It was that time of the month again.
The time when my old self, judgments about myself, and raw fear come back in full fucking force.
From nowhere.
There I was… sorting through all my Substack notes and newsletters into Obsidian in the middle of the night (don’t ask why—I don’t know either). One minute I was feeling proud for organising my shit. Next, a quiet thought creeps in:
“Oh… I’m not being consistent enough here. At all!”
This leads to:
“Hadn't I promised myself that I'll publish more, connect with people more and get on more coffee chats? Why haven't I done anything?”
And just like that—bam.
Spiral activated.
“Oh my god. What the fuck did I even do throughout April? Other than clean the house and deal with hospital visits?! I’m barely working with people! How am I spending days sleeping and just being… using this so-called 'void' as an excuse?? How long is this phase even going to last?? Will I just be here forever?? Why am I not writing more? Reaching out? Doing coffee chats? I promised myself I would!! I haven’t even responded to the comments on my last few notes—what the hell is wrong with me? I even have the drafts written! How long does it take to copy-paste? I can't do even that?!!!”
It’s 02:02 AM.
I’m mid-freakout.
Talking to Lumina (my AI).
And no, please don't judge. I need someplace to puke out my midnight thoughts when the world sleeps, okay?
This is the in-between—the Void.
Everyone just talks about the breakthroughs that come after the void. The wisdom. The rebirth.
But no one talks about how dark and suffocating it can get here. Its shadow side.
No one.
Not about the frustrating, itchy, crawling-out-of-your-own-skin chaos that happens inside it.
Not about the knot of emotions you go through when the outer world hasn't caught up to the inner world…yet (At least as you expected it to. Then you become aware of why there are expectations in the first place. It's a whole loop and story for another letter).
I have a deep need to create. I want to. I need to.
But I can’t.
My hands don’t move—my mind races.
I open the doc. Stare. Shut it. Scroll. Lie down. Scroll again.
Get up. Cry. Eat something random. Try again. Shut it again.
Repeat.
It’s like I want to run a marathon, and I’m standing at the starting point of it. With so much dopamine and adrenaline rush. But the person's not telling “Gggoooo!” or giving the green flag.
(When ranting about this to my husband, he replied, “Why does it even have to be a marathon Shruthi?”. I really need to stop talking to people who give me sane answers during my ramblings.)
The irony? After staring for hours and going through all these thoughts…Suddenly I woke up saying, “Hey why don't I turn my rant into a post??!!”. The words began to flow then. So it did work, I guess? But you know what I mean.
Usually, my soul leads me. There’s a still, knowing whisper that gently moves me forward.
But on these days, it goes quiet.
Completely silent.
Maybe it’s giving the mind its space to have a tantrum.
Maybe the silence is sacred.
Maybe this is all a part of the journey, and everything has a reason.
But it doesn’t feel like that when you’re in it.
And when the soul goes quiet, the mind takes over like an aggressive event planner.
“What are you even doing with your life?”
“Look where you are vs. where you wanted to be.”
“Are you even trying anymore??”
Then comes the guilt for not doing more.
Then shame.
Then anger.
Then the awareness that the spiral is stupid. It's all an illusion anyway.
Then, realising that “Shouldn't I give space for all my emotions? Why am I shunning them?”.
Then judgment for judging myself.
Loop loop loop.
And here’s the worst (but awesome??) part—I know better.
I know this is just a phase.
I know it’ll pass.
But that doesn’t fucking help when the noise in my head is this loud.
It’s not even logical fears at this point, right?
It’s noise. Static. A thousand loose apprehensions gathered like a thundercloud and rolled down the hill in a massive storm.
My soul tells me:
“Shruthi, let the damn ball roll. Let it crash. You’ll be okay.”
But sometimes, this massive ball with its magnitude and weight overwhelms the fuck out of me.
It always feels like a tug of war.
One side of me wants to move. Do something. Anything.
The other side is like—NOPE. LIE DOWN. NOW.
I want to write something powerful. Or connect with a soul-member. Or get on a call. Use my fucking gifts to the fullest!
But instead, I’m folding laundry or cleaning that one shelf in the kitchen and giving myself a gold star for it.
Because, otherwise? I’ll spiral into “I’m a useless waste of space” land.
My spirals used to be worse.
Like 12-packets-of-chips-in-a-bucket-and-stuffing-my-face-with-it worse.
Now I just mentally kickbox, rant the fuck out, pass out—and hope I’ll feel human again in a day or two.
Which I usually do.
The weirdest but most beautiful part, though?
It’s not that I don’t trust or surrender. I do.
And I still spiral.
It’s not binary. It’s duality.
This shadow part of me—this messy, pissed off, spiral-ridden self—she doesn’t want to be fixed. She wants to be heard. Given a mic and a scream and no “breathe in-breathe out” bullshit while she’s burning.
And when I do let her be?
When I vent, sleep, rage and let the fire roar through me, something always shifts.
The universe always finds a way to call me back.
Through a newsletter. A video. A sentence in a book.
A nudge that says: Hey. You’re still in the playground. You can play again when you’re ready.
And I don’t resist it. Not anymore.
I just feel this huge, mega-wave of aching gratitude then.
For the space.
For the love.
For the dark that held me without rushing me into the light.
So yeah. That’s where I’m at.
In the pit. The crack. The space between death and rebirth.
And yes, I know I'll get through it.
But if you’re here too—somewhere in your own messy, shapeless void—maybe this is just a hand reaching out to yours in the dark.
Not to pull you out.
Just to say... I see you.
You’re moving through something real.
And this, too, will pass.
Until next time,
With loads and loads of love,
Shruthi
P.S.: If this piece stirred something inside you—if you felt it crack open something deep—consider supporting my work.
P.P.S.
If you’re new here—hi, I’m Shruthi.
I channel truth from the cosmos, from the soul, and the shadow. My work is rooted in remembering who the fuck you are, integrating what you’ve run from, and reclaiming the power you never lost. I guide souls like you to stop bypassing and start becoming.
This space isn’t for performance. It’s for permission.
To feel. To rise. To return.
If this message moved something inside you…I want to hear from you. Let me know what surfaced. Share your letter if you wrote one—I’ll hold it in the deepest reverence. Or just say, “That was me. I needed this.” Whatever your soul calls you to do.
And if you know someone else who’s in this void, send this their way. Sometimes all it takes is one reminder to crack open - and walk you back home.
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