One thing life quietly teaches you, sometimes gently and sometimes painfully, is that not every chapter is meant to last forever.

Some chapters end loudly…. with arguments, tears, and unanswered questions. Others close quietly, almost unnoticed, until one day you realise that a person, a place, or even a version of yourself is no longer part of your story.

And that realisation can feel strange.

We all have ended some chapters in our lives… maybe some friendships, maybe some connections we simply outgrew, or situations where we realised they were mentally draining us more than energising us.

Most of the time, though, the hardest chapters to close are the romantic ones.

Those are the chapters where we spend the longest time deciding whether to stay or leave. However draining it becomes, we often stay a little longer with the hope that maybe things will change tomorrow. Maybe suddenly a miracle will happen and we will be chosen.

But that is rarely the reality.

Sometimes in relationships we see potential. We imagine what things could become. But reality is often very different from what we feel in our hearts.

And in that confusion, we start questioning ourselves.

Was it all in my head? Did I misunderstand things? Did I feel more than what actually existed?

But let me remind you of something important.

Your gut rarely lies. It whispers the truth long before your mind is ready to accept it.

If your inner voice is quietly telling you that it is time to close a chapter, believe it.

Closing a chapter will hurt. It has to. If it did not hurt at all, it would probably mean the connection was never genuine to begin with.

Pain and hurt are not signs of weakness. In many ways, they remind us that we are human, capable of feeling deeply.

What hurts more in the long run, though, is not choosing yourself.

Ignoring your needs, your peace, and your self-respect will slowly drain you far more than the temporary pain of letting go.

Your life is your book which belongs only to you. Some chapters are beautiful, some are difficult, and some simply need to end.

You might feel tempted to re-read a chapter again and again. And yes, you can do that if you wish. But if you do, make sure you truly understand what the chapter was trying to teach you.

Because the purpose of closing a chapter is not just to move on, it is to prepare yourself for a better one.

This blog is for anyone who has lost a friendship, stayed in a situationship, been led on, or believed in something that never fully materialised.

In today’s world, relationships often feel more complicated than they used to be. Sometimes you are left wondering where you stand or whether what you felt was ever truly real.

But at some point, you have to decide how long you are willing to stay in a place where you are not valued, cherished, or adored….where your presence feels more like a formality than a priority.

Leaving may feel lonely at first. It may feel suffocating in the beginning.

But staying somewhere you are not appreciated will slowly drain you in ways you may not even realise right now.

Choosing yourself is not selfish. Choosing yourself is growth.

And sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is close a chapter, turn the page, and allow yourself to bloom into the next one.

Because when you start choosing yourself in a healthy way, you do not just move on.

You begin to bloom.. slowly, quietly, and beautifully…like a flower finally receiving the light it deserves.

And sometimes closing a chapter is not the end of the story.
It is simply the moment you begin writing a better one.

Happy International Women’s Day to my readers.

As we celebrate the empowerment of women, I have realised something: if you are ambitious, a dreamer, an achiever, and someone who wants more from life, you must also learn to be comfortable being disliked. People’s opinions are often just noise….not your reality.

When I was in school, I often saw the idea that being liked by everyone was important. From a young age, we are taught to maintain harmony, to adjust, and to be agreeable. Slowly, that idea becomes part of your identity.

We start believing that being liked by everyone is a sign of success. We begin craving attention and approval. Over time, it becomes ingrained in us to be liked by most people.

But as I grew up, I realised that given my personality, being liked by everyone was never going to be realistic. And honestly, it shouldn’t be the goal either.

There will always be people who misunderstand you, judge you, or feel uncomfortable with your confidence, your boundaries, or your ambition. Sometimes people will question your choices simply because they are different from their own.

And that is okay.

As women, especially ambitious women, we are often expected to soften our edges to make others comfortable. We are told to speak less, demand less, and dream within acceptable limits. But the moment you step outside that box, criticism follows.

And if your mindset is like a diamond…congratulations…you will need stronger filters. Also, not everyone can afford a diamond.

