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Essays by Aarti Chandrseker
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Essays by Aarti Chandrseker
A woman on a bench in afternoon light with a coffee cup — being a mother and a person at the same time, mid-life.

On Being a Mother and a Person at the Same Time

A defence of the woman behind the role. On saying “just a mum,” the third cancellation, and the slow work of being a mother and a person both.

On Being a Mother and a Person at the Same Time Read More »

A half-empty closet with familiar clothes that no longer fit — a visual metaphor for growth in midlife that looks like loss.

Growth Looks Like Losing: The Truth About Midlife

On the kind of growth your twenties did not prepare you for. Distillation looks like loss from the inside. That is what makes it hard to trust.

Growth Looks Like Losing: The Truth About Midlife Read More »

A desk with a single sharp pencil, a clean sheet of paper, and a half-drunk coffee — the deliberate act of clarity in a world that subsidises confusion.

Clarity Is Expensive. Confusion Is Subsidised.

Why clarity costs you and vagueness does not. An observation about how organisations and relationships quietly reward ambiguity at your expense.

Clarity Is Expensive. Confusion Is Subsidised. Read More »

A woman's hands resting on a kitchen table — the calm of no longer apologising for the shape of her life.

The Year I Stopped Apologising for the Shape of My Life

On the moment you stop pre-emptively apologising for your life. The shape of your life can simply be the shape of your life. No apology required.

The Year I Stopped Apologising for the Shape of My Life Read More »

A woman's hand holding a phone in the dark of 2am — the quiet beginning again that happens before anyone sees it.

The Art of Beginning Again When You Thought You Were Already Halfway There

A love letter to mothers in the fog. You are not lost, you are buried. The work of beginning again is not starting over, it is remembering.

The Art of Beginning Again When You Thought You Were Already Halfway There Read More »

A garden in late autumn with pruned branches healing — the visual metaphor for adult friendships that quietly complete themselves.

The Friendships That Quietly Pruned Themselves

Adult friendships often end without ending. The quiet attrition that happens in your thirties and forties, and what it actually means when they fade.

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A Letter to the Part of You That Second-Guesses

A letter to the part of you that second-guesses every decision at 3am, and a reframe for why the doubting is not the failure you think it is.

A Letter to the Part of You That Second-Guesses Read More »

Belonging Isn't Land, Its Alignment

Belonging Isn’t Land. It’s Alignment.

What UAE National Day taught me about home: belonging is not land, it is alignment. A reflection on identity, values, and where you actually fit.

Belonging Isn’t Land. It’s Alignment. Read More »

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