A Letter to Myself
An Ode to a Strong Woman I Know
Date: 14th April 2025
It’s been three years today—14th April 2022, the day I got married.
Time moves strangely. Some days feel like forever; some, like yesterday.
At this exact time—12:00 PM—I was taking the wedding vows, the Saptapadi. Promises made to each other, to protect and cherish one another. But none of those promises were kept—at least not from the other side.
I remember that moment vividly. I wasn’t present, not truly. I was waiting for the rituals to get over, longing to slip out of that stiff saree and tight blouse. My back throbbed with the pain of herpes zoster—triggered by the immense stress before the wedding. My makeup had started to melt, my hairdo unraveling. I didn’t feel like a bride. I looked—and felt—more like a woman possessed than one blessed.
The relatives, my mother, his people, mine—all droning on in ritualistic rhythm. I was numb.
I was scared.
I wanted to cry. I did cry—in front of my friend, ATP. I waited for happiness to show up, thinking, it’ll come, it has to come—brides are supposed to be happy. Aren’t their tears supposed to be tears of joy?
But mine weren’t. Mine were born of fear. Because deep down, I knew I was stepping into yet another place of loneliness—like my childhood home. A place of disconnection, neglect, and emotional starvation. This time with new faces, but the same underlying pain. My gut knew. It had always known.
Six years of a relationship that gaslit me, abandoned me, diminished me—and I still went ahead. Not out of choice, but because I didn’t know how to say no.
I betrayed myself, yes. But not willingly. I didn’t know better.
All my life, I had been taught to stay quiet, to shrink, to be agreeable. Speaking my truth was disrespect. Disagreeing was rebellion. Being angry meant being bad. I was criticized for how I walked, how I looked, how I scored, how I existed. No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough.
So, when a partner treated me the same way, it didn’t alarm me. It felt familiar. I thought that’s how love was. I didn’t even know I had a gut feeling, let alone that I could trust it.
And so, I entered marriage in fear and confusion—and soon after, trauma.
We were divorced 15 months later. Emotionally though, I left four months in. Those months were a storm. But something—Someone—held me up.
My Krishna.
He walked with me in the darkness and still does. The shadows haven’t completely lifted, but His presence remains constant.
My ex-husband has moved on, remarried. As for me—I’ve risen. With grace, with pain, with faith. I’ve grown in awareness. I’m not done healing, but I am finally on the path.
This letter is an ode to the little girl inside—who once thought she wasn’t enough. Who was never seen, never celebrated. But who now knows better. She knows what gut feeling is. She knows who walks beside her. She knows she is worthy of unconditional love and joy.
And this is also an ode to the woman she has become—who kept moving even when it hurt, even when no one clapped for her, even when she had no idea what lay ahead. Who chose not to give up on herself.
With Krishna—my Madhav—by my side, I now promise myself:
To choose myself.
To love myself.
To trust myself.
To walk with integrity, toward Him and toward the life I deserve.
I will only welcome what aligns with that path—what is gentle, truthful, unconditional.
And I promise to never betray myself again.
“And one day, she discovered that she was fierce, and strong, and full of fire, and that not even she could hold herself back, because her passion burned brighter than her fears.” — Mark Anthony
With Love,
Me.
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