The truth is, growth often comes with discomfort…not just for you, but for the people around you. When you start choosing yourself, protecting your peace, and building a life that aligns with your values, some people may not understand it.

And that is part of the journey.

Being disliked is not always a sign that you are doing something wrong. Sometimes it simply means you are no longer shrinking yourself to fit into spaces that were never meant for you.

Harmony is beautiful. But harmony that costs your peace is expensive.

Learning the art of being disliked is really about learning the art of being authentic. It means standing by your values even when others disagree. It means trusting your path even when it looks different from everyone else’s.

So if someone thinks you are too ambitious, too independent, too opinionated, or too different…take it as a compliment.

Because sometimes being disliked simply means you stopped abandoning yourself to make others comfortable.

How many times have you tried to step into something that could make you grow, make you better, make you feel alive… and then suddenly you spiral?

The what ifs start.
What if it does not work?
What if I am not ready?
What if I fail?

I strongly believe something… whenever you try to move out of your comfort zone, everything feels like it is working against you. And maybe that is the point.

Because if everything felt easy, if everything aligned smoothly, you would never leave where you are. You would stay comfortable. You would never shift into a new motion.

Growth needs friction.

Yes, it will be uncomfortable.
Yes, there will be too many options.
Too many rights and wrongs to analyse.
Maybe even anxiety. Maybe even panic.

But that does not mean you are doing something wrong.
It simply means you are shifting gears.

Things only change when there is force and willpower.

Otherwise, look around. Many people stay in the same place for years. Same mindset. Same routine. Same fears. Not because they cannot move but because they choose not to.

Not everyone will do it. But whoever truly wishes to can.

One thing that has helped me is a simple mantra:

Everything is working for me and for myself.

Some days it makes no sense.
Some days it feels like a lie.
But then two years later, something clicks. And you realise why certain things did not work, why certain doors closed, why certain paths felt painful.

You limit your capacity more than the world does. I say this again it is you who limits your potential.

If you truly wanted to, you could walk on the moon. Maybe not literally. Or maybe one day, who knows. But the moon does not have to be the sky.

For me, the moon is achieving what I once only dreamed about.
The moon is living a life I once imagined quietly in my head. The moon is walking in my own reality.

So go beyond what you think is possible.
Challenge yourself. Shift gears.

Do not let your doubts decide your limits.

Try yourself out. And try not to limit yourself.

Heyyy, how are you all doing?

We are in that time of the year where everywhere you step, you see love in the air. And trust me, there is nothing wrong with that. But something always makes me wonder — is Valentine’s Day and this entire week a business gimmick, or is it really about love?

As most of you might know, I am single. But there was a time I was in a relationship too. I have seen partners who say this is all a waste of money. A rose today costs twice its normal price. And I have also seen partners who romanticise it, who want to celebrate, who want to make something grand out of it.

My logical side tells me that one day or one week cannot make something special. It has to be consistent. It has to be all the time. But another part of me feels these small moments are reminders. They make you pause and realise how important someone is in your life.

Now the world works a little differently.

When I started dating a few years ago, gestures and affection meant something. Making an effort to make your partner feel special was normal. Now there is this entire culture of being chalant and nonchalant. Acting unbothered. Acting like effort is too much.

I am practical, yes. But I still believe making an effort matters. Showing someone you matter. Saying you are chosen. Doing something simply because you know your partner will like it.

I know such love still exists in today’s time. The kind where you are loved and pampered without hesitation. But my question remains the same: is doing something only for this week and not for the entire year a deal breaker? Or doing it all year and ignoring this one week a deal breaker?

Also, what really stops people from doing it?

We say life is busy. Ask me about it. But here is a small exercise for you. Start noting the things you do not like, and you will find a hundred reasons not to do them. Now choose something you genuinely like. You will not need reasons. You will simply do it.

So whether Valentine’s Day is important to you or not, if your partner or loved one can feel good because of it, why not? What is truly stopping you?

