Maybe your mind works like mine—a ship that never docks. Always drifting from thought to thought, task to task, storm to storm. And maybe, like me, you need an anchor.
I have a few anchors. My mum is one—the kind that steadies my entire life. At work, my boss became another—someone who didn’t just assign me tasks but helped me make sense of them, making me feel grounded.
Then he stepped away.
He needed a sabbatical, and I respect him deeply for recognising that. But in the quiet after his absence, I realised how much of my stability came from those weekly calls, those quick texts, and his calm presence. I didn’t just lose a point of contact; I felt like I was losing the one person I felt safe asking for help. Feeling lost without support is scary.
Suddenly, I was the ship without an anchor.
But ships aren’t built to be still. They’re built to keep moving. Maybe that’s why I also need lighthouses. Those small glimmers that remind me I’m not alone.
My lighthouses are scattered. My rescued cats, whose lives I promised to protect. BTS, whose lyrics carry me when I forget how to carry myself. One of the quotes I held onto this week was from Jungkook:
“Effort makes you, and you will regret someday if you don’t do your best now. Don’t think it’s too late but keep working on it. It takes time, but there’s nothing that gets worse due to practicing. So practice. You may get depressed, but it’s evidence you are doing good.”
I held that quote like a life vest.
Because this week was hard. Crying halfway through typing emails. Falling asleep mid-exam because my brain couldn’t stop spinning. Trying to be the strong one—the breadwinner with too many bills and too few answers. Watching my pets fall sick, spending all my savings on medication, but telling myself: they’re okay now, that’s what matters.
Still, it was too much. And I finally said what I’ve been afraid to say: I need help.
I reached out to my other boss. We don’t have the history, but she listened. She said, “I’m here. You don’t have to worry. He’ll be okay, and you won’t lose the job you love.”
It felt like a hug I didn’t know I was waiting for.
Maybe we’re not meant to have anchors. Maybe it’s okay to drift, sometimes. To cry. To panic. To pause. As long as we remember we’re allowed to ask for help. And that help doesn’t always come from the direction we expect.
This week, I learned that I am still afloat. That being a ship without one anchor doesn’t mean being lost—it just means it’s time to lean on the lighthouses.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
— Chirpy