the theme for my clients and unsurprisingly myself is the …the icky, sticky place between who you were and who you’re becoming. people call it the in-between, the chrysalis, liminal space. it looks like confusion and boredom… sometimes a physical dull ache. it smells of too many small decisions.

it’s where you can’t go back and you can’t yet move forward in the way you’d imagined. and if you’ve found your way here, know this: that awkward, slow, uncategorised time matters more than the clean moments when everything aligns. this is the space that requires you to be still and patient, this might be the very thing that makes you want squirm so bad.

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the vibe for this piece……..

the in-between is anything but dramatic. it doesn’t deliver the neat next steps. it doesn’t hand you a post it note of learnings you can tick off. it actually feels like being stuck on the stairs between floors, with a version of you downstairs and a slightly new version of you upstairs, you’re in the middle suspended..hanging out there.

for many people i work with, it arrives after a breakup, a career change, a move, a ‘is this it’? moment, or simply a long season of doing what everyone else expected. it feels icky because our nervous systems prefer pattern and predictability, even if those patterns were painful. the body favours familiarity.

the nervous system’s job is safety, not happiness. and sometimes safety looks like repeating the same ache because at least you’ve rehearsed how to survive it. that’s a somatic truth we can’t skirt around.

Your nervous system + brain do not care about your expansion….but your consciousness and soul does.

the most common thing i hear clients say ‘how do i get through this quick and find direction again?’ the passage phase often has zero direction or fast momentum.

calling it a chrysalis feels romantic…but it’s the closest way to describe the phase you’re in. a phase that collects heat and pressure slowly and, over time makes room for something different. but the biology of it is slow and often invisible and it asks for patience. it asks you to live in uncertainty long enough for your internal architecture to shift.

clinical language calls this the window of tolerance; spiritualists may call it the waiting room; i call it the place where your nervous system and your consciousness start to learn each other.

change here is incremental. it’s in the micro-choices - the moment you breathe instead of text, the time you choose to sit with boredom rather than fill it with scrolling, the tiny boundary you enforce that says you won’t be rearranged today. it’s catching yourself before you try and escape the feeling.

the discipline is choosing the small steady thing over the dramatic dopamine fix. consistency rewires far better than intensity.

the liminal frame has been written about for decades. anthropologists used the word liminality to name rites and transitions where structure dissolves and new identity forms. that description fits modern life. these days you don’t always have a ritual to mark change, so the liminal phase arrives unannounced and you have to invent the ritual as you go.

that’s the task. to hold a space for yourself. to build scaffolding from small acts rather than waiting for a single seismic event to fix everything and show you the light.

Something i’ve been testing for the past year….creating my own scaffolding so i feel tethered in someway…rather than floating off into the ether of uncertainty.

i see a pattern in my younger clients… people in their twenties who are both more emotionally literate than previous generations and simultaneously more exposed to curated lives on screens. they feel their own growth and also the pressure of having the perfect life even the perfect ‘healing’ journey.

the result is a doubled tension: many of them show up with language, practice, curiosity and a hunger to be truthful, yet they’re navigating a social environment that constantly measures them against other people’s lives through constant bombardment from screens.

developmental psychologists call this phase emerging adulthood: a messy, experimental, identity-forming time when choices accumulate and the self starts to take shape in sharper relief. that context matters for how the in-between feels right now.

the practical truth i teach clients is simple and not boxed up pretty: the work in the chrysalis is not thinking harder about who you should be. it’s learning to be inside the not-knowing without losing the ground beneath you. being tethered to the boredom is the practice. nervous system practice.

the polyvagal framework helps here because it explains the physiology of social safety and regulation.. how body state guides perception, how breath and posture shift access to curiosity, connection and capacity.

the work I give is often somatic before it’s intellectual: breathing practices, small boundary experiments, micro-commitments to comfort that rewrite the body’s map of what is safe. you can argue about whether it’s therapy, ritual, philosophy or discipline. what matters is the repeated action that remaps the habit into something you can live inside. building the muscle of self- trust and self- commitment.

the thing most people struggle with in this space is temptation…mostly performance. the chrysalis can easily be turned into ‘this is the time i must do more’. people feel stalled and respond by doing more, accelerated inner work, showing up more, reading more, seeking more clarity in short bursts.

