Citizen of our Earth

Author: Sara Hassanein

  • When War Meets Humanity: A Baby Left Behind

    👶 A Newborn at the Door: Humanity Amid the War in Khartoum

    When the war broke out in Khartoum, someone told this story:

    “My friends and I decided to stay home and not leave. One day, as the shelling grew heavier, we heard loud banging on the door.
    We were surviving. Barely.
    And then — the knock.
    When we opened it, two soldiers were standing there. They handed me a bundle and quickly walked away.

    We unwrapped it — and to our shock, inside was a newborn baby.
    We don’t know where they found him, and we don’t know why they chose our house.”

    What does it mean — to save a life when hundreds are dying? 💔

    I kept reflecting on that moment. Two soldiers, in the midst of relentless bombardment and daily death, left a newborn at the door of strangers.

    This single act revealed something profound: the resilience of human empathy, even in the harshest conditions that strip people of their humanity.

    It was the raw instinct to protect the vulnerable. 🕊️

    We are biologically wired to respond to infant cues. They have signals that activate caregiving circuits in the brain. Even in war, this system does not switch off. In fact, it may grow stronger.

    Seeing a newborn likely triggered an automatic, primal urge in those soldiers to protect life amid surrounding death.

    War often forces soldiers into moral disengagement — psychological mechanisms that justify violence and detach them from empathy. But facing a helpless infant can spark moral re-engagement.

    A baby carries no political, ethnic, or military identity. A baby embodies pure vulnerability. For a moment, it forces recognition of shared humanity — a crack in the logic of dehumanization that war demands.

    And in the chaos of death and destruction, humans search for meaning. Even the smallest act of preservation can be a psychological anchor. Saving that child may have been the soldiers’ way of saying:

    “Not everything is lost. Not everything is meaningless.”

    It was an act of defiance against the absurdity of war — a way to reclaim both agency and humanity.

    The young man who told the story added:

    “We were just a group of young people. We had no idea how to care for a baby. Fortunately, our grandmother was with us — the only elder who had stayed behind. She knew exactly what to do: feeding, cleaning, caring.

    But the dilemma remained: how could we keep him here, with the shelling, shortages, and constant danger? We posted about it on social media. A family preparing to leave the area with their children came and took him with them.”

    Later he wondered: Why our home? Why us?

    Maybe they saw our lights on. Maybe they remembered this street from before. Maybe it was pure chance — the only house with a door still hanging straight.

    Maybe the choice was not random after all. The soldiers may have sensed something — a house that felt safe, civilian, human. Perhaps a fleeting memory, perhaps intuition.

    They didn’t have time to find a hospital. Didn’t have time to find family. Didn’t have time to be heroes. So they did the next best thing — they trusted strangers. 🤲

    While “fight or flight” is the well-known survival response, under collective threat humans also activate “tend and befriend” — the drive to protect the vulnerable and seek social bonds as a survival strategy. Leaving the baby with civilians was an act of social trust: the implicit belief that “someone will care for this child.”

    A newborn represents the future — continuity, renewal, hope. 🌱 Amid scenes of death, preserving a baby is an unconscious affirmation of life itself. Psychologically, it is a defense against existential despair.

    “If this child lives, maybe we haven’t lost everything.”

    Sara

    If you’re reading this — you’re part of that rebellion too. ✨
    Pass it on. Protect someone. Choose life.
    Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. ❤️

  • The Silent Pandemic: Rethinking Mental Health Access

    The Silent Pandemic: Rethinking Mental Health Access

    Digital Mental Health: A Revolution for Youth Wellbeing

    “I think a lot… and I wish I didn’t exist, so I wouldn’t have to keep feeling this way.”

    This isn’t a line from a tragic novel. It’s the raw, unfiltered answer of a medical student in an African country—one of many we spoke to years ago in a mental health survey that asked: Have you ever thought about harming yourself?

    I still can’t bring myself to share her full response. Or those of her peers—each one echoing pain so deep it feels dangerous to read. Just seeing their words on paper filled me with tension, grief, and fear.

    Are We Paying Attention—Or Ignoring a Silent Pandemic?

    The World Health Organization confirms: depression and anxiety are among the leading causes of illness and disability in young people aged 10–24.

    These aren’t abstract statistics.

    They’re sitting next to our children in classrooms. They’re the siblings of our coworkers. They’re in our neighborhoods. They may even be our own sons and daughters—hiding behind silence.

