Courage

It takes courage to confront the subtle, yet deeply ingrained script we carry about ourselves. A script written long before we were aware—shaped by our ancestors, family, teachers, and the many voices that reflected back to us who they believed we were. From their observations, conclusions were drawn about our strengths and our weaknesses. Over time, these impressions became embedded, quietly shaping the way we think, and therefore, the way we feel.

It takes courage to recognize that we did not write the entire script—yet we are responsible for how the story continues. We are the authors of the chapters that follow. We decide what to emphasize, what to expand upon, and ultimately, what to accept as truth. And perhaps, even more courageously, we can choose to tear out the pages that no longer serve us.

We do not have to be defined by what was written—nor by our mistakes, nor by our perceived shortcomings.

I have been dyslexic my entire life—long before it was widely recognized as a learning difference. My challenges with reading and even speaking prevented me from following a conventional educational path. But my strengths revealed themselves elsewhere, and I followed a calling that existed beyond the limits of that original script.

Even now, my dyslexia shows up. But I have learned to move with it, to work around it, and in many ways, to grow through it.

Now, in my 50s, I feel a deep calling to write—to share the wisdom and knowledge I have lived, practiced, and embodied. Yet I find myself confronting that old script again:

“I never went to college.”
“I don’t have a formal degree.”
“How could I possibly be a master in anything?”

And still, the deeper truth remains: I have dedicated over 20 years to my field. My experience, my study, my devotion—these are my teachers. They live in my body, not just on paper.

Yet the question lingers:
How can someone who is dyslexic, who never received a degree, write a book?
Who am I to share anything?

My story has included being a brown, curvy Indian girl, raised in a poor and at times painful environment. That, too, became part of the script.

But how many of us have questioned our worth because of the stories we’ve inherited?
How often have we shrunk ourselves because of a narrative we didn’t consciously choose?

That script—both conscious and unconscious—has the power to keep us from stepping into our dreams, from fulfilling our dharma, from becoming who we are truly meant to be.

And yet, within each of us, there is something of immense value waiting to be shared.

It takes courage to step outside the identity we have built—especially when that identity no longer feels true. Life has a way of pushing us beyond the familiar, asking us to think, feel, and respond in new ways. Sometimes this feels expansive and exciting. Other times, it feels uncertain and even frightening.

Courage is not something we simply switch on. It is not like turning a tap and letting water flow.

Courage is the willingness to face our fears.
It is the willingness to meet our vulnerability—not as weakness, but as a source of power.

Rather than fighting our perceived flaws or trying to eliminate them, we are invited to enter them. Because within those very places we resist lies a depth of strength that cannot be accessed any other way.

It is through embracing our vulnerability that we find the power to rewrite the script.

There is a space we must pass through—a liminal space—before we can fully embody our untapped potential. This space is uncertain, undefined, and often uncomfortable. It asks us to rest in the unknown, to trust without immediate answers.

This is what I call God’s waiting room.

It is not a place to rush through or escape. It is a sacred space of pause, reflection, and deep listening.

Stay there.
Be patient.

And when the moment comes—when you are called forward—
what is meant for you will be revealed.

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Tanzania Safari & Zanzibar Yoga