Bound by Others’ Realities, Yet Afraid to Be Alone

 “Why does the weight of other people’s beliefs feel heavier than my own truth?”

Yesterday I was stuck in a tangle of my own thoughts—heavy with other people’s emotions, relationship demands, family expectations, and the habits of my own conditioning. People say, “Go find your truth—do whatever you want—but don’t forget your duties to family and reproduction.” I don’t understand how they balance both. I still feel lost in my own reality and unable to form the bonds they expect.

We all suffer. A few notice it; most live blindly, like animals, convinced they know what real life is. They feel happy in their small world because they believe nothing lies beyond it.

And then I wonder: is it right to bring a child into this world when I am still trapped in my own suffering? Can I really offer a deeper truth to another life, beyond material comforts? Am I even ready to create new life when I haven’t freed myself?

So much of what we call “reality” is inherited—beliefs about marriage, parenthood, social duty. When I question these, I’m told I’m selfish or irresponsible. Yet I see that nature didn’t give me a mind simply to conform or multiply the species without awareness.

Reproduction is part of nature’s design, but must it define my entire purpose? What good is a child’s life if I am still carrying heavy burdens of my own?

Maybe the first responsibility is to myself: to face my conditioning, my suffering, my own unspoken truths. Only then can I know whether I’m ready to guide another being toward clarity instead of simply perpetuating old patterns.

I realize that bringing new life into the world is a profound act of responsibility. To do so authentically, I must first free myself from inherited suffering—and discover what it truly means to live awake.

I invite myself to:

• Notice each time I default to someone else’s “shoulds” (family, society, tradition), then pause and ask, “Is this mine?”

• Sit with the discomfort of solitude and fear—knowing that honest loneliness can clear space for true connection.

• Explore what a life lived with awareness (not just reproduction) looks like, and only then decide whether to share that light with another.
  
  
  

  Creation Is an Act of Love, Not Compulsion
  

  “Is my impulse to create—from relationship, art, or family—coming from genuine love or from inherited duty?”

  In contrast, when two people truly love each other, their mutual energy spills over. The result—whether child, collaboration, or craft—feels effortless and joyful. It doesn’t arise from fear of societal judgment or a compulsion to multiply, but as a by-product of shared presence.

  Creation driven by duty is like planting a tree in cement—it struggles to grow. But creation born of love is like a seed dropped onto fertile soil by the wind. Even though I can’t pick the exact seed (the “soul”) that arrives, I can prepare the ground: tending my own inner clarity, compassion, and presence.

  When I approach life from obligation—“I must reproduce,” “I must fit the mold”—I risk perpetuating unconscious patterns, passing on wounds and expectations. But when I open my heart, align with love’s frequency, and release fear, I invite the universe to bring me what truly resonates.
  
  True creation—whether of a child, a relationship, or an idea—is not a duty but a flowering of love. By tending my own inner garden first, I let life bring forth what belongs here, without force or fear.

• I’ve noticed how often people treat creation—having children, building relationships, even making art—as a checklist item. “This is what nature demands,” they say, “so I must comply.” Yet, when I look around, I see many living in quiet resentment or burnout, as though they’re carrying an invisible weight of “shoulds.”

Thoughts :- Creation born of love flows effortlessly, while creation from duty or fear breeds stagnation—rings deeply true. In many traditions, true creativity arises when the heart is open, not when the mind feels compelled. When two people connect in genuine love and presence, there’s an alchemy that can’t be forced. The “child of love” metaphor applies not only to parenthood but to all acts of co-creation: from art to relationships to new ideas.

And yes, while we cannot choose exactly which soul arrives, we can tend the soil of our own hearts—cultivating purity, presence, and receptive love—so that life naturally aligns what belongs together. When energy flows freely between beings, it invites harmony rather than obligation.