FALLING APART, RISING WITHIN

 

Absence in Presence

Sometimes, the hardest hurt doesn’t come from strangers. It comes from the people you trust the most — the ones you call home. The ones you think will always be your anchor. But when they drift away emotionally, even while physically present, it feels like the ground beneath you disappears. Like the world is moving ahead without you, and you’re stuck trying to catch up.

Since the start of my second year, life has been… chaotic. I threw myself into everything — classes, projects I’m leading, clubs I joined, web dev, android dev, DSA — just to keep my mind busy, just to keep moving. My plate is overflowing, but I know I can handle it, and somehow, by God’s grace, some things are going okay. Still… the loneliness? The emptiness? It’s there, growing quietly, like a shadow that never leaves. Sometimes I don’t want anyone around. I just want to be alone. Independent — emotionally and financially. And in the process of building my career, of trying to become a better version of myself, I keep forgetting myself. I want to disappear for a while, recharge, and come back stronger. But disappearing isn’t an option. And even though I tell myself I’m fine, part of me still aches… craves that warmth, that care, that presence I can’t put into words. That safe space I wish I had, but don’t. Maybe that’s why I keep pushing. Maybe that’s why I keep going. Even when it hurts. Even when it feels like I’m running in circles, like life is moving forward and I’m just trying to catch up, like I’m juggling a hundred things and something always slips, like I’m carrying the weight of expectations and dreams and responsibilities that sometimes feel too heavy. And yet, I keep breathing. I keep trying, trying to be strong and sane.

And then, Vanshika Sangtani’s words came to me:

“Har chhupaa hua dard awaaz se zyada bolta hai, kabhi kabhi log paas hote hue bhi door hote hain” 

(“Sometimes hidden pain speaks louder than words; sometimes people are close but emotionally distant”)

That quietness at home, that feeling of being unseen, of being there but still alone… that was real abandonment. Not loud, not dramatic — just absence in presence.

And in the middle of all this chaos, when I needed my own people the most — my family, my home — I felt a quiet distance. Not fights. Not arguments. Just absence in presence. The kind where you’re right there, but it feels like no one really notices you, your feelings get lost, and the comfort you once knew is just… missing. It’s confusing, it’s painful, and it makes you question yourself over and over: Am I not enough? Am I asking for too much? Did I do something wrong? Did I care too little? Am I disturbing them? Am I disappointing them?

Gunjan Sahni once wrote:

“Tumne mujhe bhoolne ko kaha, aur chhod diya marne ke liye”

 (“You told me to forget, and left me to die”)

And honestly, that’s exactly how it felt. Not in a romantic way, but in a way that makes you question everything: Am I doing too much? Am I not enough? Did I push too hard? Could I have noticed earlier? Am I failing even when I try my best? What if I fail? Who will stand by me? What if I can’t meet their expectations? What if I can’t handle my responsibilities? Am I disappointing everyone? The overthinking, the self-doubt — it always made me question my worth.

Still… I kept pushing myself. I joined clubs, led projects, and tried to dive into web dev, android dev, DSA — everything I felt I missed in first year. But along the way, I started doubting myself: Am I doing too much? Am I even moving in the right direction?

I realized I wasn’t the only one feeling this. Maybe everyone has moments when they feel unseen, unheard, left behind — juggling responsibilities, expectations, and their own emotions. I know I’ve cried over small things that seemed huge at the moment. I’ve stayed up late, trying to figure out how to manage everything, feeling like I’m not enough. But here’s the thing — I’m still standing. I’m still trying.

here, Nayab Midha’s words hit differently:

“Kabhi kabhi tumhare ek tukde ko todna padta hai, taaki nayi shifa ke tukde bas sakein”

 (“Sometimes a piece of you has to break, for the healing pieces to settle in”)

At first, it scared me. Who wants to break? Who wants to feel shattered in pieces? But the more I sit with it, the more I realize: maybe brokenness isn’t weakness. Maybe it’s the space where growth begins, where resilience takes root, where you learn to love yourself even when the world is quiet.

but What I’ve learned over the time is:

Being abandoned by your own people is hard. It hurts in ways words can’t explain. But it also teaches the most important thing — self-reliance, patience, and self-love. Even when silence surrounds you, you can still speak to yourself, encourage yourself, and become your own anchor. Because somewhere deep down, I know this struggle, this ache, this push and pull, is slowly shaping me into someone stronger, someone who can survive, who can rise, who can finally find that warmth — within myself first, and then maybe, in the world around me too. That is why it’s important for me to remind myself:

“Shreya, take a deep breath. You’ve done so much already. You’ve survived. You are stronger than you think. You will make yourself proud.”

Abandonment isn’t a full stop. It’s a comma. A pause before a stronger, better version of you begins.