Even if it is a business gimmick, are we not already part of so many systems created by business? So why is this the one we question so deeply?

At the end of the day, it depends on you. Whether you choose bare minimum or princess treatment. Whether you choose to be chalant or nonchalant. And trust me, this is not gender specific.

Big wins deserve celebration, yes. But the joy of celebrating something small, just because you can, is a different kind of happiness.

And before anyone misunderstands — after saying all this, do not assume I am not celebrating. Having a partner or not should never restrict you from finding joy.

I celebrate myself. I have been. I will continue to. And that is the standard I hold for myself too.

Disclaimer:
This post is based on my personal experience with PCOS. I am not a medical professional, and this is not intended to replace professional medical advice. Every body is different, and if something here resonates with you, I encourage you to speak to a qualified healthcare provider you trust.

When I first started writing The Unsaid Diaries, I had a reason — to talk about things we usually do not say out loud. The experiences we whisper about, avoid discussing in groups, or are taught to quietly endure.

Today, as I mark an year of writing, I am opening a chapter from my life that has stayed with me for over 10 years — and will stay with me until the day I die.

This chapter began when I was 14, I got my first period.

No one had really prepared me for it. I knew it would happen “one day,” but nothing prepares a child for the sudden sight of blood and the fear that follows. I can still describe that moment in detail — and anyone who menstruates knows this truth: you never forget your first period.

It was already overwhelming as a child. But what came next, years later, was something I was not prepared for at all.

In 2018, when I was 19, I missed my period.

At first, there was a strange sense of relief. No bleeding. No discomfort. No disruption for a few days.
I remember thinking, Wow — no blood for the next four days. But relief did not last long.

When I went to see a GP, instead of investigation or concern, I was repeatedly asked one question:
“Are you pregnant?”

No tests. No scans. Just assumptions.

Imagine being a young woman — barely out of your teens — being told you might be pregnant simply because your body did not behave “normally.” As if missing a period automatically meant sex, secrecy, and dishonesty.

I will always be grateful for my mother in that room. She stood beside me and said firmly, “Before you assume anything, can you please check what is actually wrong?”

That moment mattered.

A few months later, I was diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome) — also known as PCOD.

Back then, it affected one in every five women. I was not ready for what came with that diagnosis.

Words like infertility were introduced casually — as if a 19-year-old should be worried about whether she could get pregnant someday. As if that was the most urgent concern for a young woman who was still figuring out her life, her career, and herself.

I remember thinking, How considerate — worrying about pregnancy when I am 20 and not even thinking about it.

In 2019, if you searched for PCOS online, you would barely find a few pages of research. There was — and still is — no cure. Just different ways which doesn’t 100% sure anything.

And the explanation often felt worse than the condition itself:
that PCOS exists because women did something wrong.

Too stressed. Wrong lifestyle. Poor choices.

Living on this planet for 20 years and suddenly being told your body is malfunctioning because of you — while you are just starting to earn, dream, and build a life — is not easy to digest.

People around me spoke about how dreadful their periods were. I had not had one in 6 months.

And this is where it gets misunderstood — no period does not mean no problem.

PCOS shows up differently for everyone:
irregular or delayed periods, heavy bleeding, mood swings, weight gain, excessive hair growth, hormonal imbalance, mental exhaustion.

You are expected to function normally — work long hours, manage family expectations, keep going — while your body quietly struggles.

The response is often dismissive: “Take these medicines, you will be fine.”

Most of them were birth control pills. Pills that induce periods, regulate hormones, but also prevent pregnancy, I urge to read the side effects of them and you will never suggest them to anyone.

Pregnancy was never my concern. Understanding my body was.

At some point, PCOS started being compared to conditions like cancer or other major diseases— not in outcome, but in uncertainty.

Those research took decades to evolve. Even today, there are multiple types, treatments, and unanswered questions. PCOS sits in a similar space of neglect — under-researched, under-funded, under-explained.

And people often respond with, “But it is not fatal.” As if death is the only measure of seriousness.

