Loved Anyway !!!

If you’ve ever caught yourself, at any point in your life wondering-

“Would anyone still love me… if I wasn’t trying so hard?”
Or perhaps…
“Would they still accept me, still include me, still want me,if I stopped performing, stopped pleasing, stopped pretending?”

Then this- this is for you my dear reader.

If you ever wondered what would happen if you dropped the mask. If you let the tears come instead of swallowing them back. If you stopped being agreeable just to keep the peace and simply existed- messy, emotional, real.

Would love survive that version of you?

The one who is silent some days, sharp-edged on others.
The one whose softness hides beneath a strong act, whose truth is sometimes tangled, unsure or hard to hold?

If that question has ever lived quietly in your chest,
then let these words be your answer-

The world taught us early how to shine in ways that please. How to perform belonging. How to keep the room comfortable, even when we are falling apart inside.

But let me tell you something, not as advice, not as poetry, but as something that has lived in my heart-

The deepest kind of love, the rare, life-altering kind- is not the one that arrives when you’re at your best. It’s the one that stays when you’re not easy to be around. When your wounds are loud. When your walls are high. When your past walks into the room before you do and your self-doubt clings to every word you speak. It’s not love that demands you to be “better” before it offers warmth. It doesn’t turn away. It doesn’t bargain. It just stays. And when you taste that kind of love, even once, it changes you.

Not because it flatters you. But because it frees you.

You begin to unclench. To exhale. To believe, maybe for the first time, that you are not too much or too little. You are simply, deeply, heartbreakingly human. You stop shrinking to be accepted. You stop editing your soul to fit a frame that was never meant for you. Instead, you start standing tall in your flawed, magnificent skin and whisper-
Here I am. All of me. And I am loved.

That is the beginning of a homecoming. Not to someone else’s arms, but to your own heart.

Because being loved anyway, when the seams show, when the mascara runs, when the silence stretches, when your anger erupts like a storm, is where the sacred truly lives. It’s not the kind of love that wants something from you. It’s the kind that holds you when you have nothing left to give.

It’s the text that says- I’m here, even when you canceled again. It’s the hand that reaches for yours not when you’re glowing, but when you’re gasping. It’s someone sitting beside you in your storm- not trying to fix it, not handing you sunshine, just choosing not to leave.

And maybe, if we’re lucky, we taste this love not only from others,but from ourselves. Maybe we start to become the ones who stay. With our own hearts. With our mess. With our tired bodies and beautiful scars. And in that staying, with a gaze that holds instead of fixes, we begin to unlearn every version of ourselves we thought we had to become.

We are loved.
Still.
Not because of what we bring.
But because we exist.
And in that tender truth, the heart finally comes home…~ Latika Teotia

This Is Not The Time To Inspire !!! Let them be. Let them feel.Let them ache…

You’ve probably noticed it too. These days, it’s somehow become fashionable to have a spiritual vocabulary. Everywhere you turn, someone is talking about acceptance, forgiveness, healing, following your heart and of course, the reigning queen of all modern advice- mindfulness.

It’s on your feed, in your inbox, printed on eco-friendly notebooks. There’s always someone- young, radiant, vaguely enlightened-looking, sitting cross-legged, sipping a hazelnut latte or some cruelty-free kombucha, gently reminding the world to “just let go.” They say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if letting go is as simple as unfollowing a brand you’ve outgrown.

And I don’t mean to sound unkind, really. It’s not their fault, not entirely. But I do wonder, often out loud, sometimes to myself, sometimes into a coffee mughow do they know what they’re talking about?

What exactly are they letting go of? A delayed Amazon order?
A slightly off-season Maldives vacation? The emotional burden of their oat milk not frothing properly? Because when you scratch the surface and not even too deeply, you find that a lot of this wisdom is floating. Untethered. It hasn’t been earned in the tough phase. It’s been collected. Quoted. Brushed in sepia filters and posted in soft, breathy tones.

And that’s where it begins to itch a little. Not because they’re talking.But because they’re preaching.

How do they understand the ache of standing in a long, sweaty bus queue every morning, wondering if you’ll even make it to work on time, because the boss doesn’t care, but your child’s school fee is due next week?

How do they understand what it feels like to love writing, painting, acting, or music, but to shelve those passions each day just to earn a living? Because passion needs paint. And paint needs money. How do you talk about dreams when, for so many, survival is the only goal?

The truth is- they don’t know. And honestly, that’s okay.
Until they start preaching.

Because let’s be real, for some of these so-called “privileged preachers,” hardship looks like this-

The car AC isn’t cooling properly because, heavens, the humidity is above 60%. Their tailor didn’t get the exact shade of mint green they envisioned for their Maldives vacation kaftan.
They’re emotionally distressed because their favourite sushi place in London was fully booked on a Friday night. And then there’s the full-blown existential crisis because their connecting flight got delayed and they nearly missed their spa-like Ayurvedic retreat in Sri Lanka, the one meant to ‘cleanse’ and ‘heal’ them from the trauma of…well, air travel, apparently.

Yet here they are- broadcasting advice about resilience. Forgive- they say. Surrender. Move on. All while sipping ginger turmeric shots and talking about ‘holding space’ from the comfort of plush rugs and ergonomic bean bags.

But real people, millions of them, carry bruises that don’t heal with affirmations. Real people live with heartbreak, rejection, betrayal, unspoken sacrifices and invisible weights. They don’t get the luxury of pausing life to heal. They have to carry on, because someone has to pay the bills, run the house or hold the family together.

So when someone tells you they’re sad, broken, grieving, angry, confused-
Don’t offer a quote from your sun-kissed yoga retreat.
Don’t silence them with a polished monologue.
Don’t condemn their feelings as if they’re an inconvenience to your curated calm.

Let them be. Let them feel. Let them rage. Let them ache. Let them curl up in bed. Because healing doesn’t start with advice.
It starts with being heard.

So here’s a humble request-If you haven’t walked through the fire, maybe don’t try to write the survival manual. Or at the very least- speak with humility. Be a listener, not a lecturer. Be a witness, not a performance. Be human, not a hashtag.

Because empathy isn’t spoken. It’s lived…~Latika Teotia

No one is perfect, even the people we love !!!

No one is perfect, even the people we love. We expect too much from others and feel sorely disappointed when they don’t measure up to our standards. We must stop expecting too much and start being real. Our parents, siblings, relatives, friends, neighbours, colleagues and all others too go wrong at times. Accept them as they are with their flaws, faults, warts and all. Forgive them. That’s maturity and that too is love. Relationships over ride our urge to seek perfection. ~Latika Teotia

Be there for your love no matter what !!!

If you are selective in love then you are neither doing justice nor are you being fair. You can’t be choosy. You cannot just pick the good times and run away when trouble befalls. That’s not love. You have to standby through thick and thin and weather all storms that may come. That’s the real challenge and that is love. ~Latika Teotia