that productivity move rarely changes the underlying state. it only creates the illusion of motion. what actually shifts the internal weather system is less glam.. it’s the slower work, simpler patterns, fiercer compassion and acceptance with yourself.

the discipline is to choose the small steady thing over the dramatic dopamine fix. to trust that consistency rewires far better than scrappy intensity. the work is paced and quite frankly bland.

so how does someone move through it in a way that changes their life? start with three practical orientations i give clients

1. safety scaffolding

   create predictable anchors the nervous system recognises. that might be a morning sequence that always happens the same way, a nightly 20-minute wind-down that trains the body to descend, a short movement practice that tells your physiology you are still here and still safe. the anchor is not about choosing the perfect thing. it’s about repeated signals to the body that say you are available to yourself + able to be present.

2. curiosity not conclusion

   practice noticing sensations before you narrate them. the reflex in the in-between is to make meaning fast, to stitch stories that feel tidy. instead shift to micro-curiosity: what is the temperature in my chest right now? where is my attention? can i stay with the discomfort for five more breaths? those minutes build tolerance. those minutes build wisdom and perspective.

3. tiny experiments

   test small choices that expand your repertoire. approach the difficult conversations. say yes to one thing that feels mildly scary and note what happens. practice returning. the goal is to show yourself you can leave the pattern and return safely. repetition of tolerable risk increases capacity.

people ask me whether the chrysalis ever ends. yes, and also not in the way you hope. endings are messy. you don’t always get a defining moment; you sometimes get a smidge of hope and an unexpected appetite for different experiences and ways of being.

you surface with a new rhythm rather than a new sparkly identity. the work continues because growth remakes your edges; new months will test the new you and ask for more recalibration. that’s the loop and it’s necessary and evolutionary. again and again you return to yourself.

i want to name a few social dynamics that make the chrysalis harder right now. we live with curated connectivity. small experiments become a show. private re-mapping becomes public. the algorithms push immediacy and judgement.

if your environment rewards speed and spectacle, your interior will feel faint and impatient in response. if you stay in that system and feel it around you…design your scaffolding and anchors around it.

if you’re in this space..a reminder that this work asks for tenderness and accountability. you need a practice that holds both. tenderness means being allowed to not move quickly, and accountability means setting constraints so you don’t confuse stasis with safety.

coaching gives a structure for both. routines and rituals give permission. your nervous system learns from repeat experience and from witnessing. it needs steady signals that new patterns are allowed, welcomed and that you can survive them….to later even thrive in those systems.

some final thoughts that but are useful. the chrysalis wants time. patience is a practical tool you should learn to use.

change rarely arrives as a revelation. it arrives as a reconfiguration of the small things you do each day. identity is cumulative. self-trust is the residue of a thousand small returns. choosing the in-between is harder in public, and easier when you have a private set of practices that can be done in your own privacy.

if you’re in it now, be kind to the unglamorous work….the small visible acts of self-possession. they are the scaffolding that will carry you through.

stay with one honest question for a week and test one small boundary. notice what your body says. keep repeating it until the nervous system learns new accents.

the chrysalis is slow. it’s also the most faithful kind of change you will find.

read this again three months from now. see what is different. you’ll be surprised how much the small steady choices accumulate when you stop waiting for the big, obvious life bomb.

references and reading (for the curious)

• polyvagal theory and nervous system framing - Stephen W. Porges, The Polyvagal Theory

• liminality and rites of passage - Victor Turner, The Ritual Process

• emerging adulthood and identity formation - Jeffrey Jensen Arnett, Emerging Adulthood

when you’ve spent years getting used to chaos, peace feels suspicious.

like… hang on a min… is this it? no drama? no adrenaline? no reason to constantly question myself? you almost miss the rush. the looking outside of yourself.

but once you remove chaos, you start feeling at home in your own space..like properly okay. your mornings feel clearer. the air feels breathable. this is how life’s meant to feel: steady, ordinary, calm. one foot in front of the other.

