CervivingMom

Gratitude Check: My Supporting Cast of 2025 🎬 2025 was the Year of Tiny Wins, and those wins wouldn't have been possible without the amazing people who held me up and gave me the energy to write. This is my Supporting Cast Appreciation Post! 1. The Unshakeable Anchor: My Husband Thank you for being the quiet, unshakeable force in our home. You protected my energy, managed the chaos of a one-year-old, and created pockets of stillness so I could actually sit down and write. You are the foundation of all my creative work. 2. The Rebuilding Crew: My Team of Doctors To my medical team—thank you for getting me back on my feet. Your expertise, care, and unwavering optimism were the foundation upon which every "tiny win" of 2025 was built. Without your support, there would be no focus, no energy, and no stories to tell this year. I owe you the biggest gratitude. 3. The Creative Catalyst: @Blogchatter Community Thank you to the entire @Blogchatter community! You pr...

The Twist: The Reluctant Author The biggest plot twist of 2025 was realizing that while I thought I was just 'resting and recovering,' I was actually writing. I went into the year expecting a creative blank space, but I ended up with a published story in the Blogchatter Book of Food . It turns out that the moments I spent healing were the exact moments my best stories were brewing. I didn't just get back on my feet; I found my voice again. Thank you Team Blogchatter and to my fellow writers and readers! This post is part of the Blogchatter wrap party 2025.

I was at a social gathering when I heard 2 people talking… "How many kids do you have?" And the person replies, "We have two—a son and a daughter." And here comes the statement that made me frown, "Oh, that’s just perfect! A complete family!" I didn’t get this affirmation when I was asked how many kids I have and I said a boy. This perfectly captures the well-meaning, yet deeply restrictive, idea that the ideal family configuration is determined by having one of each gender. Why the "Complete Family" Myth Fails The root of this myth lies in viewing the family unit as a checklist to be completed rather than a living, evolving system built on connection and love. It implies that families that fall outside this narrow definition—whether they have two boys, two girls, no children, or are headed by a single parent—are somehow lacking or statistically less ideal. The truth is, defining family completeness by gender or number is probl...

There is a moment at almost every family gathering, social event, or even a casual lunch where it happens. The conversation lulls, and someone reaches for the easy button—the social cliché question: "When are you getting married?" or, "When are you finally going to have kids?" These questions aren't asked with malice. They are asked out of habit, a cheap conversational ticket meant to show interest and keep things moving. The problem is that while they are designed to be harmless, they can land with the weight of a truck on someone who is carrying a private, invisible burden. The Invisible Wounds Imagine asking these questions to someone who is silently grieving: • The Breakup: Asking about marriage to someone who just had a painful, private breakup forces them to either lie, deflect, or relive the pain in front of an audience. • The Miscarriage or Infertility: Asking about kids to someone struggling with infertility or who just had a miscarriage tu...

I recently observed a family member whose social media captions and comments have changed. The language is sudden, almost unrecognizably polished, leading me to believe she’s using AI to craft her thoughts. This isn’t a judgment on her, but an observation on a strange new reality we are all navigating. When we use tools to perfect our words, we are building a persona that is cleaner, smarter, and more articulate than the human behind the keyboard. This creates what I call the Unspoken Expectation. The Problem of the Perfect Persona We form an image of someone based on their output. If every interaction we have with a person online is flawlessly worded, witty, and deeply profound, we start to expect that same level of performance in real life. Imagine meeting that person in person. In a natural, fluid conversation, they might pause, search for a word, or express themselves simply—as real humans do. That small, human difference can feel like a sudden drop-off. The observer mig...