    And yet, access to mental health care remains broken—even in wealthy nations. In low- and middle-income countries, it’s nearly nonexistent. Shortages of professionals, crushing costs, and deep-rooted stigma block the path to help.

    If the current system isn’t working—why do we keep clinging to it?

    A Glimpse of Hope: What Students in Sudan Told Us

    Years ago, we surveyed university students in Sudan about digital mental health tools. The results were striking: over 70% said they were willing to try a teleconsultation for mental health treatment.

    Why? Because it’s private. Affordable. Accessible.

    What Digital Mental Health Could Look Like

    • Imagine a young man in a remote village, miles from the nearest clinic, scrolling through his phone at night—exhausted, hopeless. But instead of despair, he opens an app and finds cognitive behavioral therapy in his language, voice messages from a counselor, a safe space to breathe.
    • Picture a female university student overwhelmed by academic pressure and family expectations, too afraid to speak aloud—yet texting anonymously with a therapist through a secure platform.
    • Or a rural mother, isolated and struggling with postpartum depression, listening to guided mindfulness sessions on her basic smartphone while her baby sleeps.

    The Tools Are Here—Why Aren’t We Using Them?

    Digital mental health—mobile apps, teletherapy, AI-supported chatbots, online CBT—can bridge gaps no traditional system ever could.

    It bypasses borders. It slashes costs. It reaches anyone with a mobile phone. And believe me: billions have one.

    So why aren’t global institutions acting?
    Why aren’t we building regulated, scalable, equitable digital mental health systems—as widespread as social media, as accessible as WhatsApp?

    All we need is imagination. Will. Coordination.

    Final Call to Action

    The suffering is real. The tools are here.
    The time for transformation is now.

    👉 If you believe in a future where no young person feels invisible in their pain—share this post, start the conversation, and push for digital mental health innovation.

    — Sara

  • Feeling Guilty for Not Feeling Guilty: Lessons from Lockdown

    Feeling Guilty for Not Feeling Guilty: Lessons from Lockdown

    Survivor’s Guilt: Thriving in Crisis

    January 2020. COVID-19 was gathering its full force, preparing to strike the world like nothing we had seen before.

    At the time, I was working a full-time job—physically and mentally demanding—while quietly battling a number of scattered health issues. What I really needed, more than anything, was rest. Deep rest. A pause. A chance to breathe, reflect, and heal.

    And then, as if on cue, the world changed.

    Every news channel, every screen, every conversation became consumed by the pandemic. Uncertainty and fear spread as fast as the virus itself. Governments scrambled to respond to an unprecedented crisis. People were scared—of the unknown, of getting sick, of losing loved ones, of losing their livelihoods. You saw it all. The anxiety was everywhere.

    Then came the lockdown. 🚪

    Overnight, everything stopped.

    To most of the world, it felt like a crisis.
    To me? It felt like a gift from God. ✨

    My 40 hours of in-person work each month shrank to just four hours online. No commuting. No errands. No social obligations. Just home. Just silence. Just time.

    For the first time in months—maybe years—I had space. My body began to recover. My mind slowed down. I slept better. I breathed deeper. I was, honestly… happy. 😌

    While the world grieved, I was at peace.
    I was thankful. Even joyful.
    And that joy came with a quiet shadow: guilt.

    People around the globe were suffering—getting sick, losing jobs, losing family members, stranded across borders. Lives were unraveling.
    And here I was… grateful. At peace. Healing.

    So I asked myself: Shouldn’t I be sad? Shouldn’t I feel more empathy?

    🧩 The Psychology of Feeling Guilty for Not Feeling Guilty

    What I was experiencing was a subtle form of survivor’s guilt—not because I survived a tragedy while others didn’t, but because I thrived in circumstances that crushed so many.

    Survivor’s guilt isn’t limited to war zones or natural disasters. It shows up in quieter ways:

    • The person displaced by conflict who finds safety and opportunity abroad 🌍
    • The business owner whose services suddenly become essential during a crisis 💼
    • The freelancer who flourishes during an economic collapse while others lose everything 💻

    Sometimes, in the middle of a global storm, one person finds shelter. That doesn’t mean they’re ignoring the rain—it just means they’re finally dry. ☔

    When we feel okay—even good—during a collective crisis, our minds often rebel. On one side: gratitude for the unexpected relief. On the other: a quiet, insistent voice whispering, How can you feel this way when others are suffering?

