It didn’t happen like in the movies. No storm, no haunting piano music, not even a dramatic sigh. Just me sitting with a lukewarm cup of chai that I’d reheated twice and still hadn’t sipped, staring blankly at a message blinking on my phone  “Beta, we’re expecting you at the family dinner. Don’t be late. It’s important.”

Important.

That word. Everyone throws it around like a rock into your pond of peace. Birthdays, pujas, surprise parties, even the neighbour’s cat’s funeral, everything becomes “important.”

But no one ever asks, “Important for whom?”

I looked at my calendar.( If it were a person, I’d block it) Full. Every hour blocked like a prison cell.

Some meetings had red stars. Others had reminders, warnings, emojis.

One even had ‘CRUCIAL-DO NOT CANCEL’  in all caps possibly in blood.

I cancelled it. Just like that.

And felt this strange, almost illegal calm spreading in my chest, like someone had finally found the mute button on my life.

That was the day I stopped being nice.

I didn’t go to the family dinner. They were stunned.
I didn’t concoct ten delicate excuses like migraine or  ran out of petrol while on foot.
I simply said “I won’t be able to make it.”
No explanation.
No apology.
And here’s the scandal- ‘I survived’.

I didn’t throw a party I had half-planned. I didn’t offer my guest room to that cousin who always walks in with a suitcase and criticism. I said, Sorry, I won’t be able to host this time. And lived.

When my kids began throwing tantrums like they were auditioning for a drama school, I didn’t bribe them with screen time or guilt. I drew a line. A calm, firm one. And when they yelled, We’ll go to Dadi’s house!  I said, Okay. Just text me when you reach. They stayed.

One friend-lovely, exhausting-kept mistaking my silence for consent.. Always late, always interrupting, always unloading. That day, I said-

You know, I don’t appreciate being talked over like that. Silence. Sweet, awkward silence.

It felt like fresh air in a room that had smelled like expired apologies since 2014.

At home, I was taking care of a sick relative. Day in, day out. A full-time nurse, unpaid, untrained and quietly crumbling. One evening, while crushing yet another tablet with the back of a spoon, I realized, I was falling apart so someone else could stay stitched. The next day, I hired help. Professional. Kind. Trained. I sat alone that evening and cried, not out of guilt, but relief.

It wasn’t a selfish revolution. It was a gentle reclaiming.

Of breath. Of peace. Of a version of me who wasn’t always smiling through clenched teeth, sprinkling glitter over burnout.

Because let’s face it, if pleasing people burned calories, some of us would’ve evaporated by now.

We are not honeycombs. We are not built to keep dripping sweetness just because it’s expected.

We’re not cruel when we say no.
We’re not mean when we choose peace.
We’re not selfish when we rest.

We’re just… finally listening. To ourselves. The same self that spent years learning to ignore its own needs for the sake of decorum, duty and drama.

The truth is, you can take care of others and yourself, but not when you’re empty. Not when you’re dry. And certainly not when you are faking fine.

So pause. Refuse. Cancel. Speak. Rest. Reheat your chai and actually drink it this time.

And one day, without realizing it, you’ll lie down, guilt-free, on a bed that smells like freshly washed sheets and you’ll sleep. Deeply. Kindly. As if the world didn’t need fixing tonight.

Because it doesn’t.

And neither do you.

And yes, you will live to tell the tale… ~Latika Teotia