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for me, peace looks like minding my own business in the best possible way. not comparing myself to anyone. remembering who i am and why i am who i am. oiling my hair, cooking with my sound of my playlist…snuggled with a tea in bed. staying close to the small, ordinary things that keep me in check.

i don’t love myself every day; some days i don’t even like myself that much. but most days i do. and that’s enough.

i knew i’d made peace with myself when, no matter how much i scrolled, i never actually wanted anyone else’s life.

sure, i see the women with their light-soaked kitchens, kids in cute pyjamas, the best workout matching sets. sometimes i look and think, yeah, that looks nice…i’d like that. but would i swap? not a chance. i don’t want anyone else’s life.

i like my story. even the messy chapters, even the bits that could’ve been written better. because when you start comparing, you drift out of your own lane. you start swerving into other people’s worlds and lose sight of your own.

*the home inside yourself that needs nurturing.*

*that’s where peace begins

(king’s college london found people who spend more than three hours a day on social media report lower life satisfaction and higher anxiety — mostly because of comparison.)

you don’t need a study to know that though. you can feel it. when you’re deep in the comparison cage. the flatness in your chest, the scrolling that turns into searching and looking too deep into people’s lives. that’s what happens when your attention leaves home. the home inside yourself that needs nurturing.

peace isn’t an idea. it’s when your shoulders drop without you noticing.

i trust my lane now. even when it’s slow. even when nothing looks how i thought it would. i’ve got things i want and desire… big things. but i trust they’ll come when they’re meant to.

rushing someone else’s story never brings peace. i’d rather arrive late to my own life than early to someone else’s.

stillness can feel like withdrawal when you’re used to chaos. your body gets so familiar with the high of uncertainty that calm feels foreign.

but that’s where peace hides. in the gap between the old response and the new one. in that space where you breathe instead of chase. where you choose to stay when everything in you wants to sprint back to the familiar. that’s where trust with yourself builds. not just self-trust, but body trust.

staying in your lane is a spiritual practice. it’s the discipline of returning to yourself again and again. it’s noticing the noise but choosing not to feed it. it’s knowing your time will come, your turn will unfold, your chapter will make sense when it’s meant to. it’s refusing to abandon your own timing for someone else’s timeline.

maybe that’s what growing up actually is.

liking your own story enough to stop borrowing someone else’s.

finding peace in your version of life.

letting your life unfold in its own messy, beautiful order… like laundry drying in late sun, imperfect but exactly where it needs to be.

so yeah. I’m staying in my lane. and for real, it feels really good here.

And maybe that’s the question for you too -

what does your lane feel like when you stop swerving? When you stop speeding to catch up or slowing down to fit in? Maybe that’s where peace lives for you too….

🧡

Soundtrack for this piece…..

📚 *reference: king’s college london (2023). “social media and life satisfaction: understanding the role of comparison and attention.” journal of behavioural science.*

I see it with clients all the time. The digging. The analysing. The need to find the absolute truth behind every feeling. They come to me with journals full of theories about why they are the way they are. They’ll say things like, I think it’s my attachment style, but also maybe my dad, or the pandemic, or my inner child… and I’m just like, maybe you’re just sad today. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you don’t need to fix it or turn it into a metaphor. Sometimes it just is. There ain’t always an answer…and if there is..it’s not likely to show itself through you turning yourself inside out for it.

And that’s the hardest part, right? Accepting that there isn’t always a why. Because the moment you stop searching for the why, you’re left with the what. What’s here now. What’s actually happening in your body, your breath, your life. Most people don’t want that part. They want to understand so they can bypass the discomfort. They think the knowing will free them and everything will be solved….it rarely does because freedom is found in the letting go.

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I used to live in that constant self-analysis loop. Like my brain was CCTV on my own life. Tracking every reaction, every micro shift in mood, every tiny piece of feedback from people around me. Self-surveillance is such a thing. I see it everywhere. And here’s what I’ve realised - the people who struggle to hold compassion for others, the ones who nitpick and judge and find fault in everything, are usually the ones policing themselves the hardest. You can’t offer softness to others when you live under your own microscope.

The subconscious loves certainty. It loves patterns. It doesn’t care if they’re painful..it just wants to predict what’s next. That’s why we keep analysing things long after they’re over. The mind’s like, if I can just understand this properly, I’ll never be hurt again. But that’s not how it works. The subconscious repeats whatever we rehearse. So if we keep replaying the pain looking for closure, all we’re really doing is deepening the groove of it. We become fluent in the very thing we want to move beyond.