    This is what psychologists call meta-emotion—an emotion about your own emotions. In my case, it wasn’t just happiness I was feeling. It was guilt about being happy.

    A loop formed:
    You’re not sad. You should be sad. Therefore, you’re failing.
    As if our emotional states must always mirror the global mood.

    But here’s the truth: emotions are not moral judgments.

    💡 What Was Really Happening Inside Me

    🧠 Cognitive Dissonance
    My internal reality—relief, rest, recovery—clashed with the external one: a global tragedy. My brain struggled to reconcile the contradiction: How can I feel good when the world feels bad?
    The easiest resolution? Guilt. My mind punished me for not following the expected emotional script.

    🧠 Social Norms and Emotional Expectations
    Society assumes that during collective trauma, everyone should feel sorrow, anxiety, or grief. When we don’t, we feel like we’re failing a moral test. But emotions aren’t moral choices. They’re responses to personal context.

    🧠 The Gift of Reduced Allostatic Load
    For people with chronic stress or health issues, the lockdown wasn’t just a disruption—it was a decompression:
    • Less commuting = lower cortisol 🚗
    • Fewer social demands = reduced cognitive load 🗓️
    • More sleep = better immune function 😴

    The pandemic was a tragedy.
    But for some of us, it was also a rare moment of stillness—of breath, of recovery, of unexpected grace. 🌱

    By the end of the year, my health was better than it has ever been. 💪

    Because healing doesn’t have to wait for permission.
    And peace doesn’t have to apologize for existing—
    even in the middle of a storm. ⛈️

    And that doesn’t make us bad.
    It makes us human. ❤️

    — Sara

    💬 Did you feel something similar during the pandemic—or during another crisis? I’d love to hear your story in the comments. Let’s start a conversation. 🌍✨

  • A House on Hold, But a Garden That Grew

    How Ten Trees Kept a Dream Alive

    When the war broke out in Khartoum, my husband was outside Sudan, working tirelessly and sending money to build his dream home in the city. And it was going well. The construction was complete, most of the finishing touches were done, and he had even planted trees around the house — hoping they would grow tall and shady by the time we moved in.

    But on the morning of Saturday, April 14, 2023, everything changed. In the blink of an eye, the city turned into a battlefield. People fled for their lives. Some were killed, some displaced, and some stayed behind to face the horror and destruction.

    The streets we once walked without fear turned into war zones. And with that, my husband’s dream house stood still — abandoned like so many others.

    ⚒️ The construction stopped.
    💔 Belongings were stolen.
    🌱 The trees? They died — thirsty, forgotten, abandoned in the chaos.

    At first, everyone was paralyzed, trying to understand what was happening, absorbing the shock. But slowly, people began to reposition themselves, to find new ways of living within the chaos.

    That’s when my husband made an unusual choice. He hired a guard — one of the few who chose to stay in Khartoum. Not because he wasn’t afraid, but because he, too, believed in staying alive in place.

    And then, from thousands of miles away, my husband did something that seemed small, almost irrational at first: He started planting trees again.

    🌍 Not waiting for peace.
    ⚡ Not waiting for electricity or water or functioning institutions.
    🔥 While bombs still echoed through the city, while neighborhoods burned and families mourned — he began to rebuild the green.

    Every morning, before sunrise, he’d wake up and call the caretaker:
    “Are the trees okay?”
    “Did you water them?”

    I watched him every day. He would ask about the battles in Khartoum, about the condition of the trees, whether they had been watered. He would ask if it was possible to bring another sapling from the nursery, how to solve the water shortage, or how to raise the fence to protect a fragile plant. He would request photos and videos of the trees, then call back again to discuss why one looked pale or how another could be better supported.

    And the caretaker — patient, committed — would answer, and act, and send back proof: a small tree standing straight in cracked soil. 🌱 A leaf unfurling. 🍃 A shadow beginning to form.

    This went on for months. Then years. Through explosions. 💥 Through silence. 🤐 Through grief. 🕊️

    Now, more than two years later, the war in Khartoum has subsided and shifted to other places. People are beginning to return. And in front of our house, ten trees now stand tall — proud, defiant, and unbroken.

    They stand like sentinels around a home that isn’t even lived in yet. And they say more than words ever could.

