.

This blog is where I reclaim my story, one word at a time.
It’s where I remember that I’m not just surviving — I’m becoming.

And every time someone writes to say, “I felt this too,”
I’m reminded that we don’t heal in isolation.
We heal in truth.
We heal in community.
We heal when we stop running from ourselves.

Final Thoughts: You Are Allowed to Pause

If you’re reading this while juggling a million invisible things — work deadlines, school drop-offs, laundry piles, unspoken worries — I want you to hear this clearly:

You are not behind.

You are building strength, even when it feels like stillness.
You are growing clarity, even in moments that seem uncertain.
You are healing, even on the days that feel like survival.

The journey from chaos to clarity is not loud or linear. It’s made of small brave choices — like asking for help, forgiving yourself, or simply taking a deep breath before the next task. We often wait for the “right” time to pause — when the to-do list is clear, when the kids are older, when we feel more worthy of rest.
But clarity doesn’t wait for the perfect moment.
It arrives when you finally give yourself permission to stop pretending, to soften, to simply be.

As I look back, I realize that none of this was a detour — it was the journey I was meant to walk. From career breaks and toddler tantrums to coaching teams and rediscovering my confidence, I’ve learned that clarity often emerges after chaos — not before it.

So, if today feels heavy, let this be your permission slip:
To pause.
To breathe.
To not have it all figured out.

You are not alone in this.
You are deeply seen — in your chaos, in your courage, and in your becoming.

And maybe, just maybe, someone out there reading this is standing at that same messy intersection of motherhood, ambition, and self-doubt. If that’s you, I want to say: you are not behind. You are becoming.

Let’s keep growing. Let’s keep choosing peace, even when it’s loud.

Let me leave you with a few questions — answer them in the comments or just ponder them in your own quiet space:

Have you ever paused your career for something deeply personal?

What did that teach you?

What stories do you carry that deserve to be seen — not hidden?

How has your definition of success changed over the years?

What chaos in your life eventually brought clarity?

Thank you for reading my story. If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear yours. Let’s create space for real stories — not perfect ones.