Death is inevitable for everyone — diagnosed or not.
What matters is how you live today, with a condition that affects your body, mind, confidence, and future without clear answers.

As a 20-year-old, I was suddenly expected to manage questions I did not have answers to. My mother thought it was temporary. Doctors were unsure. Information was scattered. Fear was constant.

Eventually, after persistent searching, I found a better OB-GYN.
Then books. Then support groups. Then women who were walking the same confusing path.

That was the real beginning of the journey. One thing PCOS does confirm is high testosterone.

So if you live with it — pick up those dumbbells. Strength training helps. Not just physically, but mentally.

It teaches you that your body is not broken.
It is adapting. It is responding. It is asking to be understood, not blamed.

This is just the beginning. The Chapter One.

If you see yourself in any part of this story, know this:
you are not alone, your body is not a mistake, and your experience is valid.

Sometimes, saying the unsaid is where healing begins. More soon. Stay tuned.

No one really prepares you for the day you move out of your parents’ house.
There is no ceremony. No official announcement that says, “You are an adult now.” It happens quietly — through packed suitcases, folded clothes, and one last look at a room that held every version of you.

It has been three years for me now since I moved out of my parents’ house and started living alone.
And in these three years, I have heard many opinions.

Some people my age and older still live with their parents, well into their thirties. And often, the explanation given is culture. “That is how Indian culture is.” “Moving out is a Western concept.”

I have always found myself questioning that.

Is it really?

Because if that were true, how did my grandfather — and so many others from his generation — move from small towns to big cities like Mumbai, dreaming of a better life, better work, and bigger opportunities?
How was that not part of our culture? How was that not courage?

I sometimes feel that culture becomes a shield — not to protect values, but to avoid discomfort.
To avoid confronting the fear of independence, loneliness, or self-responsibility.

Moving out takes guts.

It means choosing a lifestyle where you are responsible for everything — groceries, rent, cleanliness, laundry, bills, repairs, emotions, and silence.
And yet, in society, it is often described as “cutting ties” with parents.

That part confuses me the most.

Because the more I have lived alone, the closer I have felt to my family — just in a different way.

I remember my mother’s cooking more now than I ever did while living at home. I call her to ask for recipes I never bothered to learn earlier. Sometimes those calls turn into one-hour video calls just to make sure the dish turns out right.

I call my father to ask how to fix a pressure cooker or tighten a tap — even though the internet exists. Somehow, asking him feels easier, warmer, more familiar.

I ask my grandmother how she used to drape her sarees because I want to wear them the way she did. I talk to my sibling — maybe not for practical help, but for gossip, comfort, and shared memories.

Living away has not distanced me from my family. It has made me notice them more.

Yes, living alone means handling everything yourself.
Yes, it is exhausting at times.
Yes, staying with parents is financially easier.

But living independently teaches you things that comfort never does.

It unlocks parts of you that you did not know existed. It holds up a mirror — showing you your vulnerable side, your impatient side, your capable side.
And I think many people are afraid of meeting themselves that honestly.

When someone has never handled groceries, never paid a bill, never cleaned a house, never cooked a full meal — not because they cannot, but because someone always did it for them — independence feels threatening.

And no, this is not gender-specific. It should not be. But we all know reality is not always that balanced.

Imagine two people.

Person A lives with their parents, which is perfectly fine, but has no idea how the household functions. No idea what groceries cost, where to buy essentials, how to manage a home independently.

Person B lives fifteen minutes away from their parents. Knows how to manage a house, host people, take responsibility, make decisions, and still shows up for family when needed.

Who is really more independent? Who is really more prepared for life?

Choosing where and how to live is personal. There is no single correct path. Staying with parents is not wrong. Moving out is not rebellion.

But having the option to live on your own, to experience life independently, while still having parents by your side — that feels like balance to me.

Moving out is not about rejecting where you come from.
It is about becoming someone who can stand on their own feet and still bow their head in gratitude.