I'm going to be honest: Every time I've taken one of those personality quizzes, I've felt like I was cheating. I always feel stuck. Am I the person who loves planning an event, or the one who cancels 30 minutes before? Am I the confident leader in a meeting, or the one who hides for a day afterward just to recover? For years, I felt like a fraud for not being "one thing." I felt the cultural pressure to pick a team—Extrovert, the social powerhouse, or Introvert, the thoughtful observer. But what if you're beautifully, frustratingly, both? I recently learned the term: I am an Ambivert (sometimes called an Omnivert), and if you also feel like you have to fake it in either direction, you might be too. The Problem with Personality Boxes The idea of Introvert and Extrovert has been around since Carl Jung, and it's a helpful starting point—it's about where we get and spend our energy. But somewhere along the way, that helpful spectrum became a rig...

Being in a new country during this season, I saw something profoundly simple happen a night ago: kids, dressed up as heroes and monsters, were doing the familiar ritual of trick-or-treating. They would knock on a stranger’s door, and that door would open. People had bowls of candy ready, waiting. They were prepared to engage in a small, trusting transaction with their neighbors’ children. It got me thinking about the difference between that simple act and how we live now, particularly reflecting on the rapid urbanization and growth of my own home in Mumbai. The Open Door of Childhood I remember a time in Mumbai where the door of the flat was almost always unlocked, or at least unbarred. The children in the building were known, the aunties and uncles next door were extensions of your own family, and walking into a neighbor's kitchen for a glass of water was routine. The community was a web of overlapping, trusted relationships. That open door was a physical manifestatio...

If you’ve been on a healing journey—recovering from a serious illness, battling anxiety, or simply surviving the chaos of modern life—you know that sometimes, all you want is an hour of genuine, uncomplicated escape. So you turn on the television. And what do you find? Serial killers, endless political cynicism, gritty character studies of morally bankrupt heroes, and "dark reboots" of classics we once loved. It seems like the entire media landscape is convinced that entertainment must equal depression. And as someone who has stared down actual darkness, I have to ask: Why is the industry denying us light? The Survivor’s Need for Lightness The trend of dark, depressing content is often called "prestige TV." But for those of us with limited mental capacity—the survivors, the caregivers, the mentally drained—it’s just plain exhausting. When you are spending all your energy fighting an invisible battle (be it fatigue, anxiety, or post-crisis stress), you...

The phrase hit me like a splash of cold water. It came from someone close, someone who should know better, aimed directly at my son, who isn't even two yet. My toddler, still navigating the vast, confusing world of big feelings, was having a minor meltdown—a sudden overflow of frustration that only a tiny human can manage. That’s when I heard it: "Stop crying like a girl." My blood pressure spiked immediately. Not just because the speaker was silencing my son's natural emotional release, but because of the archaic, toxic stigma packed into those five simple words. The Stigma Starts Before Age Two When you tell a boy, even a toddler, to stop crying like a girl, you are achieving two terrible things: 1. You Weaponize Femininity: You use the word "girl" as an insult, equating crying, sadness, and vulnerability with weakness and inadequacy. 2. You Prohibit Male Emotion: You teach him that his pain must be hidden, suppressed, or converted into ang...

There are two distinct eras of childhood embedded in my memory: the 90s/early 2000s when I was a kid, and the current moment, now that I’m raising a toddler. And the difference in our playground songs is genuinely shocking. I was recently humming a random skipping rope rhyme—the kind of fast-paced, nonsensical chant that dictates who’s ‘out’ of the game. And I realized just how casual our childhood culture was about themes of peril, breaking, and even death. Think about the classics we sang without a second thought: • “Ring around the Rosie, Pocket full of posies, Ashes, Ashes, We all fall down.” (A playful song about... mass death.) • “London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.” (A song about irreversible, catastrophic structural failure.) • The “Machli Jal Ki Rani Hai” rhyme, which for us ended with the harsh reality: "Bahar nikalo toh mar jayegi" (Take it out, and it will die). The common thread was peril and fragility. We celebrated chaos, p...

