Dual Nature: Strength and the Roots of Pusillanimity
Human nature is a tangled web. No one can be purely wicked—just as no one is wholly virtuous. Every person blends light and shadow, a mix of clashing traits. This complexity shone through in my own journey, where I wrestled with both strength and a deep-rooted pusillanimity, a quiet fear that shaped my steps.
The seeds of my confidence were sown in the gym, on the yoga mat, and in moments of quiet prayer. I discovered an unexpected joy in weightlifting, reveling in the feeling of my muscles growing stronger, and the reflection in the mirror was a testament to my progress. I embraced mindful eating, challenged myself with intricate yoga poses, and found solace in heartfelt prayer. These practices weren’t just routines; they were a lifeline. A genuine happiness began to radiate from within, a stark contrast to the despair that had once consumed me. Looking back, I scarcely recognize the person who had once considered suicide. [I’ve previously shared how fitness and mindfulness helped rebuild my confidence and mental strength, giving me something to hold onto in my darkest moments.]
It’s important to remember this didn’t happen in a single leap. When I first stepped into the gym, or knelt in prayer, it was solely to divert my attention from alcohol. I was oblivious to the seeds of confidence I was unknowingly planting. Acknowledging that no one can be completely confident, I found my path to recovery was a constant struggle between building strength and battling ingrained weaknesses. Even as holistic practices nurtured my confidence, my deeply rooted fear of confrontation, my pusillanimity (or cowardice), was a persistent adversary. While it took two to three months to feel the positive impact of my routines, this destructive trait was at work from the moment I began, and continues to be a battle I face.
Pusillanimity’s Echo: Love, Debt, and the Brink of Return
My wife’s unwavering support was crucial in those first weeks. She didn’t pressure me to return to work, prioritizing my recovery above all else. Though my initial steps felt forced, I discovered a genuine joy in the gym and yoga. Knowing I needed time, she had even borrowed money from her brother, a gesture of immense sacrifice, to ensure I was truly ready before facing the pressures of work again.
Chicken and rice awaited me after the gym, a simple meal that felt laden with unspoken words. As I finished, she spoke. “I think I should come with you to the office, for a while.” The financial pressure, a crushing weight, pressed down on me. I knew the debts were a major reason for my past suicidal thoughts. I had been dreading this. [In my earlier blog, I shared how my financial mess and alcohol addiction led me to rock bottom, pushing me to the brink of self-destruction.]
“Sorry?” I asked, my mind racing, unable to come up with a real answer. “It is time to go back to work,” she said, her voice full of concern. “We need the money for the children. I spoke to your officer, he will help.” “I need to get a haircut and some other things ready,” I replied, buying time. “We can go the day after tomorrow.” Another day of delay, but not a solution.
Pusillanimity’s Shadow: A Return Steeped in Grace
The morning buzzed with restless energy. My wife turned our bedroom into a makeshift dressing room, ironing my best shirt and trousers with quiet precision. She polished my shoes to a mirror sheen and tucked a small memento from brighter days into my pocket.
“Need that blue hanky?” she asked, her smile a soft nudge of encouragement. I wavered, then relented, “Alright, hand it over.” “Bow to Maa Durga,” she pressed, her voice steady with faith. “Her blessings gave you this second chance.” She insisted I seek my mother’s blessing too, her joy spilling over. I went through the motions, but dread coiled tight in my chest. The thought of facing colleagues—carrying the weight of debts and the lies I’d spun—froze me. Pusillanimity tightened its grip. My office, nestled at the forest’s edge, had always been a pocket of peace, but today it loomed against the chaos within me. Summer’s heat clung on, though the trees offered a cool, fleeting respite.
Stepping onto the office grounds, I met the familiar burst of roses and marigolds. “Oh my God! It’s been forever—how are you?” The chorus followed me, warm but relentless. “Getting through it,” I’d mutter, heart hammering. When the senior officer summoned me, terror spiked—I braced for a reckoning over my debts. Instead, he smiled. “We’re thrilled you’re back. Submit your medical certificates and rejoin. Ask for help if you need it. Your wife’s a warrior—make her proud.” His tone was kind, not cutting. I handed over the papers, and with my wife by my side, they let us head home, expecting me back in earnest tomorrow.