From the lens of Vedanta, the mind isn’t who we are anyway. It’s a tool…a beautiful, chaotic, brilliant tool but not the Self. The Self just witnesses. The mind judges, names, dissects, interprets. The Self observes. And the more I live that, the more peace I find. Because the Self doesn’t need to know why. It just is. When I remember that, I stop arguing with reality. I stop turning every wave into a riddle for me to solve. I just feel it, let it move through, and carry on.

This is what I mean when I talk about self-trust. It’s not about having every answer. It’s trusting that you don’t need one to take the next step. That you can move even while you don’t fully understand. That you can sit in the fog and still know who you are. Self- trust is built when you know you can hold yourself in the unknown.

So when clients come to me desperate for clarity, I tell them : what if there’s no absolute truth? Will you still be okay? Clarity comes from breathing into the moment that doesn’t make sense yet, from releasing the need to name every sensation, every emotion, every event. When you stop turning your experience into an examination, life starts to breathe again.

It’s funny how much lighter everything feels when you stop being your own detective. When you stop turning your emotions into evidence. When you stop trying to be the smartest person in your own healing. Some things don’t reveal themselves because they’re not supposed to. They’re meant to pass through, not be solved.

I used to think that understanding was the same as growth. But now I think growth is what happens when understanding isn’t available and you keep living anyway. When you keep opening. When you trust that life isn’t always trying to teach you something…sometimes it’s just happening.

So yeah. Maybe it just is. Maybe there ain’t always a reason. Maybe the most spiritually advanced thing we can do is let the mystery stay mysterious. Feel what’s here. Move how we’re moved. And leave some space for life to be unexplainable. Because that’s where the Self sits ..in the space that doesn’t need a story.

p.s. this is the work i teach… learning to stay steady in the unknown. to breathe when your mind wants answers. to trust yourself when life doesn’t make sense yet.

🧡

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This is what I ask myself every time I try and show up online, mainly Instagram. I have such a love-hate relationship with it. Of course, it’s not Instagram’s fault… it’s most probably mine… well, I know it’s mine.

I have this thing about being seen fully in that world. And now that my actual business is all about being seen, it makes it even worse. I want to say so much..and I do, for the most part. More in my 1:1 client work. They get to see the fullness of my work and what I teach. But the rest of the world doesn’t, which makes me ask this question.

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I’m a multilayered, complex, multi-everything person and I’m always creating, pivoting, switching things up. I hate being called just one thing or being boxed into a ‘niche’. yes, a fucking niche. I hate that word. Everyone tells me I need a niche!

Right now, I’m navigating a lot. I feel like my world is changing in the exact way I asked for, but I don’t want to move into it just yet. I’m scared I don’t have the tools or the confidence to level up… even though secretly I know there’s no other choice. It’s where I want to go and grow.

I’m in the middle. Like doing the splits, with one foot in belonging and the other in becoming. Eeek. And it hurts bad sometimes.

I want to be okay with being seen online and sharing my gifts and my work, but this resistance… it’s something I need to sit with for a while. Especially as feelings, situations, and seasons pass by. Because maybe it’s not being seen that’s the problem. Maybe Instagram’s just not my thing? Maybe I could just keep writing here and find my people here. Definitely feels safer.

Behind the scenes of being ‘seen’ is a lot… ideas, theories, ways I could build my empire. How I could work, who I could work with, what I could sell, create, make. But do I trust myself to make it happen? That’s the journey. That’s what I’m supposed to learn in this exact moment of time.

I’ve always tried my hardest to practice what I preach. My teachings have always been my lessons. But this transition - entrepreneurship / business owner / self-employed….it’s the ultimate test. The real level-up that I’ve been working towards.

And all my stuff comes up. The avoidance. The dodging. The hiding. The things I find boring. The little details I need to focus on. I know if I want the life I deserve… or at least choose… these are the things I need to go through. Not around. Not in a zig-zag way. But head on. With consistency, discipline, and devotion.

And funnily enough, deep down, those are the very things I desire in all areas of my life.

Surprise… it means I need to bring it.