It starts simply, casually, dozens of times a week. At the office, on a call, or even just in a text message. Someone asks: "How are you?" And what do we say? We reply with the expected statement that has become a meaningless mantra: "I'm fine!" or "Good, and you?" For those of us navigating the invisible labor of healing—managing anxiety, chronic fatigue, or life after a significant crisis—this simple question isn't a check-in. It's a curtain raiser on a performance we are forced to give every single day. It's the performance of the “Perfectly Fine Survivor.” The Hidden Cost of the Performance The cost of this seemingly harmless lie isn't financial; it's pure, mental energy. It’s the energy we spend editing our truth for maximum social comfort. We lie for two main reasons: 1. To Protect Them: We genuinely believe people don’t want the real, messy truth. We don't want to dump our fatigue, our anxiety, or the ...

I am profoundly grateful that my story, "Perfect As Always," was included in The Blogchatter Book of Food Anthology. Seeing my words in print was a beautiful moment of validation. But the greatest reward was using the writing process itself to finally make peace with a hard, quiet truth in my life: Food is about so much more than taste. The concept behind the story is simple, but the reality is deeply anxious: I am someone who enjoys cooking for my loved ones, but I cannot taste my own food well. When I went through cancer treatment, many things changed, and one of them was the complex pleasure of my palate. My fictional piece explores a character who cooks for their incredibly particular loved one, and the intense uncertainty that follows every single meal they serve. It’s the constant tension between effort and unknown outcome. Writing this story was my way of finding the true answer to that anxiety. It was the moment I realized that, in my own life, the ingredie...

It’s often said that when you need a message, the universe delivers it twice. For me, the theme of Inclusion for this month’s blog hop hit my inbox on the very same day I read about Promod’s Amour Rose collection. It was a moment of profound, emotional synergy. We fortunately now see clothing for the plus-size community and tall size community, but I never imagined I’d see something so beautifully adaptive for cancer warriors like me—clothing designed specifically with our fragile reality in mind. Honestly, trying to contort your body for a blood draw because of a restrictive sleeve, or attempting to get into a stiff, scratchy turtleneck when your scalp is tender, is a full-contact sport you immediately lose. That’s where Promod’s collection resonated so deeply. It felt like finding a beautiful, intentional oasis. This collection wasn't adaptation—it was affirmation. It meets needs with three non-negotiable design principles : Photo from PROMOD website * Material : Pr...

They say the opposite of addiction is connection. For me, that connection comes in a steaming mug—aromatic, sometimes frothy—and it answers to the name coffee . It’s not a friend; it’s my anchor. I was never a tea person, but coffee? I loved it so much I could sip it right before sleeping. Then I went to France, and their coffee was an experience in itself—bold, smooth, and unforgettable. That’s when I realized coffee wasn’t just a drink, it was a moment, a pause, a sigh of relief. When I got pregnant, I thought it would be impossible to give it up. But surprisingly, I managed with milk. That’s when I learned I wasn’t addicted to the caffeine. I simply loved the comfort it brought me—and comfort, I realized, can take many forms. The first thing I asked for after the birth of my son and after feeding him, it wasn't sweets—it was a simple cup of coffee. That first sip, a rush of familiar warmth, felt like life being poured back into me. I didn't know then just how much I...

This theme made me think of the letters I used to write to Santa, as so many children do. Every December, my sister and my mother made it a little tradition — a note slipped into the stocking, a wish scribbled in earnest. I wasn’t the kind of child who asked for many gifts. My letters usually said I wanted books or puzzles, and I always promised to be good, not just for the year but forever. It felt like a game, but also something sacred — like Santa might actually be reading. ✏️  The Letter I Actually Wrote (as a child) Dear Santa, I want a puzzle or book. I promise to be a good child always. Please don’t forget to visit me. Lots of love, A child who loves books and puzzles ✏️  The Letter I Wish I Had Written (if I could rewrite as a child) Dear Santa, I don’t really need any gifts. What I truly want is to always feel safe, to be loved, and to know I belong. I want my family to laugh more, and I want the people I love to always be near me. Can you bri...

