NihshabdBlog

Category: Women’s life

  • Why Does the Butterfly Keep Finding Me? 🦋

    Why Does the Butterfly Keep Finding Me? 🦋

    Daily writing prompt
    If you had to get a tattoo right now, what would it be and why?
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    If I had to get a tattoo right now, it would be a butterfly. 🦋

    Not because I have always loved butterflies.

    Actually, I’m not even sure when this started.

    People sometimes notice the butterfly on my bracelet.

    Then they notice another one on my mangalsutra.

    And then there is that little 🦋 I keep using on my blog, in my posts, almost everywhere.

    And that’s when they ask me—

    “Why are you so obsessed with butterflies?”

    The funny thing is…

    I don’t know.

    I really don’t.

    I never consciously chose the butterfly.

    It somehow kept finding its way into my life.

    Once, I even named a brand Titliyan with a few friends.

    I don’t remember why I chose that name either.

    I eventually had to leave it behind for personal reasons.

    What I See in a Butterfly

    Funny, isn’t it?

    The name disappeared.

    But the butterfly didn’t.

    And maybe that’s when I started wondering whether there was something about this little creature that I was drawn to without even knowing why.

    Because when I look at a butterfly, I don’t just see something pretty.

    I see something I recognise.

    Maybe it’s because I’ve always been someone who notices people.

    Not just how they look.

    What they carry.

    The person who makes everyone laugh but is quietly going through something.

    The woman who thinks she is ordinary but has an incredible strength.

    Someone who doesn’t realise how kind they are.

    Someone who has no idea that their presence makes a difference to other people.

    I notice those things.

    Maybe that’s why butterflies fascinate me.

    Because a butterfly has absolutely no idea what we see.

    She doesn’t know that someone might stop walking just to watch her.

    She doesn’t know that her wings can make an ordinary afternoon beautiful.

    She doesn’t know she’s beautiful.

    She just is.

    Maybe That’s Why I Love Her

    And perhaps people are like that too.

    Sometimes, we spend years trying to become something better, prettier, stronger, more successful…

    while the people around us can already see something wonderful in us that we haven’t noticed yet.

    And yes, I believe in the whole butterfly story too.

    The caterpillar.

    The cocoon.

    The uncertainty.

    The struggle.

    The transformation.

    The wings.

    But what touches me isn’t only that she changes.

    It’s that she becomes something beautiful without ever knowing how beautiful she has become.

    Maybe that’s the part I understand.

    Maybe that’s the part I love.

    Or maybe…

    I’m simply a woman who has collected too many butterflies over the years and is now trying to find a philosophical explanation for it. 😂

    But if I ever get that tattoo, it won’t be because a butterfly has one fixed meaning.

    It will be because, somehow, it has become a little piece of my story.

    A reminder to notice beauty.

    In people.

    In life.

    And perhaps, sometimes, in myself.

    A reminder that I don’t have to know exactly where life is taking me.

    A reminder that some of the most beautiful things about us may be things we haven’t discovered yet.

    And perhaps, most importantly—

    a reminder to keep my wings open, even when I don’t know where I’m going to fly.

    So yes.

    If I had to get a tattoo right now…

    it would be a butterfly.

    Maybe I’ve been choosing her all these years.

    Or maybe…

    she’s been choosing me. 🦋

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    Until The Next Whisper,

    —Rajeshwari 🧿💕

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    © NihshabdThe Silent Stories That Speak to the Soul. All Rights Reserved.

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    READ MORE :If I Had to Be an Animal for a Week | A Butterfly’s Lesson

  • Adult? I Never Became One — And I’m Not Complaining

    Adult? I Never Became One — And I’m Not Complaining

    What’s a moment when you realized you were officially an adult?

    Apparently, I Never Became an Adult

    What’s a moment when you realized you were officially an adult?

    Honestly?

    I am still waiting for that moment.

    I have looked around. I have checked my age. I have done all the things supposedly responsible adults do.

    And yet, somehow, nobody around me seems to have received the memo that I am an adult.

    My mother still gives me advice.

    My brother still gives me advice.

    My husband gives me advice.

    My in-laws give me advice.

    And now, to add insult to adulthood, my children give me advice too.

    They have clearly watched everyone else doing it and thought, “Why should we miss out on this family tradition?”

    Sometimes I genuinely feel my children think I am younger than them.

    The way they advise me, explain things to me, remind me of things, and occasionally look at me as if I am the one who needs supervision… I have started wondering if I am actually the youngest member of this family.

    At this point, I am beginning to suspect that adulthood is a scam.

    The funniest part?

    Nobody even wants my advice.

