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Invented Time

Time does not slip away — it waits. Motionless, silent, watching. You say you have no time, yet time is always there, staring back at you. What you lack is not time, but intent — the courage to claim it, to shape it, to own it before it owns you. Ah, this tired habit of blaming the clock. As though time were something outside of you, pressing in, closing doors, slipping through your fingers. But time does not run, nor does it flee. It is you who rush past. You who look away. You who declare it lost when it was never anywhere but here. And time? Time watches. It sees you filling the hours with what must be done, what should be done, what you were told must be done. And you say you cannot, that it is impossible, that you are too busy. But busy with what, exactly? With the things you choose — knowingly or not — over the things you claim to long for. Yet before the ticking, before the measuring, before the universe itself, there was no time. No hours, no days, no waiting. Only ...
Recent posts

The Unspoken Presence

It took me a while to realise that I should never nod at a patient in the midst of an outburst. The gesture, so instinctive in everyday conversation, carries an unexpected weight in a clinical setting. A simple nod can be interpreted as agreement, encouragement, or even collusion, when in truth, it may be nothing more than a reflex of attentiveness. In moments of heightened emotion, every movement is observed — the faintest lift of an eyebrow, a barely perceptible shift in posture, a pause held a fraction too long. Non-verbal communication speaks its own language, often more powerfully than words. A misplaced gesture can deepen distress, an ill-timed silence may be mistaken for judgement, an unconscious frown might introduce doubt where none previously existed. Even fatigue conspires against us. A yawn — however innocent or inevitable — may be misread as impatience or indifference, fracturing the fragile bridge of trust in an instant. And then there is touch, that fleeting ...

Gratitude, Forgiveness, Intimacy

Many patients confide that their sex life has deteriorated and that they feel abandoned within their marriage. Emotional disconnection often gives rise to frustration, resentment, and a gradual erosion of intimacy, creating a cycle that can be difficult to break. While physical desire is influenced by numerous factors, emotional closeness remains fundamental to sustaining both relational and sexual fulfilment. A study published in the Journal of Sex & Marital Therapy has revealed that gratitude and forgiveness can help mitigate the negative effects of loneliness on marital and sexual satisfaction. The research found that couples who actively cultivate these emotions tend to maintain a deeper emotional connection and a more fulfilling sex life, suggesting that appreciation and acceptance reinforce both emotional bonds and physical intimacy. Loneliness within marriage may seem paradoxical, yet it is a common reality. When emotional distance sets in, sexual desire and harm...

The Quiet Divergence

While my professors extolled the virtues of Foucault, I was absorbed in Lacan. While they dissected Freud’s psyche, I drifted through Jung’s vast, symbolic landscapes. And as they championed revolutionary governments, I quietly envisioned a world shaped not by the fervour of ideological battles but by the delicate equilibrium of sociocracy — where decisions emerged not from dominance, but from the resonance of collective wisdom. It wasn’t rebellion. Not the loud, performative kind. I wasn’t the student who slammed books shut in protest or baited professors into futile debates. No, my resistance was quieter, woven into the pauses between lectures, in the knowing glance exchanged with an unspoken kindred spirit, in the silent refusal to let convention dictate curiosity. I didn’t seek to discredit Foucault, nor did I wish to discard Freud entirely (after all, who else could have spun an entire school of thought from the delicate thread of unresolved childhood?). I simply felt ...

The Silent Awakening

Pain arrives without ceremony. It does not send letters, nor does it announce itself. It simply happens. One moment, life is as it was; the next, pain is there, seated in the room, occupying space we never granted it. First, the shock. Then, a silence heavy with echoes. And finally, the inevitable question: what now? They say something can emerge from this — a transformation, a quiet and imperceptible growth. Calhoun and Tedeschi (2006) call it post-traumatic growth. A fine name, full of science. But the truth is, it is not a matter of choice. Growth does not come because we wish it to; it comes because, unnoticed, something begins to shift. One day, in the midst of an ordinary routine, the taste of coffee feels fuller, the wind brushes against the skin in a way it never did before. The pain is still there, but it has taken a different shape. Perhaps this is what they call wisdom. Some emerge from the fire with a newfound reverence for life — a quiet astonishment at having ...

The Fallacy of Intuition

Some time ago, I wrote about intuition, and since then, several people have reached out to say they consider themselves highly intuitive — attuned to subtle details and able to anticipate events. Yet, through deeper conversations, I came to realise that, in many cases, this was not intuition but hypervigilance — a symptom of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD). This ever-present sense of risk is not a gift but an unconscious defence mechanism, developed over time to navigate unstable environments. When a person grows up or lives under sustained stress, fear, or unpredictable relationships, the brain adapts by scanning relentlessly for danger. The slightest shift in tone, a fleeting gesture, or an unexpected silence can be read as an omen, as though something is always on the verge of going wrong. But this is not foresight — it is the past intruding on the present, old threats projected onto new situations. The trouble is, this state of perpetual vigilance does no...

Burden of Restlessness

The patient entered, draped in their finest attire, as though fabric alone could mend the fractures time had inscribed upon the body. There was something deliberate in the way they carried themselves, an unspoken belief that dignity could be preserved through careful presentation. The pressed linen, the impeccable cut of the fabric, the way the collar sat just so — none of it was accidental. Their makeup — poised, restrained — was not vanity but a quiet act of defiance against the slow erosion of time. And when they spoke, their voice carried the measured cadence of a life spent selecting words with care. It was polished, deliberate, softened by the patience that only years can bestow. Yet beneath this cultivated poise, the body bore the weight of too many summers. It had known heat and fatigue, had stretched itself across decades, and had grown accustomed to carrying burdens both visible and unseen. A body that understood, without resistance, the quiet art of endurance. Th...