“Do you see this scar?” my husband’s grandfather once asked, pulling back his sleeve. His voice was calm, but his eyes carried the weight of memory. “I was fourteen. They locked us up for disrupting the sale of foreign goods. They thought beating us would break us.” But it didn’t. I had read about freedom fighters in history books, but hearing it from his mouth made the pages come alive. He was just a teenager, locked behind bars for daring to dream of an India that belonged to its people. He told me stories of those jail days — the beatings, how food was scarce, how books felt like treasures, how Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel himself intervened so that he could get something as basic as a meal worth eating. He was just a fourteen year old boy, yet he gave up his childhood for a dream bigger than himself. Every year, long after Independence, he was invited to hoist the flag. Not for the title of “freedom fighter,” but as someone who had earned the right to raise it high. And if you...

When life turns loud and messy, when the news overwhelms, and even my own thoughts feel like a knot I can’t untangle—I’ve learned that staying sane doesn’t mean blocking it all out. It means holding on to the quiet, steady things that remind me who I am. For me, the chaos isn’t abstract. Being a cancer survivor and a toddler mom, the noise hasn’t just come from outside—it’s lived inside me too. But somehow, these are the small, gentle things that keep me grounded, human, and here: Walks with my son Slow steps, tiny hands in mine, and the wonder in his eyes reminding me how to look at the world anew. Crazy songs and shared laughter My husband and I play the silliest music—and our son dances along. In those moments, life feels lighter, louder in the best way. Art, writing, and yoga These are my breathing spaces: where I can pour out what weighs heavy, stretch what feels tight, and paint my thoughts in softer colors. Music, always Whether it’s a soulful track on qu...

I wrote this poem in a moment of deep emotion—a letter to my son, on the day he was born. That day brought me the greatest joy of my life and also a life-changing cancer diagnosis. At the time, I needed to put my feelings somewhere, so I poured them into these words. Then, as life moved forward, I tucked the poem away—forgotten, like things we set aside when survival takes up all the space. It was only because of this bloghop that I remembered it. And now, reading it again, I know: if I tried to write this today, it might not come out the same. Not because the love has faded, but because that moment was its own—pure, fragile, and full of truth. Though written for my son, this is a letter we all might want to leave behind. A message for the ones we love most. A quiet reminder that even if we’re no longer in sight, we never truly leave. We are always with them. Always with you … My dearest boy, the day you came, The world around me changed its frame. Your cry, your breath,...

Zara doesn’t like things. She worships them. She’s not a fan; she’s a one-woman fan club, marketing team, and spiritual ambassador for whatever she’s obsessed with that month. From K-dramas to keto, astrology to almond flour, Taylor Swift to tarot, Zara goes all in. There was the time she got into clean eating. She didn’t just cut sugar… she gave motivational speeches at birthday parties. Zara: “You’re putting poison in your body, but I support your journey.” Me (mid-gulab jamun frowning): “Thanks?” Then came her minimalism phase. She threw out half her wardrobe and tried to get me to donate my scarves because they “don’t spark joy.” Seeing my scarves go definitely didn’t give me joy! Once, she watched a documentary on cold showers. By the next day, she was ice-bathing and posting about “discipline over comfort.” It was December! She’s intense, convincing, and occasionally a little terrifying honestly. But when she loves something… or someone… you’ll ...

Yash is the kind of guy who could agree with two people arguing on opposite sides—and genuinely believe he’s helping. He once told one friend: “Yeah, she can be really blunt. It’s a bit much.” And to the other: “Her honesty is so refreshing! We need more people like her.” He thought he was being supportive. What he actually was… exposed. Because, of course, he sent the wrong message to the wrong person. Twice. Planning a trip with Yash is like playing emotional roulette. Friend 1: “Let’s go to the mountains.” Yash: “Perfect! Love the quiet air and nature vibes.” Friend 2: “Beaches are better, let’s do that instead.” Yash: “Agreed! Nothing beats sand and sunsets.” Me: “Yash, which one do you actually prefer?” Yash: “Honestly? I’m happy anywhere. I just go with the flow.” Me (in my head): No, Yash. You don’t go with the flow. You are the flow. The Yashes of the world appear kind, agreeable, but are scared of confrontation. In trying to please ever...