    🌳 What My Husband Was Really Doing

    At first glance, you might think he was just obsessed with landscaping. But I’ve come to understand — this was never about trees alone.

    It was about control in a world that had lost all sense of it. When he couldn’t stop the war, he made sure the soil was watered. When he couldn’t bring us home, he made sure something was growing there, waiting.

    Psychologists call this symbolic action — doing something small and tangible to represent a belief too big to speak: This place still matters. I still belong. I will return.

    It was emotional anchoring — a way to stay connected to home when exile threatened to sever every tie. Every photo, every video, every instruction — it kept the house alive in his mind, and in his heart.

    It was hope as action, not wishful thinking. While others waited for peace to begin, he began peace. He planted it. 🌱 He nurtured it. 💧 He measured its growth in centimeters and courage.

    And beneath it all — it was grief transformed. The grief of lost time, of interrupted dreams, of a city bleeding. Instead of collapsing under it, he channeled it into care. This is what psychologists call sublimation — turning pain into something life-giving.

    He didn’t just mourn the trees that died. 🌳 He resurrected them. And in doing so, he preserved his identity. Because to stop caring would have been to let the war win — not just over land, but over his soul.

    And now, two years later, those ten trees stand as living proof of his quiet defiance — his refusal to let war have the last word.

    And when we finally walk through that front door — dusty, delayed, but standing — we won’t be entering just a house.

    We’ll be walking into a story of resilience. One that began not with bricks, but with roots. 🌱

    To the man who planted trees in the middle of war — I see you. And I know: where you grow, life follows. 💚

    Sara

  • Facing the Fear of Flying: Personal Insights and Tips

    Facing the Fear of Flying: Personal Insights and Tips

    A single, tragic aviation incident recently hijacked my peace of mind. It wasn’t just another headline—it was a devastating crash minutes after takeoff, claiming dozens of lives in the air and on the ground. I didn’t just read about it. I lived it—every detail, every victim’s story, every grieving family member shared online. I felt their pain like it was mine.

    And suddenly, my old companion—flying anxiety—came roaring back, louder than ever.

    I’ve always had a mild fear of flying. Nothing extreme—just that familiar knot in the stomach during turbulence, the white-knuckle grip on the armrest when the plane hits an air pocket. But over the past year, it’s grown. Sharper. More persistent. The breaking point? A 14-hour nonstop flight with no incidents—no technical issues, no delays, no rough weather. Just me, trapped in my own head, obsessing over every creak of the cabin.

    The flight itself was fine.
    But my mind wasn’t.

    For days after landing, I couldn’t enjoy where I was because all I could think about was the return journey. That dread seeped into my entire trip, robbing me of joy, focus, and presence. And now, after this recent tragedy, it’s worse. My inbox is flooded with news alerts: planes skidding off runways, mid-air collisions, emergency landings, private jets crashing into fields. Big airlines, small charters—nothing feels safe anymore.

    So I started wondering:
    Are plane crashes actually becoming more common?

    Or is it just that we’re hearing about them more?

    Here’s what the data says: commercial aviation is still one of the safest ways to travel. According to the International Air Transport Association (IATA), in 2023 there were only 5 major accidents involving passenger jets worldwide—and just 1 fatal accident. With over 37 million commercial flights that year, that’s an accident rate of less than 0.00001%. Statistically, you’re far more likely to be injured driving to the airport than flying across continents.

    But here’s the catch: our brains don’t care about statistics.

    Anxiety doesn’t listen to logic. It feeds on images, stories, and worst-case scenarios. And thanks to social media algorithms, every time I search for flight updates or watch a documentary about aviation, my feed floods with crash footage, survivor interviews, and dramatic headlines. The internet remembers my fear—and serves it back to me, amplified.

    That’s when I realized: my anxiety wasn’t just about flying.
    It was about loss of control.

    Sitting in that metal tube, 35,000 feet above the earth, I can’t steer, can’t see the runway, can’t predict the weather. All I can do is surrender. And for someone who likes to plan, to anticipate, to feel prepared—that’s terrifying.

    So I stopped fighting the fear. Instead, I sat with it.

    I asked myself: What exactly am I afraid of?
    Not “crashing.” That’s too vague.
    Is it the noise? The turbulence? The idea of not being able to escape?
    Turns out, it’s the anticipation—the waiting, the imagining, the mental rehearsal of disaster.