You do not leave home to escape it. You leave home to understand it better.

And maybe that is the real growth no one talks about.
I would love to know your thoughts.
If you had the choice, would you move out and live alone, or does living with parents feel right for you?

I have fidgeted with this thought for a long time. Whether to play it safe and not write what I actually feel. But when I started writing blogs, playing safe was never the goal.

I am not sure how many people fall into this category, but most of the people I have met are overthinkers in some form. Some do it actively. Some do it quietly. This post is for them.

I am someone who overthinks most of the time. And often, I find myself wondering whether this habit is slowly killing me or silently protecting me.

On some days, it feels like a shield. On other days, it feels like a cage.

Overthinking rarely starts loudly. A thought enters uninvited, but familiar.
What if this goes wrong? What if I missed something? What if I should have done more?
And before you realise it, your mind has already run simulations for situations that have not even happened yet.

Part of me believes this is survival.
If I think enough, analyse enough, and prepare enough, maybe I will not be caught off guard. Maybe I will be ready for the worst. Maybe unpredictability will not hurt as much.

And honestly, sometimes it works.

Overthinking has helped me anticipate problems, avoid mistakes, read between the lines, and notice things others miss. It has made me cautious in a world that is not always kind. It has helped me plan, prepare, and protect myself from chaos.

But there is another side to it. And that side is exhausting.

It is the side where overthinking steals the present moment. Where happiness feels heavy because the mind is busy worrying. Where decisions feel overwhelming because every option carries ten imagined consequences. Where rest does not feel like rest, because the mind refuses to switch off.

In trying to protect myself from future pain, I end up creating present anxiety.

That is the irony no one talks about.

Overthinking promises safety, but often delivers exhaustion. It convinces you that if you stop thinking, something bad will happen. As if peace itself is irresponsible. As if letting go means being careless.

But life is unpredictable whether I overthink or not.

Things still go wrong. Plans still fall apart. People still change. And no amount of mental rehearsal truly prepares you for how something will feel when it actually happens.

Overthinking blurs the line between awareness and fear.

Awareness helps you respond. Fear keeps you stuck.

And I am learning that not every thought deserves attention. Some are just echoes of old experiences, old fears, and old lessons that no longer apply.

Some are habits formed in survival mode, not truths meant to guide the present.

Maybe overthinking is not the villain. But it is not the hero either.

Maybe it is a coping mechanism that once kept me safe, but now needs boundaries. A tool, not a lifestyle. Something to acknowledge, but not obey blindly.

Because protecting yourself does not mean bracing for impact every single day. And living does not require predicting every possible outcome.

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let life surprise you, even if it scares you a little.

And maybe overthinking does not kill you or save you.

Maybe learning when to stop is what keeps you alive

First of all — Happy New Year. Happy 2026 ✨
The year has just begun, and like most people, I’m stepping into it with a lot of thoughts and no loud resolutions.

Dublin has been colder than usual, but the year started with a rare four hours of sunshine — which honestly felt like a gift, considering the country’s track record with weather. I’ll take it.

Some people start the year with detailed resolutions, vision boards, and big plans. Some don’t. And some pretend they do, while internally rolling their eyes at the whole thing. Wherever you fall on that spectrum — it’s all fine.

Personally, I like having an aim rather than a strict plan. Something to come back to when the year feels long or overwhelming.

So if you haven’t thought of anything yet, here are three simple habits I’m easing into this year. Feel free to steal them.

1. Budget Your Finances (Gently)

No spreadsheets. No accountant energy.

Just look at what went in and what went out last year. That’s it.
Not to judge yourself — but to understand yourself.

Knowing where your money goes, how much you save, and what you spend without guilt is a form of self-respect. It gives you clarity and freedom, not restriction.

You don’t need to plan the entire year. Start with one month. Track. Adjust. Repeat.

Small clarity is better than none.

2. Prioritise Your Health (Without Perfection)

Health isn’t just “I can walk fine, so I’m good.”
Trust me — that logic collapses quickly when you’re climbing stairs in Edinburgh and running out of breath halfway through.

