Simply Positive Thoughts

Let’s get one thing out of the way first: yes, overwork is exhausting. Yes, it makes your brain feel like mashed potatoes left out in the sun. And yes, it turns your once energetic “ Let’s DO this !” into a barely audible “ Lemme just nap under this desk real quick .” But you know what? Overwork, for all its teeth-gritting drama, comes with a weird badge of honor. Society claps for it. Your inbox respects it. Even your smartwatch is like, “ You’re crushing it, queen .” But the lows? Oh no. No standing ovation there. Just tumbleweeds, existential dread, and three-day-old hair buns. Let’s talk about those lows—the moments when you’ve finished sprinting the productivity marathon and you’re just... floating. Rather sinking. Or standing in the shower staring at the wall for 27 minutes wondering if you’ve ever actually been good at anything or whether your plant is silently judging you. Overwork is a speed bump. The lows are potholes filled with emotional quicksand. Overworking is kind of li...

We often picture healing as this serene, candle-lit process — you know, with ambient playlists, herbal tea, and maybe a tear-streaked journal entry or two. But sometimes, healing looks a lot more like... belly laughter, sharp one-liners, and conversations that veer wildly from college time shenanigans to absurdity — with zero warning and maximum impact. It’s funny how the universe sends people who speak exactly the dialect your soul understands — fluent in wit, healthy sarcasm, and an almost mystical ability to make you feel seen , even when the topic of discussion is your questionable taste in fictional characters (" You like Phoebe ?!"). The truth is, we talk a lot about trauma and healing, but rarely about how much of it actually begins in safe, joyful spaces. Spaces where you're not being fixed or analyzed — just heard. Where the heavy things are gently acknowledged, then cleverly disarmed with humor and heart. Where “How was your day?” can unexpectedly turn into an e...

  There comes a moment in every adult-ish person's life where you're sitting in bed, wearing your ancient college t-shirt that somehow survived 12 monsoons and 56 laundry cycles, staring blankly at a text from a friend asking, “Wanna hang out?” And you reply with a swift, confident: “Nope. I have plans with my weighted blanket and crippling existential dread.” And that, dear reader, is the moment you ask yourself: "Wait... did I just give up? Or did I grow up?" Let’s rewind. Once upon a time, in the era of no back pain and questionable fashion choices (low-rise capri, I’m looking at you), we said YES to everything. • Road trip while the college attendance is below 30%? Sure. • Maggi made in an iron box in the hostel? Obviously. • Dating someone whose idea of communication is reacting to your Instagram story with fire emojis? Unfortunately, yes. But somewhere between then and now, we started craving things like sleep, peace, and crockery that matches. Did w...