Healing through family

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I moved back to Thimphu in the early days of winter 2025. That first morning, I joined my mother on the balcony, the sun already warming our faces. We sat together, sipping black tea, and watched the landscape unfold before us. The houses seemed to have multiplied, the hillsides reshaped—this place had undergone a complete metamorphosis since I'd left in 2011 for college and then for my post in one of the most remote districts. An opportunity for which I will always be grateful.

For eight years, I'd been a stranger to this kind of stillness. I had been alone, moving from one place to the next, becoming so consumed by work that I neglected both my health and my family. This moment with my mother, a quiet conversation about topics we held dear, was the first time we'd truly connected since my graduation.

As we talked, an indescribable peace settled over me. It felt like a gentle balm, healing the wounds from a breakdown I'd suffered just months before. In that quiet moment, I knew this was what I had been searching for. The simple warmth of family, a feeling of absolute peace and bliss. I knew then that I would never trade this for anything. This feeling is now my anchor, healing me every single day. I've even found a way to forgive those who wronged me, understanding now that perhaps I needed to lose my way to find this truth. With my family, I can heal and know that everything will be just fine.

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