Every January, people join gyms with great motivation. The real question is:
How do you show up on the days motivation disappears?

You don’t have to change everything at once. Pick one thing:

• walking 5,000 steps a day and slowly increasing it
• drinking enough water (yes, the toilet trips are annoying)
• getting your blood work done when your GP suggests
• saying no when you’re tired — even if it’s uncomfortable

Consistency matters more than intensity.

3. Do More of What Makes You Feel Alive

Everyone has their own version of this.

That one thing that lights you up — even slightly. For me, it’s planning travel. Choosing a destination. Having something to look forward to while navigating adult life and routines.

It doesn’t have to be exotic or expensive.
Even the intention to move, explore, or experience something new changes your mindset.

Movement – physical or mental – changes the mind.

A Gentle Start

I don’t think you need five resolutions or a bucket list of 25 things to start a year well.
You just need something that makes you feel good when you look back at the year in December.

This feels like a good place to start.

And if you have more ideas, feel free to add them in the comments — I’d love to know what you’re easing into this year.

If you are still figuring things out, welcome. You are exactly where you need to be.

Here’s to a softer, steadier 2026.
One habit at a time.

Merry Christmas, everyone. I hope you had a lovely Christmas Eve and are looking forward to celebrating Christmas.

I have a few drafts sitting unfinished. I kept wondering whether I should post them now, but I think I will save them for next year. Before moving ahead, though, I found myself pausing and looking back at how this year actually went.

There were many changes — I like to say I am growing up. With that came a lot of new thoughts. One thing I realised while reflecting is that I barely recognise the person I was at the start of the year. And if you feel the same — that before the year ends, you have grown — I think it’s okay to own that. I don’t see anything wrong in it.

At the beginning of the year, you might have had a list of things you wanted to achieve. Some worked out. Some didn’t. And some never even got started. I’ve started believing that the things that didn’t work out might make sense a year or two from now. Sometimes the universe doesn’t explain itself immediately.

Now comes the question everyone asks — what’s your New Year’s Eve plan?

Some people have fancy plans, and that’s great. But if you don’t, here’s a simple one. I’m following this myself.

The last days of the year:

• Day 1: Take care of yourself — skincare, rest, slowing down.
• Day 2: Watch the movies you saved for “later.” Maybe two of them.
• Day 3: Check in on your friends. A reel, a message, something small. We like our shells, but does our dopamine always agree?
• Day 4: New Year’s Eve — have your favourite food. For me, it’s hot chocolate with instant noodles and quietly saying, here we are.

And if New Year’s Eve feels overhyped, you’re not alone. A date changes, a year changes, and everything else stays the same.

But maybe try one small thing this time — a vision board. Pick four things you like, make a small collage, and save it on your phone. Will it work? No clue. But what is there to lose?

If you are wondering where last week’s blog went — December in Europe has been distracting in the best way. Christmas markets everywhere, something new to see each weekend. I have been stepping out, roaming around, and making small memories. I am in Edinburgh, sipping my coffee while writing the last bit for this year, and let me tell you — it feels amazing. With one weekend still left, I plan to enjoy it while quietly thinking about what I want next year to feel like.

If you are wondering where last week’s blog went — December in Europe has been distracting in the best way. Christmas markets everywhere, something new to see each weekend. I have been stepping out, roaming around, and making small memories. I am in Edinburgh, sipping my coffee while writing the last bit for this year, and let me tell you — it feels amazing. With few days still left, I plan to enjoy it while quietly thinking about what I want next year to feel like.

For now, I am signing off for the year, hoping for good weather before flying back to Dublin. Putting these thoughts down, stepping away from drafts, and letting myself enjoy what I’ve achieved — even if most of it lives in my notes app for now.

I will be back next year with new thoughts. If you’d like, drop your reflections for this year or tell me what you want to read next.

Wishing you a Happy New Year and a wonderful year ahead.