Anyway, this is my journal entry for today and where I’m at…

The next year for me is about walking this path. Not abandoning myself. Not escaping when things get hard. But trusting myself. Holding myself. And walking in courage.

And never diluting the thing the world needs from me.

love

Krupa xxx

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I’m pretty sure nobody wakes up in the morning like, “You know what? Today I’m gonna be insufferably uptight and make everyone around me uncomfortable.” But, here we are.

Control feels great. Until it doesn’t.

It’s neat and tidy. Until it unravels.

Ever been around someone with zero chill? Exactly. Tight smiles, tight shoulders. Tight everything. Basically the human equivalent of jeans fresh from the tumble dryer…uncomfortable, stiff, slightly angry. Zip not zipping.

People get controlling because life is unpredictable. Unpredictable is risky. Risky feels unsafe. And feeling unsafe sucks.

So control steps in like a security blanket, promising safety if you just plan enough. Micromanage enough. Overthink enough.

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Hate to say it but - life still goes rogue.

Sure, gripping onto life with white knuckles can work. For a bit. But for real? it’s bloody draining. For everyone involved. Nobody ever left a tightly-controlled scenario thinking, “Wow, what a vibe. Can’t wait to do that again.”

The weird thing is, the moment you loosen up, yes….shit hits the fan occasionally.

You forget appointments, someone lets you down, plans unravel spectacularly. New emotions and feelings might arise (usually the ones you were tryna avoid by being so rigid)

But sometimes unraveling is good. Sometimes messing up makes space. Space for something new. Something unexpected. Something weirdly…better?

I don’t have answers. I don’t think there’s a perfect line between control and trust. It moves. Constantly.

Maybe the real lesson is learning your own rhythm. Knowing when to hold tight and when to let go. It’s a dance you’ll probably never master completely, but isn’t that kinda the whole point?

Trusting yourself feels scary at first. Like closing your eyes and stepping forward, hoping the ground’s still there.

Sometimes it won’t be. You might faceplant?

But sometimes it’ll be a trampoline.

Bounce back. Laugh a little.

That’s way more fun, right?

Maybe control’s not the problem. It’s the thing underneath you don’t want to feel?

Krupa 🧡

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There was a time where I had zero idea about life or what I was supposed to do. I was numb, stuck, and bored out of my box. I used to say to my friend, “If someone could just give me the spec of life, I’ll do it.” Would I have? Probably not. But the point was, I just couldn’t fathom actually deciding what I was supposed to do. I didn’t want to. And it just didn’t make sense?

All my life I’d been told what to do. And now I’m supposed to make choices? Me?? Can I be trusted? Do I really have to use my brain? Do I really need to look at the vastness of life and make decisions that could impact my entire future?

This was adulting at its finest.

I’d been questioning things since I was a kid, but I still thought life would just happen to me. That I’d fall in line like everyone else. If I’d been handed the spec…you know, corporate ladder, marriage, kids, a few holidays a year, a big Kia and a four-bedroom house. I probably would’ve taken it. Now I’m not saying that spec is bad. I actually would love that spec. But something in me just knew life wasn’t gonna go that way. No matter how much I tried. And believe me, I tried. Sometimes I’m still trying.

To get out of my pickle (aka: avoidance of adulting), I had to admit that my path was going to be different. That I wanted different. I had to quieten my tantrums. Stop blaming the world. And finally listen to the dreams I’d tucked away. The ones covered in dust and doubt. The ones I’d labelled “not for you,” or “that happens to other people,” or “you don’t have what it takes.”

It was hard. There was a lot of back and forth. From numbing myself, to seeing the light, and back again. Until I was 30-ish and finally realised:

“Oh… it’s me. I’m the drama.”

Every turn I took on this self-inquiry journey brought me back to myself. Time and time again. I couldn’t escape me. I couldn’t hide. I couldn’t keep blaming everything and everyone… because I was free to make my own choices. And that meant… it was me that kept choosing wrong.

Major wake up call.

Now? I see it as the ultimate blessing. Now it’s like,

“Ohhh it’s me. I’m the creator.”

Share Krupa's Chaos + Clarity

I get to decide. I get to paint my life. This vast, wild life? That’s my canvas. And I can do whatever the fuck I want with it.

