محمداحمد
لائبریرین
I cry every time I buy groceries.
Every single month.
Not because prices are high.
But because I can buy them.
Because I have the money, the freedom, and the choice to fill my kitchen.
Growing up, we didn’t eat dinner.
Not because we didn’t want to.
But because my mother convinced us we didn’t need to.
Whenever someone asked what she was making at night, she’d smile and say:
“My children don’t feel hungry after lunch. They just have milk and sleep.”
And I believed her.
I repeated it to anyone who asked.
Even at someone’s house, when they offered me dinner, I’d politely decline and say,
“I don’t eat at night.”
There were definitely nights I felt something.
But my mind had accepted that sensation as something else, not hunger.
This was just how we lived.
Even today, my mother still says it.
Still struggles to cook dinner.
Still repeats those same lines with the same dignity.
It took years for that belief to crack.
When I started earning a little in university and could afford three meals,
I slowly began having dinner again.
Not every day. Not consciously.
But here and there.
And then, one night, I realized I was hungry.
Actually hungry.
And that hunger kept coming back.
That’s when it hit me.
I had been hungry as a child.
We all had.
But my mother, in all her wisdom and grace, had protected us from that pain by rewriting the story.
She didn’t want us to feel like we didn’t have enough.
So she taught us to believe we didn’t need more.
Years later, I visited home during vacation and noticed my mother making dinner more regularly.
I watched her in the kitchen and suddenly remembered all those childhood conversations.
And I broke down.
Not because we didn’t have dinner.
But because I saw her clearly.
A woman doing the best she could with what she had.
Masking scarcity with a story that gave her children peace.
Today, my shelves are full. My fridge is stocked. I get to feed myself without guilt, without shame, without fear.
That’s why I cry every time I buy groceries.
Because this ordinary act is my biggest blessing.
And maybe this post won’t resonate with everyone.
But if you grew up in survival mode,
If you were taught to mute your hunger, your needs, your dreams,
I just want you to know:
It wasn’t your fault.
You weren’t wrong for believing it.
But you are allowed to unlearn it.
You don’t have to shrink to fit your past.
You’re allowed to take up space now.
p.s. If this cracked something open for you, I see you. You’re not alone.
Warda Noor
Courtesy: LinkedIn
Also Thanks to Mr. Zeeshan Usmani, Who shared this pot to his YouTube Channel.
Every single month.
Not because prices are high.
But because I can buy them.
Because I have the money, the freedom, and the choice to fill my kitchen.
Growing up, we didn’t eat dinner.
Not because we didn’t want to.
But because my mother convinced us we didn’t need to.
Whenever someone asked what she was making at night, she’d smile and say:
“My children don’t feel hungry after lunch. They just have milk and sleep.”
And I believed her.
I repeated it to anyone who asked.
Even at someone’s house, when they offered me dinner, I’d politely decline and say,
“I don’t eat at night.”
There were definitely nights I felt something.
But my mind had accepted that sensation as something else, not hunger.
This was just how we lived.
Even today, my mother still says it.
Still struggles to cook dinner.
Still repeats those same lines with the same dignity.
It took years for that belief to crack.
When I started earning a little in university and could afford three meals,
I slowly began having dinner again.
Not every day. Not consciously.
But here and there.
And then, one night, I realized I was hungry.
Actually hungry.
And that hunger kept coming back.
That’s when it hit me.
I had been hungry as a child.
We all had.
But my mother, in all her wisdom and grace, had protected us from that pain by rewriting the story.
She didn’t want us to feel like we didn’t have enough.
So she taught us to believe we didn’t need more.
Years later, I visited home during vacation and noticed my mother making dinner more regularly.
I watched her in the kitchen and suddenly remembered all those childhood conversations.
And I broke down.
Not because we didn’t have dinner.
But because I saw her clearly.
A woman doing the best she could with what she had.
Masking scarcity with a story that gave her children peace.
Today, my shelves are full. My fridge is stocked. I get to feed myself without guilt, without shame, without fear.
That’s why I cry every time I buy groceries.
Because this ordinary act is my biggest blessing.
And maybe this post won’t resonate with everyone.
But if you grew up in survival mode,
If you were taught to mute your hunger, your needs, your dreams,
I just want you to know:
It wasn’t your fault.
You weren’t wrong for believing it.
But you are allowed to unlearn it.
You don’t have to shrink to fit your past.
You’re allowed to take up space now.
p.s. If this cracked something open for you, I see you. You’re not alone.
Warda Noor
Courtesy: LinkedIn
Also Thanks to Mr. Zeeshan Usmani, Who shared this pot to his YouTube Channel.