    Once I named it, I could work with it.

    Now, when anxiety creeps in weeks before a flight, I don’t push it away. I acknowledge it. Then I replace it.
    I visualize the journey going smoothly. I imagine walking through the terminal calmly, boarding without hesitation, feeling the hum of the engines as a lullaby, not a threat.

    On the plane, I practice gratitude.
    Thank you for this seat. Thank you for skilled pilots. Thank you for safe skies.
    I picture the plane descending gently, touching down softly, rolling to a stop at the gate. If it’s a new destination, I watch videos of the airport, study the layout, imagine myself walking through arrivals, smiling, free.

    And I bring work—drafts, essays, ideas I love to write about. Because when I’m immersed in something meaningful, time flies. Literally.

    This isn’t a magic cure.
    Some flights are still harder than others.
    But I’m no longer letting fear cancel trips, silence opportunities, or steal my peace.

    Because here’s the truth:
    Anxiety wants you to believe danger is everywhere.
    But life? Life happens despite risk—not because it’s perfectly safe.

    And I refuse to miss it just because I’m afraid of the sky.

    If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story. Share it with someone who understands—or drop a comment below. You’re not alone.

    Sara

  • Finding Balance in a Fast-Paced Tech Era

    Finding Balance in a Fast-Paced Tech Era

    If you grew up in the 80s or 90s, you probably remember the awe of seeing someone hold a mobile phone for the first time. Not the sleek smartphones we have now, but chunky devices that seemed like something out of a spy movie. Back then, just owning a mobile phone meant something — it symbolized access, progress, even status.

    Fast-forward to today, and the pace of technology feels like a never-ending sprint. Phones, tablets, smartwatches, AI tools, and platforms we can’t even name anymore — change isn’t just constant, it’s overwhelming.

    💾 I’m a Tech Loyalist — and Proud of It

    While many people rush to upgrade, I’m the opposite. I hold on. I form relationships with my devices. My laptop, my phone, even my old headphones — they’ve traveled life with me. I know their quirks, their glitches, their little victories. Letting go of them feels like saying goodbye to a dear friend.

    That’s why I hesitate before replacing anything. Not because I fear change, but because the old still works — and it means something.

    🚀 The World Keeps Moving

    But here’s the truth: the world won’t slow down just because I’m attached.

    Every day, there’s something new: a tool, a feature, a platform. And the pressure to “keep up” is real. Artificial Intelligence, for example, once seemed like a distant concept. Now it’s in our homes, our work, our searches, our conversations. Whether you’re ready or not, you’re expected to adapt.

    It’s hard not to feel left behind.

    🤔 Am I Falling Behind?

    Sometimes I ask myself:

    • What if I don’t know enough?
    • What if I’m missing something important?

    But over time, I’ve come to realize — we don’t need to learn everything.

    Just like a doctor doesn’t have to master every medical specialty, we don’t have to master every app or tool. We only need to learn what actually helps us — in our lives, our work, our goals.

    That mindset has been freeing.

    🔍 Focus on What Matters

    Instead of chasing every update, I focus on:

    • Tools that make my life easier
    • Platforms that support my creativity or work
    • Technologies that connect me to others meaningfully

    The rest? I let go.

    Because not every update is worth my peace. Not every feature is worth my time.

    🧘‍♀️ Finding Balance in a Fast World

    Maybe the real rebellion today is to move slowly.

    To choose peace over pressure.
    To upgrade when you’re ready, not because a new version came out.
    To be okay with not knowing everything.

    In this digital era, maybe staying human is the real superpower.

    📝 What I’ve Learned

    Here’s what I hold on to:

    • ✅ Learn what you need — not everything
    • ✅ Embrace the tools that serve your real needs
    • ✅ Keep the old if it still brings value
    • ✅ Let go of the pressure to be “tech perfect”

    I’m still learning. Still fumbling through apps. Still holding onto my 8-year-old phone. And honestly? That’s just fine with me.

    📣 Final Thought

    While the world runs on speed, I choose soul.
    While everyone’s upgrading, I’m honoring what still works.
    While the future races ahead, I’m walking with intention.

    Because in a world that won’t stop moving — sometimes, the most radical thing you can do is pause.

    Sara

    Did this resonate with you?
    Leave a comment below 💬 or share this post with someone who feels the same way. Let’s normalize slower tech, deeper connections, and mindful digital living.