    I can give it, of course. I am fully qualified. I have experience. I have wisdom. I have made mistakes. I have learned lessons.

    But apparently, my family has unanimously decided that my advice is an optional feature nobody needs to activate.

    Meanwhile, their advice arrives freely.

    Without invitation.

    Without subscription.

    And sometimes before I have even finished explaining the problem.

    “Be careful.”

    “Think about it.”

    “Don’t do that.”

    “Why don’t you…”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Take this.”

    “Have you eaten?”

    “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”

    Excuse me?

    I am an adult!

    At least, technically.

    But then I have to admit something.

    I am actually very lucky.

    Because behind every piece of unwanted advice is someone who cares enough to worry about me.

    Behind every “Don’t do that” is someone who doesn’t want me to get hurt.

    Behind every “Take care” is someone quietly keeping an eye on my happiness.

    And the most embarrassing part?

    I often get things before I even ask for them.

    Sometimes before I even realise I need them.

    So perhaps this isn’t about them not accepting that I have grown up.

    Perhaps they simply haven’t stopped loving me like the girl they have always wanted to protect.

    And maybe they don’t really want me to become completely independent of their love.

    Which brings me to my very important conclusion:

    I have decided not to become an adult.

    Why should I?

    I have people who carry my worries, listen to my nonsense, tolerate my tantrums, give me unsolicited advice, and somehow still love me after all of it.

    My adulthood can wait.

    My teenage privileges are clearly still active.

    And frankly, I am enjoying the benefits.

    So, if you ask me when I realised I was officially an adult…

    I didn’t.

    And I don’t think I ever will.

    Because apparently, the people who love me most are doing an excellent job of making sure I never have to.

    And you know what?

    I am perfectly okay with that.

    P.S.

    This is based on a real-life situation.

    And yes, I am still being pampered.

    At this point, adulthood has knocked on my door several times.

    My family simply refuses to let me answer it. 😄

    So, when did you realise you were officially an adult? 😄

    Was it a serious life decision, paying your first bill, giving advice nobody asked for… or are you, like me, still waiting for adulthood to arrive? 😂

    Tell me your moment! 🤍

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    Until the next whisper,
    —Rajeshwari     🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari

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    READ MORE : A Mother’s Kind of Weather❤️ 

  • The Space Between Her Names

    What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?

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    A woman looking out a window beside a notebook and coffee, symbolizing reflection and the hidden story between her names.
    The quiet story every woman carries within her name.

    .

    “What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning or significance?”

    .

    A curious little question.

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    But for many women, a middle name is rarely just a name.

    It is often a quiet inheritance.

    .

    Sometimes it carries a grandmother’s strength.

    Sometimes a mother’s unfinished dream.

    Sometimes a family’s hope that she will hold the world together… politely.

    .

    And sometimes it carries nothing anyone wrote down

    just the silent training that began very early:

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    be kind,

    be patient,

    be graceful,

    be smaller than your anger,

    bigger than everyone else’s expectations.

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    A middle name can be many things for a woman

    a blessing, a memory, a responsibility,

    or a soft reminder of who she was expected to become.

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    But the beautiful part?

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    Somewhere along the way, she starts writing her own meaning into it.

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    Not just with sacrifice,

    but with dignity.

    With quiet authority.

    With the gentle but undeniable varchasva of a woman who finally understands her worth.

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    So this little prompt about a middle name…

    is actually a very big question.

    .

    Because every woman carries a story between her first name and her last.

    .

    And that space

    that quiet space

    is where her real identity slowly begins to bloom.

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    —Rajeshwari🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • 💃 Why Every Woman Needs a Little Drama (The Good Kind)

    💃 Why Every Woman Needs a Little Drama (The Good Kind)

    Let’s clear something up.

    When we say “drama,” we don’t mean throwing plates, blocking numbers, or walking away in slow motion like a movie climax.

    We mean the good kind.

    The healthy, sparkly, slightly exaggerated kind that makes life feel alive.

    Because here’s the truth:

    Women are not dramatic.

    We are emotionally well-lit.

    We feel in HD.

    We react in surround sound.

    We live in full color.

    And sometimes, that means gasping over a message.

    Re-reading it.

    Analyzing the punctuation.

    Then pretending we didn’t care.

    Drama?

    No.

    Emotional research.

    A little drama is what makes us send that “Are you mad at me?” text…

    even when we know he’s just busy.

    It’s what makes us narrate our own life in our head.

    “Oh wow. Look at you. Growing. Healing. Slightly overreacting. But growing.”