Pusillanimity’s Triumph: A Fragile Will Unravels
Doubt was a heavy cloak as I stepped out the next day, unsure if I could even reach the office. On the bus, my pusillanimity seized control.
“They avoided the debt issue because your wife was there,” it hissed.
“But I have to work,” my fledgling confidence insisted.
“How else will I pay them back?” “Buy time,” pusillanimity urged. “Borrow from family or a local moneylender.”
“The interest will devour me,” logic countered. “Work, even a little, is better than more debt.”
“But the shame?” pusillanimity sneered. “Stay away until you’ve paid the most insistent.”
The ancient, sprawling tree of my pusillanimity choked the delicate sprout of confidence.
The thought of the office was unbearable. I sought refuge by the river, returning home in the afternoon.
“You’re back early,” my wife observed, her voice laced with concern.
“The officer suggested a slow return,” I fabricated, “Extended lunch breaks for a few weeks until I’m back on track.”
This lie sustained me for two weeks, but my growing confidence began to chafe against the deception. Finally, I forced myself through the office doors.
“Where have you been? We’re not impressed.” My superintendent’s words cut through me. “I haven’t been well,” I replied, my voice firm. “The medication makes me drowsy, but I’m here now.”
As I sat at my desk, a creditor approached, demanding repayment. I faltered, offering empty promises, a plan that was nothing more than wishful thinking. My pusillanimity, a crushing weight, forced me to flee the office, leaving me lost and directionless.
Pusillanimity’s Spiral: Dodging Debt and Duty
Every morning, I’d leave for the office, taking the city bus. But instead of entering my workplace, I’d succumb to fear, boarding another bus to nowhere. I’d waste the day in malls or parks, avoiding the office and the colleagues I owed money. My fear, my pusillanimity, paralyzed me. I couldn’t face them, nor could I bring myself to seek a loan from a moneylender.
This pattern shattered when my officer called my wife, revealing my prolonged absence. When I returned home, she calmly confronted me. I confessed my fear of facing my debtors, and proposed borrowing from a moneylender to alleviate the immediate pressure.
“Their interest rates are high,” she warned, “but if there’s no other way, then do it. Just be careful.” She understood my desperation, driven by the need to provide for our children.
With my wife’s support, I was supposed to secure a loan from a local moneylender. Instead, I’d hover near their offices, paralyzed by fear, unable to enter. After a week of this, my wife asked about my progress.
“They need proof of income,” I lied, “and my lack of recent salary is a problem.”
“The festivals are coming,” she said, her voice laced with worry, “and we need to pay the children’s school fees.”
“I’m trying,” I insisted, “I’ll try other places.”
Price of Pusillanimity: A Calm Before the Fall
Weeks blurred into a thick fog of doing nothing. Bills piled up, a ugly reminder of my fading willpower. Diwali came, but the lamps stayed dark, casting long shadows over our lost happiness. “Papa, no fireworks this year?” my son asked, his small voice stinging worse than any scolding. The landlord’s gentle knocks, kind but tired, made my failures feel heavier. Every evening, my family’s hopeful eyes met mine, their quiet begging twisting my gut. “Anything new today?” my wife would say, forcing a smile that barely hid her worry. “No,” I’d mumble, feeling smaller under the weight of letting them down.
My fear—my pusillanimity—ruled like a silent boss, stealing our safety and pride. I made excuses in my head, soft as whispers, but the truth stood loud: I’d given up to fear. That awful cycle slowed sometimes, but it never stopped, haunting every shaky step I tried to take. Looking back, I see it clear as ice: this shaky peace was just the calm before a bigger fall. [Recently, I explored the deep-rooted reasons behind why we procrastinate, and I couldn’t help but see how my own fears played into my avoidance.]
“What about you?” I want to ask. “When fear knocks and standing up feels too hard, how do you choose—stay stuck or risk the jump?”