When Life Feels Loud Even in Silence
There comes a point when life doesn’t scream but still exhausts you.
That’s where I was.
Studies demanded constant performance, work consumed time without mercy, and personal relationships slowly turned heavy. Some bonds that once felt safe had become toxic filled with misunderstandings, emotional drain, and the pressure to keep pretending that everything was fine. I smiled in front of people, but inside, I felt tired in a way sleep could not fix. My mind never rested. Even silence felt noisy.
I didn’t want advice. I didn’t want explanations. I wanted distance from expectations, from emotional chaos, from myself as I had become.
That morning, under a clear blue sky, I chose Shali Tibba. Not as a trekker chasing altitude but as a human being searching for mental peace.
Khatnol: Where the Heart Starts to Slow Down
The journey began near Khatnol, a quiet village in Shimla rural where time seems less urgent. The geography here feels gentle yet honest terraced fields clinging to hills, forests breathing deeply, mountains standing silently as if they’ve seen everything humans struggle with.
As I stepped onto the trail, my feet moved forward, but my heart felt heavy. I carried unresolved emotions, words left unsaid, and relationships that had drained me more than they had loved me. With every step, I wondered why do we hold on to things that hurt us?
The mountains didn’t answer.
They simply listened.
The First Ascent: When Pain Speaks Through the Body
The climb tested me early. My legs burned, breath broke, and self-doubt returned like an old companion. I stopped often not because I was weak, but because I needed to breathe. Every pause felt like permission to feel tired, to feel overwhelmed, to feel human.
When I looked up, clouds floated slowly, untouched by urgency. When I looked down, valleys stretched endlessly, reminding me how small my struggles really were. In those moments, something softened inside me. The pressure to be strong all the time quietly dissolved.
Path and Honest Fear
As the trail narrowed, the mountain revealed its sharp edges loose stones, steep drops, risky turns. Fear appeared, real and undeniable. But this fear felt different from the fear in my personal life. This one was honest. It didn’t manipulate or confuse. It simply asked me to be present.
Each dangerous stretch reminded me of toxic relationships how one wrong step, one ignored instinct, can cause deep harm. The mountain demanded awareness, just like life does when it’s time to walk away from what hurts.
I moved slowly. Carefully. Respectfully.
And I trusted myself.
At The Top: Shali Tibba
Something inside me broke open not in pain, but in relief. Clouds surrounded the peak, the wind carried silence, and the world below faded into calm layers of green and grey. There was no one to impress, nothing to prove.
For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t performing strength.
I was simply being.
Mental peace arrived quietly. Not as happiness, but as acceptance. I felt lightern not because my problems disappeared, but because they no longer controlled my breath.
When I finally reached home, there was no dramatic victory just quiet relief. My body ached, my clothes were dusty, but my mind felt clearer. The mountains hadn’t magically healed me. They had done something more realistic: they gave me space to breathe, to feel, to accept my own fragility.
Why This Trek Will Stay With Me
Shali Tibba stayed with me because it wasn’t just a place I reached it was a space I needed. Away from toxic patterns and emotional noise, the mountains offered silence that didn’t demand explanations. The trek taught me that healing isn’t instant or comfortable; it happens slowly, through effort, discomfort, and quiet reflection. I arrived tired mentally and emotionally and returned grounded, clearer, and more at peace. And sometimes, that quiet return to oneself is enough.
Comments
Post a Comment