Well, well, well… look at us. Standing just three weeks away from the New Year.

If you have New Year’s Eve plans — I am excited for you.
Sincerely. Go enjoy your glitter, champagne, and overpriced entry fees.

If you don’t — relax.
A couch + blanket + Netflix + snacks is honestly the most elite plan ever invented.
Zero drama, drunk episodes and crowded areas. Bliss.

Now… about these sales.

Everywhere I look it’s:
“UP TO 70% OFF!”
“LIMITED TIME ONLY!”
And honestly? I am crying. Not buying.

Tell me you feel this too.

Back in India, we had sales too. Sure.
But I was never that girl hopping from one store to another like it was a treasure hunt.
I had my comfort-zone stores. I entered, bought what I needed, exited like a ninja.

Maybe it was cultural conditioning.
Maybe it was the men around me who acted allergic to shopping.
Maybe it was me being financially aware and emotionally exhausted.

It was more like —
“Luxury brands will take half your soul, your dignity, and maybe your left kidney. Stay away.”

And honestly, showing off? Never my personality.
If I ever flexed anything growing up, it was probably my calligraphy skills… yeah it was a skill at that time!

But Ireland… oh Ireland has changed something in me.

Not the showing-off part — don’t worry, I am still humble. (Sometimes I do show up but come on a designer bag, your fav shoes and Oh that diamond shine why won’t you like it?)
But the accessibility? The variety?
The sheer “Oh wait… this is actually in my budget???” feeling?

Wild.

Suddenly the girl inside me is like:
“Beauty products? Yes. Shoes? Absolutely. Jewellery? Don’t even ask. Clothes? Add to cart.” She’s alive. She’s excited. She’s dangerous.

(PS: Diamonds are women’s best friends. There is no debate. If anyone wants to argue, I am happy to hear their TED Talk.)

So now when I walk into Brown Thomas or Arnotts, I am suddenly in the middle of a luxury universe:

Jimmy Choo, Michael Kors, Marc Jacobs, Guess, Coach, YSL, NARS, Charlotte Tilbury and Benefit

And I am standing there like a confused person thinking:
“Who among you is actually worth my money, and who is just pretty packaging with commitment issues?”

I have read all the blogs.
All the “Top 10 things to buy on sale.”
All the “What’s worth it and what’s not.”
And yet… confusion.

Like sneakers.
I want a new pair.
But Nike? Adidas? Jordan? Puma?

And if Nike — WHICH Nike?
Air Max?
Air Force?
Dunk?
Some limited-edition mystery pair that vanished before I even saw it?

Available in JD? Schuh? Footlocker?
Or some secret sneaker dungeon I don’t know exists?

Why do I need a PhD to buy ONE pair of shoes?

And look, this isn’t just a girl problem.
Boys pretend to be simple. “Just buy any.”
But they’re the same people watching 127 YouTube reviews from guys explaining shoes like its rocket science.

More options = more confusion. End of story.

People say, “Ask the specialists!”
But specialists always give the same answer:
“Go with what you like.”

Okay… that is the WHOLE problem.
If I knew what I liked, I would not be here standing in aisle 7 having an identity crisis.

Thank God for friends and instincts — the only reason I ever end up buying anything.

Especially perfumes.
Choosing between Valentino, Zara, M&S, Victoria’s Secret…
It genuinely felt like judging toppers in a class where everyone got 95%.
All brilliant. All different.
And the problem is not the price — it’s choosing just ONE.

Eventually, I just went with the philosophy:
Buy what feels right.
If it stops feeling right later — congratulations, you now have an excuse to buy another.

Trial and error, baby.

Honestly, I have become a huge fan of asking random women around me:
“Hey, that looks amazing on you — where did you get it?”
Women helping women.
And copying their choices saves me so. much. stress.

Let me know what you think.
And if you have any magical shopping wisdom — drop it in the comments.
One girl’s trauma is another girl’s survival guide.

PS: Not promoting any brands — these are just the ones my confused soul recognises. Please don’t quote me.