Seeking validation runs deeper than finding truths

The secret trick is Calisthenics

May 30, 2026

I was pulled up from the ground mid-walk until I touched the farthest cloud. Left suspended in the sky, I was dropped down at lightspeed like gravity hadn’t just defied itself a moment ago.

My fist-sized heart could only bear so much anxiety, so it began sinking in my belly, and crawling up my neck till I saw stars above on a fine morning, while my back reached for the ground below.

Until my heart thumped a little strangely, and my eyes fluttered open. Twisting my body mid-air, I planted my palm on the ground and landed on the side of my arm - the only safe way I knew how.

Sounds bizarre? A gravity-bending, calisthenics-powered, anxiety-pumping surreal dream?

Because it was exactly that.

This is what I woke up to after restlessly sleeping off an extremely tense day at work. A day of consequence. A day of escalations. A day filled with apologies and supportive half-hearted sympathy.

I learnt a couple of truths in a matter of a few hours -

A supportive leadership/guardian in the middle of a crisis is a blessing
Apologising is never enough for the affected person’s pride
Complacency is a slow poison
Becoming a disappointment scares me more than being fired

This may contain: a painting of a woman sitting on a bench in front of an orange tree with lots of leaves — by Rosanna Tasker

Growing up, I was never a troublesome kid, but also never as well-behaved as my brother.

It never bothered me much, except when I needed reasons to be mad as a teen. I have been loved and pampered like the privileged few on earth. My dad would come home tired and carry me on his shoulders to my room every night. My mom would caress my head in sleep. My brother would stay up late to write calligraphy on my project covers to earn me some bragging points. My dada would race down the streets on his Activa to catch the nearest school bus when I would run late.

It does not take a lot to count your blessings, but it does come with a lot of resistance to break down your self-conditioning. It’s the unspoken verbiage, built up over years, that blurs the source of love and clears the path to trained truths. Truths that sprouted out of these blessings. Truths that we believed in and kept only to ourselves. Truths that we were too ashamed to admit.

Maybe it was when my mom told the world that I won a gold medal in a 700m track race, but never about the “D” I scored in Math. Maybe it was when my dad said he would frame my Olympiad’s participation certificate because that’s enough merit, but then I saw him struggling to list my achievements, and instead said, “She bakes well, and makes amazing pizza at home!”

Maybe it was when I was only known in the family as a “pretty face,” unlike my brother’s academic merits, handwriting, composure, and sanskar.

I never bore any resentment towards my brother or my parents. Instead, I had learnt to internalise that I lacked in a hundred ways, but I was still fine. People still saw me and approved of me. People still found me in good light as long as I didn’t make a mistake. As long as I didn’t dishonour those who chose to bother with me, even with all the emptiness I carried.

I only needed to live by one rule —

Never disappoint those who chose you.

Validation is a tricky deal, generally born out of the unhealed mess we have been creating within ourselves for years. The mess within could look different for everyone, but the strange emulsified gunk it produces is pretty much of the same shade for all — the shade of inherent shame.

We swallow down words we truly feel. We deliberately add inflections so as not to come off edgy. We create art, write, cook, bake, upcycle, read, dress up, and do so much more, but we trust ourselves with them wholly only when others appreciate them even slightly.

Our essence is made of all that we create, our beliefs, our philosophies, our principles, our words, and all that we are when nobody is watching. It is absolutely lovely, so why do we build up walls to hide it? Why do we allow a peek and shut down too soon? Why do we alter it to be something almost unrecognisable? Are we preserving our essence by hiding or disguising it, or are we refusing to admit it as a part of our innateness?

Our identity evolves with each experience, and what’s left unresolved catches up with each identity shift.

When you live all your life consciously trying to live up to your self-avowed disaster of a rule, you start to get tired. The exhaustion feels long overdue. In fact, it comes as part of the monkey package you created when you decided never to disappoint anyone.

In my case, things began to change when a golden retriever and a black cat decided to befriend me. I had felt loved before. I had been cared for in every beautiful way a friend or a family could. But this time, I was with people who knew the delicate balance of caring deeply yet staying unbothered.

They skinned the many layers I have had on and remained unbothered with every film that fell off. With every change, I still looked the same. Not because they didn’t care, but because they didn’t find it different. They didn’t find me anymore special or any less unique. They liked me the same.

I wore their heart on my sleeve, as I decided to own and bear the essence. I realised my brother, my parents, and my dada have shared the same kind of love with me — one that sees you evolve and loves you the same.

While I channelled this and spent years embodying it, things started to shift when I spent a few months at my new job. My workplace wasn’t as toxic as the many stories I had heard, but it also became a place I didn’t look forward to going.

Why? Because I had become complacent.

Complacency doesn’t care to knock. It creeps in uninvited, and you realise it only when something massively goes wrong.

This week, I made a mistake. Huge. The anxiety it floods you with is unbearable. It’s too much to feel alone. I had been home for a while when this happened, and as I tried to figure out what had gone wrong, I realised I had too many thoughts that needed my undivided attention.

It started with questioning my home. “Did I lack focus because I am home and too comfortable?”

Followed by, “But I had not been taking work seriously for some time now anyway?”

Then a series of self-loathing ensued.

“Why do I even bother calling myself a perfectionist?”
“Have I turned so bad?”
“Is it true that I am one of those who only do well in academics but struggle in the real world?”
“Am I really unemployable?”

This was not all, since my hyperactive brain is also strangely optimistic.

“Maybe it’s time to work on my business idea.”
“Maybe Bhagwaan Ji is helping me leave the job because I couldn’t do it sooner.”
“Maybe it’s now time to make big girl decisions.”

None of this helped ease my anxiety. What actually did was what made me feel disappointed instead.

I realised I was struck with complacency and that it had been there for a while. Like a sticky parasite, it was feeding on my creative energy, my curiosity, and my willingness to shut up and listen.

I was no longer reaching out to my friends from afar. My calls home had been frequently cut short. I had been living in my head more than in reality. I couldn’t remember bits of conversations I had had. My day didn’t look much different, and so did my week. Worst of all, I had been aware, and yet unchanged.

I realised I did better when I had not borne my essence.

The issue was not that I showed up authentic, but rather the inaction of who I claimed to be. My essence was made out of creativity and curiosity. This meant that I would create, listen, learn, and indulge in practices. Instead, what I had become was a forgetful remnant of all that I could have been.

When the golden retriever and black cat decided to care for me regardless of who I was after the skin shed, it also meant that they would love me the same, whether I changed or not. I sought their and my family’s unconditional love as a sense of validation.

If they could love me in any form, they could love me unchanged.

Instead of evolving, I degenerated to a complacent nobody. What an utter disrespect to the essence I proudly owned.

But here’s the thing, I could change or remain unchanged, the parasite could eat me alive, the anxiety could inflate and disrupt my breathing, I could fall from a height, but there’s a truth that needed no conditioning — I would twist my body mid-air, land myself safely on the ground, and get back up every time.