When You are Tired but the Kids Don’t Care 😅

You know that feeling when you walk into your home after a 10-hour workday+3 hours of commute, dreaming of REST. 

Yeah… that was me today.

I stepped into my home after standing all day at a conference booth stall, my mind screaming, “Hit the bed!.” And before I could even drop my bag, my son spotted me — and like an siren, he yelled, “Mummyyyyy’s home!”

Within seconds, five tiny tornadoes (aka kids from the neighborhood) rushed inside my house laughing, screaming, bouncing on bean bags. One was playing cricket near the TV (and there was our couple photo frame — I was silently praying he wouldn’t turn out to be a Dhoni and hit it), another climbed onto the small circle slab in the corner, and before I knew it… the living room looked like a kids’ carnival.

Then came the next “assignment” for me: the little ones wanted me to hold them so they could count from 1 to 100 on the monkey bar. 

And just when I thought it couldn’t get messier, my son grabbed his water spray gun and went “pew-pew-splooosh-splash!” 💦 Water everywhere on the floor.

But here’s the twist — I didn’t scold them. Normally, if it were just my son, my “mom reflex” would have activated: instant scolding mode ON! But today, surrounded by five kids, I controlled my anger, frustration, or whatever you want to call it, and went with the flow. My brain kept whispering… calm down, just a few more minutes. I knew they were only here for a short while. Why spoil that joy?

And then it hit me. If I can control my anger for other kids… why can’t I do it for my own son?

Maybe our kids deserve that same calm version of us — the one that doesn’t shout, that just smiles through the mess, knowing they are learning, exploring, being kids.

So yeah, today I didn’t just survive a chaotic evening — I learned something too.

Parenting isn’t about perfection; it’s about perspective.

And next time you are a tired mom with five monkeys jumping on your couch — just breathe, grab a coffee or chocolate 🍫 or Meghna's Special Chicken Biryani or Death by Chocolate and remind yourself, "You are not losing control… you are gaining patience"

💬 What about you? Ever had one of those “I should have yelled, but didn’t” parenting moments? Drop it in the comments — let’s learn and survive motherhood together! 😅

The Last Session

I have never seen him.

Only heard his voice—It was warm and comforting.

For months, his voice was my safe place, a corner of the world where I could open my heart without the fear of judgment. The first time I spoke to him, my words trembled, heavy with pain. Today, my voice carries a different weight. The pain has lifted, leaving me lighter… yet my heart feels heavier than ever, because deep down, I know—this is going to be our last conversation.

The counselor spoke softly, his tone calm yet filled with pride.

“Diya, I’m happy you have come this far. Remember, life will still bring difficult days, and that’s normal. But I’m confident you have learned how to rise again, and that strength is already within you. This isn’t an ending—it’s the beginning of a chapter where you can trust yourself a little more each day. I hope you won’t need me anymore, but if you ever do, I will be here always. You don’t have to walk alone—just reach out to us”

There was silence for a moment. Then he added, almost hesitantly, “But… hmmm, Diya… well…I think I will really miss our talks—the way you share your knowledge and your thought process. I have been a quiet admirer of that.”

My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the words—it was the way he said them. For the first time, I realized this bond was not just about healing. Somewhere in the pauses, in the shared silences, in the way his voice softened when he said my name… there was a tenderness neither of us dared to name.

“Me too,” I whispered, surprising myself. “More than you know.”

Something struck me in that moment—I wasn’t just learning to heal, I was learning to feel again. To care. To love. And though we both knew this chapter had to end, the warmth between us was not something time could erase.

As I ended the call, my heart whispered what my lips could not:

Sometimes love doesn’t ask for forever. Sometimes it just teaches you how to begin again.