Tag: business struggles

The Strange Truth: The One Who Tries Gets Judged. The One Who Does Nothing Gets Left Alone.


I sometimes feel doing nothing is better.

Not because I believe it.
But because I’ve seen what happens to people who try.

The one who experiments, takes a risk, works hard, and still fails — he doesn’t just fail.

He gets judged.

He gets advice he didn’t ask for.
He gets compared.
Sometimes, he even gets insulted.

But the one who does nothing?

He escapes all of it.

No one questions him.
No one analyses him.
No one talks about him.

And slowly, a thought starts forming inside.

Maybe staying idle is safer.

Again — I’m not saying I believe this.

But I’ve felt this.

Because in the real world, effort is visible. Failure is visible.
And visibility attracts opinions.

There is an interesting observation in behavioural studies called the “spotlight effect” — people who step out and act feel like the world is watching them more than it actually is. But even if that effect is exaggerated, one part is true.

When you try, you become visible.
And when you become visible, you become vulnerable.

That’s the price of action.

If you look at entrepreneurship, this becomes even sharper.

A person who starts something and fails is discussed more than someone who never started.

We don’t analyse the silent majority.
We analyse the ones who moved.

Take any failed startup founder. The story doesn’t end with just “it didn’t work.”

It becomes —
“What went wrong?”
“Why didn’t he think properly?”
“I would have done it differently.”

But no one asks that about someone who never tried.

That silence is not appreciation.
It’s just absence of attention.

Even in history, this pattern is clear.

People remember bold failures more than silent non-attempts.

Thomas Edison failed thousands of times before the light bulb worked. But imagine if he had stopped after a few attempts.

He wouldn’t have been criticised.
He would have been forgotten.

That’s the difference.

Trying exposes you.
Not trying hides you.

And hiding feels peaceful.

But only on the surface.

Because there is another side to this.

The people who try and fail may face noise outside.
But they are at least moving inside.

The ones who do nothing may avoid noise outside.
But inside, over time, there is a different kind of discomfort.

A question that doesn’t go away:

“What if I had tried?”

That question is silent.
But heavy.

So when I say I sometimes feel like doing nothing is better, it is not a conclusion.

It is a moment.

A reflection of what I’ve seen.

But I also know this.

The world may judge the ones who try.
But life quietly moves with them.

And the ones who stay idle may escape judgment.
But they also escape growth.

So maybe the answer is not to stop trying.

Maybe the answer is to accept one truth clearly:

If you choose to try,
you are also choosing to be misunderstood at times.

And that’s not failure.

That’s the cost of being visible.

When Parenting Engulfs You: My Silent Struggle Raising Two Young Kids Alone


Finding joy, even in the hardest days.

When people see a smiling parent with a child on each arm, they often think of joy, completeness, and warmth. But behind that photo, there can be stories of exhaustion, frustration, and a kind of loneliness that’s hard to describe.

From the very beginning, even before our second child was born, there were challenges. My in-laws strongly believed that having a second child was a bad idea, and they convinced my wife the same. Every time there’s an argument between us now, this topic comes back: that she didn’t fully analyze the challenges ahead. It makes me angry because, in my heart, I always believed I didn’t want to raise a single pampered child. I wanted my first child to have a sibling, a lifelong companion. This decision was never just about me — it was about building a family with deeper bonds, even if it meant going through harder days.

From the day my second child was born, life changed completely. We had no support system. No parents or in-laws stepping in to help, no extended family to call on, no trusted house help to share the load. It was just us, and every day felt like a survival mission.

People often say, “it takes a village to raise a child.” With my first child, I had that village. My in-laws supported us, and those memories felt like heaven — a beautiful, light-filled chapter of parenting. But with my second child, that village was gone. I became everything: the caretaker, the cook, the cleaner, the comforter, the entertainer, the teacher. From sleepless nights to endless school preparations, every moment demanded my full energy and presence.

In the process, my professional life took a huge hit. I went into procrastination because of constant mind fog. Work deadlines felt heavier, focus slipped away, and important opportunities quietly passed me by. My business struggled, and while outsiders only saw the missed targets and failures, they didn’t see the mental battles and emotional exhaustion that led me there.

At home, the constant focus on the kids created a silent gap with my spouse. Conversations turned into pure logistics: who would handle which meltdown. The small, loving moments that kept our bond alive quietly faded, replaced by stress and quiet resentment.

Yet despite all the anxiety, frustration, and helplessness, I cherished every moment with my second child. Even in the chaos, I found joy. I built precious memories, laughed through exhaustion, and watched my child grow closely every single day. It truly felt like a heaven inside a hell — beautiful moments glowing in the middle of struggle and darkness.

With support, those years could have been even better, perhaps closer to the lightness I experienced with my first child. But despite everything, I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.

Parenting is beautiful, but when done alone and without support, it can swallow you whole. If you’re going through this, I want you to know: you’re not alone. You deserve understanding, you deserve support, and you deserve to cherish those beautiful moments without the heavy weight of judgment.