How did I do it? I went deep into my psyche. Into my spiritual practice of yoga. Not in the wanky way…because I was privileged to be brought up in a Hindu household. It was already in me, but it had been blanketed. Yoga wasn’t new. It was a return. Back to my roots. Back to where the world… and my purpose, one that made sense.

Bit by bit, I started seeing life as my journey. Not someone else’s. Not someone else’s script. I began choosing what my truest self wanted. Even when it didn’t make sense or wasn’t logical. Because I knew choices made from that place would lead me to the highest version of myself.

Now I can say I’m free. Free in my body and in my mind. Free to live the way I want. Not shrink. Not box myself in. But evolve… through truth.

The journey’s far from complete, but I’m no longer numb. No longer bored out of my box. I’m excited.

And as I approach 39…unmarried, childless, wandering the world… I still know, deep down… I’m on the right path.

This is the work I do now.

I help women make sense of their stuckness, strip back the noise, and finally feel free in their own mind and body.

If you want to know more, UNSTUCK might be the place to begin.

Read about it here.

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January—the pressure of resolutions and all that. Honestly, winter is not my thing. I love being cosy, and crisp, sunny days are great, but those depressing UK Januaries? Absolutely not.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved the feel of the sun penetrating my skin. There’s something about it—the way it makes me feel alive, connected. And then there’s the clothes: I hate layers. Thick, itchy fabrics feel like a barrier between my body, my essence, and the atmosphere. Summer clothes? Light, soft, flowing—they let me feel connected to the breeze, the sun, and the air around me. Honestly, I think I might have SAD syndrome—those Lumie lights don’t cut it either.

This January, I’m in Bali. I’ll be here until April, which means I’ve skipped winter completely. Somehow, I’ve managed to pull this off for three years in a row! No, I’m not retired. I’m just someone who dreamt of doing this for years and finally made it happen. I feel incredibly lucky, but let me tell you, it wasn’t easy.

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Dreams Take Work

Internally, I had to fight against a whole lot of beliefs: “It’s not possible.” “I’m not the kind of person who gets to do that.” “I’m not brave enough.” Those thoughts still creep in sometimes, but fear doesn’t run the show anymore.

I’ve got into a momentum of just putting one foot in front of the other with intention. I ask myself, “What do I want?” “Does this feel like something that will support the life I want?” There’s no going back now. I’ve committed to this—this whatever it is—living life on my own terms.

You’d think it wouldn’t be so hard, right? But it is. Conditioning runs deep. Other people’s views used to matter to me, and the fear of not following the “norms” used to freak me out. But I guess I just wanted more. More for myself.

More

Sometimes I think that’s so self-indulgent—selfish, even. What a privilege it is to sit here pondering my vision, my goals, my thoughts and emotions. But that’s my deep truth- I want more in the way I want to feel. I want simplicity, but I also want beauty. I want mornings that feel like mine. I want to understand my body and composition, knowing that Vitamin D is my best friend. I want to create a life that fulfils me.

Surely, I get to decide that for myself, right?

I think about my parents and how they didn’t have this luxury. They were in survival mode, working hard to provide for me. It seems mad to not explore all the possibilities and opportunities they worked so hard to give me.

A Thought for January

So, if January is “Januarying” hard for you, just remember: you only answer to you. There’s no need for big resolutions or trying to lose however many kilograms. Just tune into what feels true in your body and mind.

I always imagine myself as a 90-year-old grandma on a rocking chair. (I know—very American of me. Porches aren’t really a thing in Leicester.) I picture myself looking back at my life and asking:

“Did I live a life that felt truly like my own?”

And then I remind myself: that’s the only question that really matters.

Love,

Krupa 🧡

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Not sustainable and whiplashingly annoying! Before I went on my yoga teacher training, this was me. I still have those moments, and I often still get on the hormonal rollercoaster, but what I did learn is that my emotions are not me! They are not my soul or my true inner being.

Awareness was introduced into my life, becoming the witness and the observer of my life. I practised taking a pause and watching myself in third person, like I was watching a drama soap play out. I’d pause and think, “Isn’t it funny, Krupa, how you’re reacting to that?” or “I wonder what made you feel so triggered?” And nine times out of ten, that would bring me back to me—the truest version of me. The pause, the taking of a breath in and out, the viewing of myself instantly made me reflect, because my reactions were not a true representation of my soul.