    👉 Follow this blog for more reflections on digital life, balance, and staying human in a tech-driven world.

  • From Uganda to China: A Journey of Love and Resilience

    From Uganda to China: A Journey of Love and Resilience

    The True Story of Rose: From a Ugandan Village to Rural China

    In 2015, Rose was a young woman living in her hometown — a small village in Uganda — with her family. She was lucky enough to land a job at a Chinese company operating in the country. There, she met a Chinese girl who quickly became her close friend.

    Through this friendship, Rose was introduced to her friend’s relative — a man named Jianin. He had once been a professional chef but was now working in factories. Living far away in China, he and Rose began chatting online. They didn’t speak the same language, so they used translation apps to communicate.

    Not long after they met online, Jianin offered to send Rose a ticket to come visit him in China.

    Her father strongly objected — out of love, out of fear. He worried about her safety, especially since Jianin was ten years older than her.

    But her mother supported her.

    So what did Rose do?

    She listened to the voice of love, adventure, and ambition — and took the leap.

    💞 Love, Trust, and a Plane Ticket

    Rose and Jianin both say they felt an instant connection when they finally met at the airport. Within weeks, they were married.

    Rose moved to a quiet rural village in Zhejiang province, where she gave birth to a son and a daughter. Jianin had to work far from home in factories to support the family, while Rose stayed behind to care for their children.

    But she didn’t stop there.

    She connected with local women, learned the local language (Mandarin), planted rice, harvested tea, and learned how to cook traditional dishes.

    Rose started an online channel. Her storytelling and authentic life experiences struck a chord.

    Now, over a decade later, Rose and Jianin live in their own home, fully focused on content creation. She has over 8 million followers — sharing the beauty of rural life, cross-cultural love, and everyday joy.

    This is a true story.

    And this… is what we call:

    🚀 A Leap of Faith.

    🌱 The Journey of One Bold Decision

    Imagine this: a girl from a small African village, with little experience and even less information, makes a life-changing decision to fly across the world to meet a man she only knew through screens.

    And not only does she go — she thrives.

    She settles into a simple rural community, adapts, builds a new life, and creates something beautiful and successful.

    How do we make such big decisions?  

    What goes on inside us — emotionally, mentally, neurologically — that allows someone like Rose to take such a risk and see it through?

    Let’s explore the amazing inner system that guides us through life-changing choices.

    🔬 The Science Behind the Leap

    The Brain: Logic vs. Emotion

    There’s a part of our brain called the “prefrontal cortex” — responsible for logic, planning, and weighing risks.

    Rose must have thought carefully:  

    Will I be safe?  

    Is there a future here for me?  

    What if things don’t work out?

    That’s her prefrontal cortex at work — trying to plan and protect.

    Then there’s the “amygdala” — shaped like an almond — and it’s the center of fear and uncertainty.

    When Rose’s father warned her — “We don’t know him. He could be dangerous. You might get trapped.” — her amygdala probably screamed warnings loud and clear.

    Fear is natural. It protects us.

    But then…

    There’s the “dopamine system” — the brain’s reward center.

    Rose fell in love. She felt excitement. Dopamine flooded her brain, giving her courage, energy, and hope.

    It wasn’t just bravery — it was chemistry.

    ❤️ Emotional Forces That Move Us

    Rose and Jianin built a strong emotional bond online — despite not speaking the same language. That emotional harmony gave her trust.

    But there was also inner conflict:

    – Fear of the unknown — leaving her family, facing a new culture.

    – Excitement — for love, for adventure.

    That tension between fear and desire is managed by the “limbic system” — the emotional heart of the brain.

    And humans are wired to seek belonging.

    Once in China, Rose had to rebuild her sense of belonging — which she did by connecting with other women, learning Mandarin, and becoming part of the community.

    Psychological Leaps: Adapting and Thriving

    Rose faced “cognitive dissonance” — the discomfort of holding conflicting thoughts. Like:  

    “I’m scared… but I believe this is right.”

    But she worked through it by diving into her new life.

    She showed incredible “mental flexibility” and a “growth mindset” — believing she could learn, adapt, and grow.

    From a village girl in Uganda to a wife, mother, farmer, and eventually, a content creator followed by millions — Rose reshaped her identity completely.

