SAAMAKSHI MEDIUM

Let’s just sit down for a moment. You’re asking the question that holds the most common pain:  “I’m trying so hard to be kind, to grow, to choose love, and why is that exactly when the difficult situations show up?”  It feels deeply personal, like life is nudging you, saying, "Let’s see how aligned you really are." The exhaustion you feel isn't from loving too much; it’s from carrying a scorecard. The strain begins inside the expectation:  If I’m good, shouldn’t everyone else be good back?  Most of us were taught, very subtly, to put up the guard: "I’ll see how you treat me, and then I’ll decide how I treat you." We call this wisdom, but honestly, it’s fear wearing polite, protective clothing. We interact with preconceived notions, waiting, watching, and protecting ourselves from being the fool. But here is the quiet truth: the shield you use to protect yourself is heavy. This armor confirms your deepest fear, the belief that you  can  b...

For so long, all the counsel, all the systems, and all the psychology, the endless well of self-help has sung the same seductive song: The answer is inside you. You must become the archaeologist of your own pain. Dig deep. Find the old wound. Fix it. Let it go. And so, obediently, every time you felt that familiar ache of rejection, that heavy blanket of sadness, or that sharp sting of being totally down, you dedicated yourself to the task. You sat down with a notebook, meticulously looking through old memories, mapping every trauma, every slight, every fear, always in search of the one thing: what you were doing wrong. But I am here, standing firmly at the water’s edge, to tell you, with the force of a fundamental truth: Stop the digging. Stop the analyzing. You are not the problem. I have come to completely disagree with the models that demand this intense, intellectual picking apart of the self. Here is the quiet realization I’ve received: The more you try to learn, t...

Let's be honest. We all secretly want to be the Gandalf in someone else’s life story. We want to swoop in, drop a pearl of hard-earned wisdom, and watch as their life dramatically rights itself, all thanks to our brilliant piece of unsolicited advice. We crave that "Aha! You changed my life!" moment. We want to be the wise, appreciated sage. But today, I’m going to tell you a little secret:  guiding someone who hasn't asked you for directions is the absolute worst form of love. It’s a toxic little cocktail, and here’s why. The Ego Trap For one, it’s entirely driven by ego. We feel a little bit superior, don't we? We think,  “Oh, if only they did what I did, they wouldn’t be making that mistake.”  That feeling of being "ahead" is a massive ego boost. We're telling them what to do because we genuinely believe we know better, even when they’re perfectly fine finding their own way. And two, when they inevitably don’t listen to your sage advice (because i...

I have a money plant. It sits by my window quietly, observing, taking in life around.  Every morning, I greet it like an old friend. I touch its leaves, caress its shoots. It was doing well, and being cared for but, One day, a single leaf began to dry halfway. It wasn’t fully gone, just weary. I whispered to it, prayed for it, sent it little waves of healing energy. For a day or two, it responded. It lifted its head again, and I thought, 'She’s coming back.' But by the third day, she drooped lower than before. Beside her, two new shoots were growing, tender, green, full of will. Yet my eyes stayed fixed on the fading one. I kept pouring love into her, as if my care could reverse her destiny. And then I realised. This leaf did not want to live. It wasn’t neglect. It wasn’t a lack of love. It was simply time. Perhaps her journey with the plant had ended. And all my effort, all my prayers, all my need to heal were trying to rewrite a path that was never mine to change. When she fi...

Dear friends, Writing has always been my way of pausing, of listening within, and of sharing little reflections that life gifts me. Many of you have been part of this journey through my blog, and I’m so grateful for that love. I’m now happy to share my new book with you:  Life in 21 Essays : Short, soulful writings to slow down and rediscover what matters.  These essays are simple, heartfelt pieces that came to me naturally. Words you can read in a quiet moment, and maybe find a little of yourself in. If this resonates, I’d be so grateful for your support: Get it here:  Amazon.com Get it here:  Amazon.in With love and gratitude, Saamakshi

Think back to the last time you truly prayed. Not the hurried words under your breath before a meeting, not the casual “please help me” whispered on the way out the door - but real prayer. You stood, hands joined, eyes closed, heart open. What did you pray for? Chances are, you asked for something. Strength, love, acceptance. Healing for yourself or someone you care about. Protection, guidance, forgiveness. And there’s nothing wrong with that, yet, in that very asking, prayer often loses its essence. Because when we pray only to receive, it becomes pleading. We hand over our power to something outside ourselves, hoping that the Divine will fill the emptiness we imagine exists within us. So often, prayer becomes a kind of bargaining. We sit before God, list our troubles, and say, “Please fix this for me.” In that moment, we unknowingly shrink ourselves. We reduce prayer to pleading, as though the Divine were a distant authority and we were helpless children waiting to be rescued. But Go...

A wise man once said that a grudge is like a stone in the heart. Heavy. Cold. Silent, yet weighing us down in ways we can barely measure. We’ve all been told to forgive, to release, to let go. And so often, we convince ourselves that we have, because we stopped reacting, because we distanced ourselves, because we quietly send love from afar while still holding that invisible wall. But deep within, the story remains. The story of what they did, how they failed us, how they broke us, how we will never let it happen again. That story becomes the lens through which we see them, the script we hand them to act out every time they walk into our lives. And then we nod knowingly “see, I told you so.” But this is not forgiveness. This is not letting go. This is living in a prison of your own making . We cling to the saying “forgive but don’t forget,” not realizing that this is exactly what keeps us chained. Because if you don’t forget, if you don’t truly delete the story, then forgiveness is onl...