Paru Tales -Rising Beyond Regret

The Weight of the Unseen

Chitra sat on the edge of her bed, her spine curved like the question mark that haunted her thoughts: Where did I go wrong?

It was 5:30 a.m. Her body ached from another sleepless night, and the faint sound of her husband's murmuring in the other room reminded her that she could never fully switch off. Raghavan, once an ambitious professor, now wandered the house in whispers, pacing and speaking to invisible people - schizophrenia had claimed him a decade ago. But what hurt Chitra more was the absence, the absence of the man she married, the absence of the life she dreamt of.

In the room next door, her daughter Janani stirred. Chitra smiled gently through her fatigue. I did everything for her. Yet why do I feel like I failed?

"Amma, why can't I go to the industrial design college in Bangalore?" Janani’s voice echoed in Chitra's memory. It had been two years, but the guilt still stabbed her every time she saw her daughter's name on LinkedIn with a different course, a different path. Chitra had said no, not because she didn’t believe in her daughter, but because she had to choose between Raghavan’s medication and the college admission.

“I’m sorry,” she had whispered back then, as Janani slammed the door and cried herself to sleep.

Even now, though Janani had done well, Chitra felt she had stolen something precious.

She had given her daughter everything, pledged her jewelry, borrowed from colleagues, skipped meals. But regret sat like a permanent tenant in her chest.

Work was no better. Chitra was a senior accounts manager at a medium-scale manufacturing firm. Every day was a loop of transactions, phone calls, deadlines. She worked overtime, covering for others, rarely praised.

“Chitra, don’t you ever get tired?” someone had once asked.

She smiled. “I do. But I don’t have the luxury to stop.”

She had learned not to cry at work. But sometimes, in the restroom quietly, she let silent tears roll down, flushing them away with practiced anonymity.

The Collapse

It happened one April morning. Chitra was reviewing the vendor payments when her vision blurred. Her chest felt tight. Her hands trembled. She collapsed, right there at her desk.

The diagnosis? Severe burnout, dangerously high blood pressure, and signs of cardiac strain.

As she lay in the hospital bed, tubes in her arm, she whispered, “Is this the end?”

Janani sat beside her, holding her hand. “Amma, you’ve given everything for us. Now you have to choose you.”

That moment was a turning point. Something shifted. A small, hesitant flicker in her soul.

The weeks that followed weren’t easy. Chitra began therapy for the first time in her 48 years. She spoke, cried, remembered, released. The therapist helped her name her feelings: caretaker’s fatigue, emotional abandonment, survivor’s guilt.

She started walking every morning. Slowly. She downloaded a gratitude app. She wrote: Today I am alive. I can breathe. I saw a squirrel in the garden. Janani laughed with me.

And one day, as she stood in front of a mirror, she said aloud, “I am enough.”

It wasn’t magic. But it was a start.

She had blamed herself for every no, every broken dream. Now, she began to see the sacrifices as signs of love, not failure. From Guilt to Grace

She wrote Janani a letter.

"My dearest daughter,
I regret that I couldn’t give you everything you asked for. But I never stopped believing in you. You are my light. And if I said no sometimes, it wasn’t because I didn’t love you — it was because I loved you too much to break completely. Today, I am learning to forgive myself. I hope you do too.
With all my love,
Amma.”

Then came another blow. Her husband’s family, who had long remained distant, sued for the house she lived in. They accused her of manipulation, of misusing Raghavan’s name. The fall that taught her to fly started to happen around.

The court battle drained her. She had to let go of the ancestral property. But something remarkable happened, she didn’t break this time.

“Let them take the walls,” she said, “They can’t touch what I built inside.”

She rented a small 2BHK and moved with Raghavan, who by now had settled into a semi-stable state thanks to continued therapy and a new caretaker arrangement.

The company she worked for offered voluntary retirement. Chitra took it and with her gratuity, savings, and a small loan, she opened a consulting practice for small women-run businesses to help them manage their finances.

Within 18 months, her client list grew. One of her workshops on “financial freedom for homemakers” went viral. She was invited to speak at local events.

She earned more than ever before, but more importantly, she felt worthy.

Janani called one evening, “Amma, I’m pregnant.” The joy in her voice was visible

Chitra gasped. Her eyes filled. “You’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“And you,” Janani said, “will be the best grandmother. I’m sorry for being angry back then.”

“No,” Chitra said softly. “You had every right. And now, we both forgive.”

They laughed, cried, and planned her visit to Janani’s city.

That night, Raghavan sat beside her silently watching TV. He turned and said with rare clarity  “You saved us all, Chitra.”

Her heart broke and healed at the same time.

The celebration of Self started to begin. She began waking up happy. She painted again. She cooked elaborate weekend meals. She wore bright sarees and red bindis. She posted selfies with inspiring captions. She led Sunday yoga classes for women above 50. She danced at her daughter’s baby shower.

And every night, she whispered:

"I am not just a wife or mother. I am me. And I am enough."

This story - An emotional tale of a woman who chooses to live, love, and lead despite it all is dedicated to all women who sacrifice their small pleasures, to face the pressures of life and achieve things for them and their families, with a smile on the face, taking life in their stride..beyond regrets, confusions, chaos and challenges of life!