     ✨ The Power of a Single Choice

    Rose’s story is proof that love, curiosity, and resilience can overcome fear and uncertainty.

    Inside every one of us lies a powerful system — neural, emotional, psychological — that helps us make bold decisions and navigate change.

    – The “prefrontal cortex”* plans.

    – The “amygdala” warns.

    – The “dopamine system’ motivates.

    – The “limbic system’ balances emotions.

    – And the “mind’ adapts.

    Together, they create the force behind a “leap of faith”.

    🌟 What Can We Learn From Rose?

    We may not all move continents or marry strangers, but we all face moments where we must choose:

    – Do I stay safe… or take a chance?

    – Do I follow my head… or my heart?

    – Do I let fear win… or do I trust?

    Rose reminds us that within each of us is a powerful internal system — ready to guide us through uncertainty, help us adapt, and lead us toward growth.

    All we need to do is understand it… trust it… and give it space to lead.

    Because sometimes, all it takes is one leap of faith — to change everything.

     💬 Final Thought

    You are still standing — even if just barely.

    That’s strength enough for today.

    keep going.

    Sara

    If this touched your heart, share it with someone who needs a reminder:  

    Sometimes, the bravest thing is to trust yourself — and leap. 🌈

    #LeapOfFaith #RealLifeStory #LoveWithoutBorders #Resilience #MindsetMatters #InspiringWomen #InnerStrength #CrossCulturalLove #GrowthMindset #BelieveInYourself

  • Embracing Chaos: Tips for Mental Resilience

    Embracing Chaos: Tips for Mental Resilience

    Do You See Chaos Everywhere?

    Does the world seem like a raging jungle to you, full of confusion… mystery… and evil?

    Do you feel like you’re walking on quicksand, unsure of what will happen in the future, tomorrow, today, or even the next moment?

    This is how things feel right now for many people.
    You turn on the TV, and you’re bombarded with news of violence, killing, and destruction. The places that escaped wars were struck by earthquakes, fires, and floods.
    You look at your phone screen, and all you see are economic collapses and societal disasters… call them what you will.
    Crises… crises… crises everywhere.
    How do you find balance amidst this chaos?

    The first step is to realize that chaos is a natural part of life. Instead of fighting it, try to accept it.
    Perhaps chaos, as harsh as it may seem, is a form of divine cosmic order that restores balance. But because our knowledge and understanding are limited, we perceive it as chaos.

    1. Accept Chaos as Part of Life

    Learn how to adapt to changing circumstances instead of trying to control everything.

    2. Don’t Give In to Frustration

    Don’t let negative news pull you into a spiral of fear and despair. It’s your right to stay strong.
    Never lose faith that everything will pass, and you will not only get through these times but may even emerge stronger and wiser.
    Staying calm amidst chaos isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity. Focus on what you can control.

    Strategies for Feeling Safe in a Turbulent World

    ✔ Create a daily routine that gives you a sense of stability and accomplishment.

    • Make your bed every morning.
    • Stick to the five daily prayers (for Muslims).
    • Set aside time for reading.
    • Regulate your sleep schedule and reduce screen time.

    ✔ Practice Mindfulness
    Make meditation or conscious breathing part of your daily routine. You can set an alarm every few hours to remind yourself to pause, take a deep breath, and feel the movement of your chest with each inhale and exhale.
    Take daily moments to connect with your senses:
    👀 Look around clearly, notice colors and shapes.
    👂 Listen to the sounds around you.
    👅 Taste your food mindfully—don’t eat in a hurry.

    ✔ Practice Gratitude
    Every day, think about the things you’re grateful for, no matter how small:

    • The ability to breathe.
    • A cold glass of water.
    • A moment of peace in a busy day.
      You can even write these blessings down daily and read them aloud.

    ✔ Spend Time in Nature
    If possible, go outside. Walking among trees or even sitting on your balcony can help restore your inner balance.

    ✔ Seek Support
    Don’t hesitate to reach out to friends or family when you feel confused or anxious. Sharing your feelings can bring comfort and a fresh perspective.

    ✔ Surround Yourself with Positive People
    Don’t remain alone amidst the chaos; build a support network that gives you strength and stability.

    And finally… cultivate resilience.
    We all have the ability to process events and deal with them flexibly. We cannot change the world, but we can accept it and live in it with honesty, generosity, and love

                    Best regards,

                                        Sara

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