Creating While Carrying the Weight


 

There’s a quiet truth most never speak of— That behind the beauty of what gets created, Lies the weight of what’s been endured.

Every event planned, every blog written, every post crafted with care— carries with it a silent companion: the invisible burden of the creator.

When you’re an entrepreneur, a dreamer, a doer, there’s no clock-out time from your emotions. The deadlines are not just professional, they’re personal. The pressure isn’t just financial—it’s existential.

You may have posted a celebration, while mourning your own silence. You may have stitched joy into someone’s special day, while holding together your own unraveling seams.

This is the unseen story of those who build from emptiness, who wake up with uncertainty, but still show up with intention. Those who answer emails while their mind worries about unpaid bills, who prepare proposals with hands that have known rejection.

And yet, you create. You share. You give.

Not because it’s easy, but because there’s something inside you that won’t stop believing in beauty, in hope, in light.

Even when that light remains out of reach— hidden behind clouds of fear, veiled by silence— you keep walking toward it. Not always knowing if it will shine, but believing that if you don’t stop, perhaps you become the light for someone else.

This is for you—the quiet warriors, the silent sculptors of joy, the ones who carry the world and still find time to make someone smile.

Keep going. Not because the world always notices, but because your soul remembers.

And that memory, that intention—that is enough to move mountains, light candles, and carry the weight.

Written under the stars of struggle, for those who still dream in the dark.

-ssp

<script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js?client=ca-pub-4048923768661954"

     crossorigin="anonymous"></script>

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Return That Was Never Meant to Be—Yet Always Will Be

Image
  A few evenings ago, under a quiet Dubai sky—glowing not with stars but with the haze of distant city lights—I sat with a school friend. We watched an Air India flight pass silently overhead. A moment later, I asked him: “It's been 25 years since we came here chasing dreams. Why is it we still talk about going back? Not to settle scores with life, but to return home?” At first, he laughed, thinking I was joking. But soon, the silence returned. He knew what I meant. We didn’t just leave a country. We left behind a childhood. Mango-laden summers. Cricket on empty fields. Rain that smelled like wet earth and innocence. We left behind our roots. “I’ve built a life,” he said. “Good career. My kids are doing well. But going back? It’s chaos. No civic sense. The roads are still bad. Politics are worse. All they want is our money.” I looked at him and quietly asked: “And what have we done to change it?” He didn’t have an answer. Most of us don’t. The Dream That Lives in Every N...
Read more

“When We Were Still Free”

Image
  “Ahmed… Fathima…” The stretched voice of a mother drifted in from somewhere behind me, cutting gently through the sound of waves and my silent thoughts. I looked up from where I sat on the beach, toes buried in warm sand, heart somewhere else entirely. In front of me, four children were playing—a delightful chaos of laughter, sand fights, and tiny feet racing the waves. Two of the kids—both dusky, bright-eyed—looked up and ran toward the voice without resistance. A few seconds passed before another voice, softer but certain, called out: “Sai…” And the third child, who had been digging deep into the shore with his tiny hands, paused, stood up, and ran back to his family. Now, only one child remained—a small, fair-skinned boy with messy blonde curls, likely Russian. He was still giggling to himself, stacking sand like it was treasure, unfazed by the absence of the others. And as I watched them, something inside me paused—really paused. These children didn’t know each other’s...
Read more

When the Gods Go Silent: The Walk of a Man Through Dark Times

Image
  The Silence That Speaks There are moments in life when everything feels shrouded in silence. We search for guidance, but often, it feels as though the heavens have closed their doors. The gods seem distant, and in their silence, we may feel abandoned. Yet is it possible that this very silence is the greatest form of support we can receive? Could it be in the stillness that we are truly being led toward transformation, toward a deeper understanding of ourselves? When silence falls upon us, it is not a void but a sacred space—one where we are invited to shed our ego, our desires, and the attachments that bind us. In the quiet, we can hear what words alone cannot convey. In the absence of sound, the divine speaks. The Path Through Darkness: A Call to Detach In the darkest of times, it often seems that we are walking alone. The path is unclear, and yet, it is precisely in these moments of silence that we are called to trust the process.  "In the darkest times, I show you ...
Read more