There was a period in my life when meditation stopped being a wellness practice and became something much more indispensable.
The shift occurred at a time when my focus wasn’t on perfecting my routine or maximising productivity, but on getting through days shaped by uncertainty around my daughter’s health. When your child is unwell, it’s near impossible to calm down or make your brain switch off even for a while. To a casual observer, everything might appear calm, but only you know the chaos brewing inside. Your mind, and by extension your whole body, stays alert, waiting for the next piece of news, the next signal, the next shift.
During that time, I noticed something about myself. I could function. I could show up. But my body never fully rested. Sleep was lighter, thoughts were louder, and even moments of stillness carried an undercurrent of tension.
Meditation, then, wasn’t about peace, but about survival. It was the one place where my nervous system was allowed to exhale.
Also read this in The Sun (Sri Lanka)