The day started like any other. After finishing my household chores, feeding my child, and tidying up, I finally sat down to rest. It was late, the house was quiet, and I felt drained—not just physically, but emotionally. As I stared at the empty walls around me, my thoughts wandered back to the dreams I once had.

While clearing an old drawer, I came across a dusty notebook I hadn’t seen in years. Curious, I opened it. On the very first page, written in bold, hopeful letters, were the words:

"Dream: Become a BAMS doctor. Help people heal naturally."

The sight of those words took me back to a time when life was full of possibilities. I had always wanted to study Ayurveda, but life had other plans.

My parents weren’t financially stable. My mother was the only working member of the family. She took tuitions to support us while my father was jobless. She had already helped my elder brother pursue a Bachelor’s degree in Computer Science and supported his passion for bodybuilding. By the time it was my turn, there wasn’t enough money left for my education.

I knew she did her best, and I couldn’t blame her. She was the pillar of our home, juggling so much on her own. But it still hurt to let go of my dream.

Yet, I was determined. Somehow, after completing my 12th with an MLT course (MCVC), I pursued a two-and-a-half-year diploma in Healthcare Administration. After that, I managed to complete my BA in Psychology through correspondence because I believed having a degree was essential. Along with my graduation, I worked in a hospital as an administrative assistant to gain experience. Later, I completed a one-year basic yoga course and a one-year advanced yoga course from Mumbai University.

I worked hard to educate myself, even with limited resources. But after marriage, everything changed.

Life After Marriage

After getting married, I felt like my voice no longer mattered. There was no one to listen to me, to understand my struggles or aspirations. The responsibilities of managing a household and raising a child took over my life.

To cope with the stress, I started writing. At first, it was just a way to express my emotions—a way to feel heard when no one else was listening. But as I wrote, something changed. Writing became more than just an outlet; it became my passion.

Before I knew it, I had become an author. I’ve written two books and contributed blogs to various websites. Writing gave me a sense of purpose, a way to channel my thoughts and emotions into something meaningful.

But that wasn’t all. I also turned to art. I started painting and drawing to relax my mind. Each stroke of the brush, each line I drew, felt like therapy. It was my way of reclaiming a part of myself that I thought I had lost.

The Encounter

As I sat there holding the notebook, lost in these memories, a voice startled me.

"Why did you stop dreaming?"

I looked up and saw her—standing in the doorway. She looked just like me when I was younger, full of hope and ambition. She wore a crisp white kurta, her hair tied in a braid, and she had a stethoscope around her neck.

"Who are you?" I whispered, confused.

She smiled. "I’m you. The you who dreamed of becoming a BAMS doctor. The you who believed in herself."

I stared at her, speechless.

"You’ve come so far," she said gently. "You fought for your education when the odds were against you. You worked hard, even when life wasn’t easy. And now, you’ve found your voice through writing and art. You’ve achieved so much."

"But it’s not enough," I replied, tears streaming down my face. "I wanted to do more. I wanted to heal people."

"You’re still healing," she said. "Through your words, your art, your stories. You’re inspiring others, even if you don’t realize it. And you can still do more—start small. Read about Ayurveda again. Teach yoga. Share your knowledge. It’s never too late."

Her words struck a chord deep within me. She was right. I had come so far, and there was no reason to stop now.

When I looked up again, she was gone. The room was empty, except for the notebook in my lap. On the next page, in handwriting I didn’t remember writing, were the words:

"The journey doesn’t end here. It begins now. Start today."

Ending Note

That night, I picked up one of my old yoga textbooks and started reading. It felt like reconnecting with an old friend. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful. My journey wasn’t over—it was just taking a new direction.

.    .    .