    It’s what makes us stand in front of the mirror and say,

    “Why am I like this?”

    and then immediately answer,

    “Because I care too much. And that’s not a crime.”

    Good drama is not chaos.

    It’s expression.

    It’s the way we replay a conversation three times before sleeping.

    It’s the way we feel “fine” and “not fine” in the same sentence.

    It’s the way we can laugh and cry within five minutes

    and still show up to dinner like nothing happened.

    A little drama keeps the heart flexible.

    It keeps us from turning into robots who say “okay” to everything.

    Because a woman without a little drama?

    She’s not calm.

    She’s suppressing.

    And suppression is far more dangerous than dramatic eyeliner and deep sighs.

    We need that spark.

    That flare.

    That “excuse me, I felt something” energy.

    It reminds us we’re alive.

    So yes.

    We overthink.

    We react.

    We feel deeply.

    We narrate our own emotions like a limited series.

    And honestly?

    That little drama is not a flaw.

    It’s the glitter in our bloodstream.

  • My Ideal Day: A Full-Time Woman With Absolutely No Off Days

    My Ideal Day: A Full-Time Woman With Absolutely No Off Days

    Describe your most ideal day from beginning to end.

    My ideal day starts before I do.

    The alarm rings ⏰

    I don’t wake up I accept my fate like a responsible adult 😌

    I lie in bed for exactly ten seconds thinking,

    “Today I’ll take it slow.”

    Life hears this and laughs 😂

    Not a giggle.

    A full-volume laugh.

    I get up.

    Hair looks like it had a night shift 💇‍♀️

    Face still buffering ⏳

    Energy on low battery 🪫

    Responsibility?

    Fully charged ⚡️ No power-saving mode.

    Tea comes first ☕️

    Not for taste.

    For emotional stability.

    Without tea, this day will not cooperate.

    Morning turns me into a one-woman army 💪🏻

    Cook. Clean. Plan. Sort.

    Fix things that broke overnight for no logical reason 🤷‍♀️

    Put things back where they don’t belong

    but somehow feel emotionally correct ✔️

    Somewhere between sweeping and overthinking,

    I become a gardener 👩‍🌾

    Talking to plants like coworkers:

    “Grow properly. I’m doing my part here.” 😄

    Then it hits me

    Oh yes, I’m also an Illustrator 🎨

    So I sit down to create beauty

    while life interrupts like a badly timed pop-up ad📱

    Lines here. Colours there.

    Pressure everywhere.

    Art still happens ✨ Because passion doesn’t wait for free time.

    By mid-morning,

    I’ve cooked, cleaned, created, corrected,

    and emotionally supported at least three people

    including myself 💛

    (That counts, by the way.)

    I’m not just a doctor 🩺

    I am the entire hospital 🏥

    I diagnose stress, hunger, mood swings,

    and mysterious body pains that arrive uninvited. 🤕

    I prescribe water 💧, food🍽️, patience,

    and the classic “It’s okay, it happens.”

    Then I become an engineer ⚒️,

    because appliances sense weakness.

    Wi-Fi stops working 📶

    Mixer develops attitude.

    Something always needs fixing

    and somehow, I fix it 😏

    No manual. Just instincts and mild threats.

    Afternoon arrives 🌤️

    Work still pending.

    Back slightly protesting.

    Mind asks,

    “Isn’t this enough for one day?”

    Schedule replies,

    “Cute question.” 😌

    I squeeze in self-care like it’s a secret mission.

    Five minutes of peace.

    Ten minutes of skincare.

    Thirty seconds of staring into nothing.

    Luxury at its finest 💆‍♀️

    Evenings?

    Evenings are Olympic-level multitasking 🏅

    Cooking. Managing. Creating.

    Laughing. Listening. Solving.

    Smiling like everything is under control 😊

    even when nothing is.

    Especially when nothing is.

    I joke.

    I laugh 😂

    I move fast.

    Because if I stop,

    I might realise how tired I am

    and we don’t have time for emotional breakdowns before dinner 🍽️

    Night finally shows mercy 🌙

    The house slows down.

    The noise fades.

    I sit with my tired body and busy heart and think

    “So much work.

    Still smiling 😊

    Still standing 💪🏻

    Still me.”

    My ideal day isn’t peaceful.

    It’s productive.

    It’s chaotic.

    It’s funny.

    It’s full ♥️

    We don’t wait for perfect conditions.

    We create perfect days inside imperfect ones ✨

    We are housewives.

    We do everything.

    All day.

    Every day.

    With tired feet, strong hands,

    and a smile that says

    “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” 💛

    And honestly?

    That’s my kind of ideal. 🌼