Xenia loves all things foreign. Accents, countries, cuisines, even confusing customs—she’s enchanted by anything with international flair. But the charm? It sometimes borders on… selective enthusiasm. I met Xenia for the first time during a short trip to India. We were at a friend’s get-together—warm, casual, filled with laughter and snacks. Xenia was polite, but distant. That surface-level, mildly distracted tone that says, “I’ve already decided you’re basic.” She asked me what I do. I said something casual, nothing fancy. She nodded, unimpressed, and moved on. Ten minutes later, the friend who introduced us casually said: “You know she lives in France, right?” Xenia (visibly transforming): “Ohhh my god, that’s AMAZING! Paris or the South? I love French markets! Have you been to Lyon? Do you just drink wine all day?” The accent in her voice shifted. The enthusiasm spiked. Suddenly, I wasn’t “a person,” I was “a portal to Europe.” It was like I had unlock...

Waman doesn’t take breaks. He takes his work everywhere. To cafes, weddings, family get-togethers… even to the hospital. He doesn’t believe in “resting.” He believes in “working in a different location.” When Waman was briefly admitted to the hospital for a minor procedure, we all assumed he’d finally be resting. He sent a message to the group: “Please don’t visit. I just want to take this time to rest and recover.” Sweet, right? Except… He had requested a special room because it had a bigger table. “For food?” someone asked. “For my laptop,” he replied. He literally used a hospital side table as a desk. While others sent him “get well soon” messages, Waman was on conference calls from his bed, saying: “Ignore the beeping, that’s just the IV.” The Weekend That Wasn’t One Sunday, I asked if he was free to catch up. Waman: “Yes! I’m on a break. Just catching up on emails, prepping two decks, reviewing a proposal, and ideating for next week’s launch....

Varsha doesn’t believe in rest and heal. She believes in “intensive nutritional restoration and cellular-level immunity rebuilding.” No.. She’s not a doctor. No.. She’s not a nutritionist. But she once attended a free online webinar, follows wellness influencers, and says things like, “Your gut is the CEO of your body.” She doesn’t just give advice. She gives dosages. And honestly, she pitches it all with the confidence of someone trying to hit her supplement sales target by sunset. Here’s an incident.. I had just recovered from dengue. Still moving slow, still living on soup, still figuring out how to feel normal again. Varsha came over to “check in.” She took one look at me and gasped like she’d seen a ghost. Varsha: “Oh my god, you look SO pale. Like… chalk.” Me: “I just survived dengue. Not a zombie apocalypse.” She pulled out a rattling pouch of tablets and capsules like she was about to host a pop-up pharmacy. Varsha: “You need vitamin C, zinc, ir...

While the rest of us spiral, stress, overthink, and obsess… Utkarsh just… exists. Calm. Quiet. Unmoved by chaos. Like a human version of “airplane mode.” The Day the Group Chat Was on Fire (and He Sent a Sunset Pic) We were in the middle of a full-blown friend group meltdown. Plans clashed, feelings were bruised, three people were typing aggressively at the same time. And then… Utkarsh casually dropped in a photo of a sunset. Utkarsh: “Look at this sky. Nature’s so healing. Hope everyone’s staying hydrated in this heat.” Amit (clearly not vibing): “Bro. People are fighting and you’re posting clouds?” Utkarsh: “Clouds are temporary. Just like this fight.” If you listen closely, you can still hear Amit rolling his eyes. But that’s Utkarsh. He’s the kind of person who: - Meditates - Drinks herbal tea because it “feels grounding” - Has never rage-texted in his life - Genuinely believes, “If it’s meant to be, it’ll flow.” When you vent to him, he lis...