Inferiority Complex

Mumbai never sleeps — and neither did Puja's dreams. At 26, she had packed her whole life into two suitcases and moved to the city of possibilities. She had fire in her eyes: a job in a growing firm, evenings spent crafting delicate paper art, weekends lost in the rhythm of dance classes, and walls slowly filling with her paintings. To anyone watching, Puja looked like someone who had it all together.

But inside? It was a different story altogether.

Every Monday morning, Puja would sit in team meetings and shrink into her chair. She had ideas — brilliant ones — but her voice would stop somewhere between her heart and her lips. When her manager asked for suggestions, she'd think, "What if it sounds stupid? What if they laugh?" And so she'd smile, stay quiet, and watch someone else say something half as good and get twice the applause.

The promotions came and went. Not because Puja wasn't capable. She was — deeply so. But confidence is its own language, and somewhere along the way, Puja had never learned to speak it.

The roots of this silence stretched all the way back to childhood. Growing up, praise in her home was rare — comparison was not. "Why can't you be more like Neha?" her mother would say. "See how Rahul always tops the class." Slowly, without anyone meaning to cause harm, a quiet belief took shape inside Puja: I am never enough.

Years later, that belief had grown into invisible walls. She second-guessed every project, avoided every spotlight, and replayed every small mistake like a loop she couldn't stop.

Then one restless night, while scrolling through her phone, she stumbled upon an article about a girl —similar to her. Same emotional rollercoaster. Same pattern of shrinking. Same exhaustion from fighting herself every single day. But what caught Puja's breath was what came next: that girl had found her way out.

Puja sat up straight. For the first time in years, she felt something shift — not much, just a crack of light. She typed into the search bar: "online counsellor for low self-esteem Mumbai" — and found Dr. Mamta Wagle Kakade.

The first session was just Puja and her words — hesitant at first, then slowly honest. Dr. Mamta didn't judge. She listened with the kind of patience that makes you feel seen. In the second session, something unexpected happened: Dr. Mamta gently requested that Puja's mother and husband join an online session too. Not to blame anyone — but to help them understand the invisible weight Puja had been carrying, and how childhood comparisons and unspoken pressures had quietly shaped her inner world, even showing up as physical exhaustion, anxiety, and unexplained tears.

It wasn't an easy conversation. But it was a necessary one. And slowly, Puja began her real journey — not just to a promotion, but back to herself.