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“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response.” ~Viktor Frankl
For a long time, my first response to difficulty was a single, aching question: “Why me?”
It surfaced whenever life took an unexpected turn—when plans collapsed, when effort didn’t materialize, when circumstances felt unfair and overwhelming. I believed that if I could understand why something was happening, I would somehow fix the situation and regain control. That the answer would soften the blow.
But it never did.
One experience, in particular, changed my relationship with that question.
I remember one such phase very clearly.
In 2004, I had just begun my interior design practice. Work was picking up, projects were active, and life—though hectic—felt rewarding. Then one morning I woke up dizzy, with severe headaches and brief blackouts. I dismissed it as exhaustion. But the symptoms continued.
After several tests, I was diagnosed with a condition called BIH—a neurological disorder characterized by high pressure in the brain, which pressed the optic nerve. If left untreated, it could lead to permanent blindness. I needed immediate hospitalization and complete rest.
I was admitted for ten days for treatment and then put on steroids for six months. At a time when my career had just begun, I was being told to stop. I had active projects, new clients, responsibilities I couldn’t simply abandon.
One day in the hospital, overwhelmed and angry, I found myself shouting the familiar question: “God, why me?”
I tried to find answers. In fact, I was quite desperate. I turned to ideas like karma and spoke to a few therapists and healers, hoping they would offer some perspective or comfort. Instead, they added more layers of questioning. One explanation led to another. What lesson was I supposed to learn? What had I done to deserve this? Rather than helping, the search for meaning only made things feel heavier and more complicated.
What I didn’t realize then was that “Why me?” wasn’t helping me cope; on the contrary, it was keeping me stuck. It pulled my attention backward, toward comparison and quiet resentment, and left me waiting for answers that never came.
One evening, as I lay on the hospital bed, exhausted from overthinking, watching the sunset from the window of my room, something shifted. I felt the fog around me lift, and another question quietly surfaced: What now?
That question changed everything. It didn’t erase my fear or disappointment, but it gave me something solid to hold on to. I allowed myself to feel what I felt—scared, helpless, frustrated—and then I assessed the situation honestly and started to take action.
I called my clients and explained the reality. I coordinated remotely, asked my assistant and contractor to meet me at the hospital to clarify details, and ensured the work continued without placing my health at risk. I rested, focused on healing, and accepted that this was the situation I had to move through, not fight against.
That was my first real experience of the power of “What now?”
Over the years, I’ve returned to that question many times. Whenever life feels stalled or overwhelming, it brings me back to the only place where something can actually be done—the present moment.
“What now?” doesn’t ask for big plans or perfect clarity. It asks for honesty. It asks what the next right step is, given the energy and resources available today. Some days, that step is practical. Some days, it’s emotional. And some days, it’s simply choosing not to add more fear to an already difficult situation.
I’ve learned that acceptance is often misunderstood. It isn’t resignation. It isn’t giving up. It’s acknowledging what is without wasting energy fighting reality. From that place, movement becomes possible.
Over the years, “What now?” became a grounding practice rather than a solution. On hard days, it helped me stay present without denying how difficult things felt. On better days, it reminded me to act gently and intentionally instead of waiting for certainty.
Asking “What Now?” Taught Me:
- I don’t need answers to begin moving forward.
- Small, honest steps matter more than perfect clarity.
- Acceptance creates space for choice, not passivity.
- Being present is often enough.
I still catch myself asking, “Why me?” when life feels unfair or exhausting. But now I recognize it as a signal—not as something I should be consumed by. A sign that I’m tired, hurting, or in need of compassion. When that happens, I don’t argue with the question. I gently acknowledge it.
And then I return to the one question that has helped me move forward, again and again.
“What now?”
I may never have all the answers. But I’ve learned that I don’t need them to live meaningfully. When life presents questions I can’t solve, responding with one I can has been enough.
Sometimes, that is all we really need.
About Aruna Joshi
Aruna Joshi is an author of four books, an emotional wellness advocate, and the voice behind Zen Whispers, a blog for deep-feeling souls who crave gentleness, truth, and clarity. Through personal stories and soft reflections, she helps readers feel less alone in their inner struggles. You can find her at thezenwhispers.substack.com.
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