Sometimes, life throws you curveballs, or in my case, a whole pitch full of them. It was a time when I felt like I was walking in circles at work, losing interest with each passing day. I had a steady job with Amazon, during those highly coveted day shifts. I thought I was doing alright—until one fateful day when I resigned, without any clear reason, just a gut feeling that maybe I was leaving one home to create another. I still don’t fully understand it, but I felt an urge to step away and forge a new path.

There’s something liberating about letting go of what’s familiar, especially when you have an incredibly supportive family behind you. My parents, my family, the ones who’ve helped me survive the worst of times—without them, I wouldn’t be here today. I can never thank them enough.

A Healing Pause: The Trip to Bhimtal

Life, for a while, seemed to fall into place. I took a much-needed break in August 2024. My family and I went on a holiday to Bhimtal, a quaint hill station, where the air smelled of pine and adventure. My cottage sat by a beautiful lake, and every morning, I’d stand near the water, feeling the breeze tangle in my long, lustrous hair. It was one of those rare moments when happiness wasn’t just something you felt; it was a physical presence, filling your chest. I remember standing there, closing my eyes, and letting it all in—grateful for the moment, for the air, for my family, and for life itself.

But little did I know, this feeling of calm was about to be shattered.

The Silent Battle: Dengue

I came back from Bhimtal refreshed and ready to face life. But sometimes, life doesn’t work in our favor. Soon after, I found myself in Gurugram, where things started to take a strange turn. First, my hands and feet began itching—thought I might be allergic to something as simple as gram flour, of all things. But the itch lingered. And then came the fever.

It started with 99 degrees, but by the time the day passed, it had soared to 104. The diagnosis came quickly: dengue. The virus that makes you feel like you’re slowly falling apart from the inside out.

There I was, in the hospital, all alone, when the first call I made was to my mother. I needed her. She always has a way of making everything better, even when nothing really is. “Come home, please,” I begged. And she did, along with my brother and my adorable nephew, who somehow always knows how to bring a smile to my face even when I’m feeling completely wrecked.

Home: The Sweetest Remedy

I made it back to Bareilly, but my recovery wasn’t instant. On the third day, I was admitted to the hospital with platelets so low they could barely be counted. It was a slow road to recovery, nearly six days of just sleeping, eating the most random but oddly comforting foods—like goat milk (which, to my surprise, actually tasted quite good!), kiwi, and coconut milk. I’d joke with the guests who brought apples, telling them, “Next time, bring kiwi instead!”

Eventually, I came back home, where I slowly began to regain my strength. The recovery was long, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take a toll. My bones ached, my energy was drained, and I became hyper-aware of the gluten in everything. But hey, I was alive, and that was something to be thankful for.

The Hair Loss: A Silent Struggle

Just when I thought things were returning to normal, November came, and with it, a shock that I couldn’t shake off. One morning, I woke up, and there it was: strands of hair scattered on my pillow. I brushed my fingers through my hair and a few more fell. At first, I blamed it on the weather—after all, who doesn’t get a little “seasonal shedding”? But then the hair kept falling, and it wasn’t just a few strands anymore.

By December, half my scalp was bald. My once lustrous hair—my pride—was falling out, and I was powerless to stop it. I laughed it off on the outside, but inside, I was breaking. My mother and the doctor reassured me that it was temporary, but each day, it felt like I was losing more than just my hair. I was losing my confidence. The spark that once made me feel like I could take on the world seemed to be dimming with each passing day.

The Weight of Self-Doubt

It’s hard to put into words the feeling of watching yourself lose a part of your identity. My hair, something I had always taken pride in, was now slipping away—literally and figuratively. It was the one thing that had been a symbol of my confidence, and now it was disappearing, leaving me feeling exposed.

I wish I could express the pain of that quiet struggle. The one where I meet people and smile, but inside, I am consumed by a deep sense of shame. I’m not trying to be arrogant or distant. I just feel like I’m losing something of myself, and it’s not easy to face that every day. People say it’s temporary. The hair will grow back. But what do you do in the meantime when the fear of losing more keeps you up at night? When the little things that used to make you feel whole—like your hair, your appearance, your confidence—seem so fragile?

The Road to Healing

But here’s the thing: healing doesn’t happen overnight. Whether it’s physical, emotional, or mental, recovery takes time. And sometimes, it’s not just the body that needs mending but the soul too. There are days when I feel like giving up, when the weight of self-doubt is too much to bear. But then, I remind myself of the things that truly matter. The people who love me. The fact that I’m still here, fighting. The fact that I’m still laughing—albeit through gritted teeth—because life, despite its curveballs, is beautiful in its mess.

I don’t know what the future holds, or when my hair will grow back, but I do know this: I will find my spark again. Maybe it won’t be the same as before, but it will be mine. And that’s enough for me.

So, here’s to healing, to family, to laughter, and to the kind of love that doesn’t ask for perfection. Life isn’t about having everything together—it’s about learning to keep going, even when it feels like everything’s falling apart.

And maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll look back on this time and laugh. Or at least, that’s what I’m hoping for.

Richa ❤