We’re born vulnerable, pure, compassionate—the very essence of love in its brightest form. And I believe that as we move through life, layers are added, moment by moment, experience by experience, pain by pain. Within those layers, we’re also layered with sweet goodness, like love. All of those layers start to form around our true nature and inner self. We wear them for protection, often not even knowing if the layers are there to serve us or not, but we carry them. Maybe they’re not even our own layers—maybe just hand-me-downs, from generations, because that’s all they knew and all they had to pass down.

We ourselves become so disconnected from the inner self because we’re living in the layers, not even dropping down to the deeper self. The world has us living there, and every experience we encounter makes us respond and react from the top layers. Self-protection for our deepest wounds and the parts of us that have been hurt. Our brain constantly tries to keep us safe, almost seeking out evidence to prove why everything is a threat and why reaction is the best course of action.

But what if we took a step back? What if we took some layers off?! That itchy roll neck jumper that is not working anymore—the one your parents or society put on you through fear because that’s what they thought you needed? It might have been useful at some point in life, but you get to ask yourself if you still want to keep wearing it. Or do you want to know who you are without it? Who were you before you let experiences and pain fuse to your heart?

When we walk around like this, so disconnected from our truth and self, how the hell can anyone else around us actually get to us—beneath the layers? How do they get to see you for who you really are? I see beauty in others who walk naked with vulnerability, compassion, and love no matter how many layers they’ve endured. It’s art to me.

Swami Vivekananda, a Hindu monk and Vedanta philosopher, once said that “the true essence of a person is the Atman (the self), which is identical to Brahman (the universal consciousness).” He encouraged people to seek self-realization through spiritual practice and self-inquiry, aiming to recognize their oneness with the universe.

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This was liberation for me. I thought, thank God, I’m free from fully identifying with my emotions and reactions! I was also free from analysing every emotion I experienced. I was able to separate myself, and in doing so, dial down the intensity of those emotions, because I—the observer—was in control. I was able to connect to my inner self through meditation, my asana practice, and simply taking a pause. Taking a step back and not allowing everything to bubble and fizzle at the very top layers of me and explode out into the world.

Most of my work—and what I’d call my purpose—is this: the unlayering process. It takes time, a lifetime even, to keep assessing and auditing the layers you have. Some we take off, and some we keep. The mind is not to be trusted all the time, but you can sit in the diplomatic, non-judgmental seat as the observer and challenge your mind and its processes. You can even sit in the purest seat as the observer and listen to your body. Sometimes it whispers, but quieting yourself enough to tune into its frequency is a ritual I believe we all should master.

What would it look like if you watched yourself in third person?

Love,

Krupa 🧡

The messiness of life is what makes life. I know that while in the messiness (or “the washing machine,” as I like to call it), it’s squirmy, spinny, and full of resistance. But whoop! When you come out the other side, you’re brand new—fresh, crisp, and clean.

That freshness, however, depends on how you deal with the mess while you’re in it. You can either use all your strength, will, and power to control the chaos and the components of your shit pile, or you can just inhale, expand those lungs, and sigh. Surrender to it. Easier said than done, especially when you’re a master controller and curator of your own life. But it’s often those of us who crave control the most that struggle with surrender the hardest.

I truly believe each mess touches on some source of pain or speaks directly to a wound — ones you may have buried deep, or ones you thought you’d already ‘spiritually healed.’ There will always be something as long as you’re walking this earth, gifted with this human experience. And while you’re here, you get to decide how you show up and choose your flow and spin cycle.

I have been (and still am, sometimes) the master controller. It’s learned behaviour, but also the stubbornness in me (Taurus vibes) loves being cemented in my way and my way only. But over the years, I’ve learned: the more I soften my muscles, unclench my jaw, and lean into the mess, the more I glide through it. I’m learning to sift the lessons from the wounds, healing as I move through.

I understand now that my role in life isn’t to fight it. No weapons are actually needed. I get to co-create, still the architect but under the supervision of the cosmos.

Each time I go through the chaos of life, I come out braver, and the more I welcome the washing machine cycles. I trust it’s all for my highest good.

How do you handle life’s washing machine cycles?

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