This Friday, I sat with individuals with great minds, people who have been in service for over two decades. As I listened to them, one thing became very clear to me: despite the hardships they went through, they all found themselves.
Each individual carried a story. Not just experiences, but moments that shaped the way they think, feel, and respond to life. These stories taught me more about life than about any single person. They showed how our belief systems are not fixed; they are built, challenged, and rewritten through experience. When life tests us, the mind either adapts or resists. Some people get stuck in old patterns, while most learn to outgrow them.
From a psychological perspective, this is how the mind protects us. When we face prolonged hardship, the brain learns survival. It builds beliefs that once kept us safe, but over time, those same beliefs can limit growth. Outgrowing them requires awareness. It requires noticing when a belief no longer serves who we are becoming.
As I reflected, I realised something about myself. I have always been someone who gives everything when I commit. When I am into something, I give all. But in that process, I sometimes forget that I am human too.
The mind can push the body far beyond healthy limits. When we are driven by purpose, responsibility, or service, the brain stays in a constant “doing” mode. Over time, the body starts sending signals—fatigue, heaviness, tension, and emotional exhaustion. These are not weaknesses. They are messages. The body speaks when the mind refuses to listen.
Sitting with these individuals helped me understand this deeply: putting yourself in the important category is not selfish—it is regulation. When we ignore ourselves for too long, the nervous system stays in survival mode. We function, but we are not fully present. We serve, but we are depleted.
Serving does not mean losing yourself. Serving also means knowing when to pause, when to breathe, and when to check in with your inner world. When the mind feels safe and the body feels supported, our capacity to serve actually expands.
True service comes from wholeness, not exhaustion. When we take care of our thoughts, challenge outdated beliefs, and listen to the body, we show up with clarity, compassion, and consistency. Sometimes, growth does not come from pushing harder. It comes from understanding how the mind learns and how the body responds, and from allowing ourselves to evolve—without abandoning ourselves in the process.
That sitting reminded me of one simple truth: you cannot pour from an empty system. And caring for yourself is not separate from service; it is part of it.
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