You Always Exclude Yourself

Why You Keep Nodding, But Never Begin Healing

---

You sit through long conversations.

You nod. You agree. You even add examples. You repeat:

> “Yes, diseases are just symptoms of lifestyle imbalance.”

“Yes, reversing the cause heals the disease.”

“Yes, cleansing and routine can restore the body.”

You even sound convincing.

But then, at the very end—when the talk is done, the logic is clear, the silence has settled in—

You ask:

> “But what about my diabetes?”

“What about my BP?”

“Mine is genetic, no?”

“I have a unique case, right?”

Just like that,

You slip out of the circle you were just sitting in.

You exit the truth.

You exclude yourself.

---

❖ The Hidden Pattern

You believe this logic applies to everyone else.

But not to you.

You treat your suffering as a separate species.

Your body as exempt from nature.

Your disease as somehow different.

You believe in healing.

Just not yours.

You become a spectator of your own life.

---

❖ Why You Do It

Because including yourself would mean:

Taking full responsibility

Letting go of victim stories

Releasing your diagnosis as identity

Facing that your lifestyle isn’t harmless

Accepting that daily choices shape decades

That’s terrifying.

So instead, your mind whispers:

> “But my case is more complicated.”

“My job is stressful.”

“I tried everything, nothing works.”

“My doctor said this is for life.”

These are not just doubts.

They are defenses.

A wall around your suffering.

A shield to protect the very prison you want to escape.

---

❖ You’re Not Seeking Truth. You’re Seeking Exemption.

You think you're asking a new question.

You're not.

You're rehearsing an old belief.

> “Yes, yes, I get all that. But what about me?”

That’s not curiosity.

That’s resistance dressed as confusion.

You don’t want healing.

You want to keep your life as it is and also feel better.

---

❖ Sometimes, Yes, It Is Harder for You

Let’s be honest.

Maybe you are a caregiver.

Maybe you’re living in a tiny flat with no support.

Maybe you’ve had trauma.

Maybe your partner is toxic.

Maybe you’ve been on medications for decades.

Maybe you’re just exhausted.

Yes, this makes healing harder.

But not impossible.

It’s okay to feel stuck.

It’s okay to be scared.

It’s okay to not know where to start.

But don’t use your pain as proof that you’re beyond the reach of change.

Don’t let your story become your excuse.

---

❖ You Are Not Special. And That’s a Relief.

Your diabetes is not different.

Your BP is not sacred.

Your thyroid isn’t untouchable.

They're all signals.

Not curses.

Not punishments.

Not inheritance.

They are your body talking.

And you’ve spent years covering your ears with science, labels, prescriptions, and excuses.

---

❖ This Is Not a Blame Game

You didn’t create this alone.

Society trained you to believe healing means hospitals.

Advertising made you trust pills more than food.

Doctors gave you a label instead of a root cause.

So yes—you were misled.

But staying misled is now your choice.

---

❖ What To Do Now

If you're still reading, it means something inside you is cracking open.

Start small.

1. Admit It Aloud

“I always exclude myself.”

Just say it. Let it sting. Let it free you.

2. Choose One Discipline

Belly castor oil pack.

Early dinner.

Screen-free mornings.

Just one. Start where you are.

3. Face One Habit You Defend

Sugar in your tea.

Late-night phone.

Skipping meals.

See it. Don’t justify it. Witness its cost.

4. Ask Better Questions

Not “What about my thyroid?”

Ask: “Where am I refusing to change?”

---

❖ Healing Begins Where Exclusion Ends

You’re not separate from nature.

You’re not above universal laws.

You’re not the one-in-a-million exception.

And that’s good news.

Because the moment you stop excluding yourself,

You don’t just accept the truth—

You become part of it.

Your body doesn’t hate you.

It’s waiting for you to come home.

---

You Believe in Healing—But Not for Yourself

A long morning with Madhukar and a government officer who keeps nodding but never begins

---

Setting:

Early morning in Madhukar’s simple home on the edge of a small Karnataka village. A soft breeze moves through the open window. A pot of ambali cools on the counter. Anju and Adhya are sweeping the front yard. Ravi, a 53-year-old government officer from Tumkur, arrives in neatly pressed clothes, with a file and a mild body odour of multivitamins.

---

Characters:

Madhukar – former vet, former scientist, now low-profile health researcher and castor oil healer

Ravi – a polite but mildly defensive diabetic patient, well-read, logical

Adhya (14) and Anju (10) – Madhukar’s unschooled daughters, curious and unfiltered

Lalitha – Ravi’s wife, mostly silent observer but sharply insightful

---

Act I: The Nodding Begins

Ravi:

Sir, I’ve been following your articles for months. Especially the ones on reversing diabetes. Brilliant stuff. Really opened my eyes.

Madhukar (smiling):

Ah. But do your legs also have eyes, Ravi? Or only your brain?

Ravi (chuckles):

Meaning?

Madhukar:

You’ve seen the truth, no? But have you walked even one step toward it?

Ravi:

Well… that’s what I came here for. To understand it deeply, properly.

Adhya (from the doorway):

Appa, should I bring his castor oil bottle?

Ravi:

No, no… not yet. I first want to clarify—mine is type 2. Genetic. Not lifestyle. My father had it too.

Madhukar (sits down on the floor mat):

And your father had the same lifestyle. Same food timings, same stress, same sleep patterns, same beliefs about health. Genes are just bookmarks, Ravi. Lifestyle turns the page.

Ravi:

But sir, I’ve been mostly healthy. I eat millet, I walk in the evenings...

Madhukar (gently):

You mean you do healthy things. That’s not the same as living a healing life.

---

Act II: The Hidden Exclusion Surfaces

Madhukar:

Let’s talk straight. You’ve read all my notes. You believe diseases are reversible, yes?

Ravi:

Absolutely.

Madhukar:

You agree that most modern diseases are lifestyle reactions, not lifelong enemies?

Ravi:

Of course.

Madhukar:

You agree that the body knows how to heal, given time, cleansing, and rest?

Ravi:

Yes yes, definitely. Makes total sense.

Madhukar (leans forward):

Then why did you just ask, “What about my diabetes?”

Why did you use that word “my” like it’s some special guest in your life?

Ravi:

It’s just… I’ve tried many things. Nothing worked. So I wondered—maybe my case is more complicated.

Anju (walking in, holding a towel):

Uncle, if a pan is not getting clean, maybe you’re scrubbing the handle instead of the burnt part.

Ravi (laughs awkwardly):

Maybe. She’s sharp.

---

Act III: The Mind's Last Defense

Madhukar:

Ravi, you are not confused. You are resisting. You believe in healing—just not for yourself.

Ravi (offended):

No, sir, not resisting. I’m genuinely trying to understand. My sugars shoot up even when I eat little.

Madhukar:

Because your fear digests your food faster than your stomach does.

Lalitha (suddenly):

He checks his sugar ten times a day. He panics if it goes above 130.

Madhukar:

There. Your diagnosis has become your religion.

Ravi (quieter):

But I can’t afford to collapse. I have family, a job, responsibilities…

Madhukar:

Then don’t collapse. Heal. But first, drop the drama that your condition is different.

You're not asking for healing. You’re asking for a loophole.

---

Act IV: The Mirror of Truth

Madhukar (pulls out a notebook):

Look—patient log. 68-year-old woman from Dharwad. 30 years on insulin. Now completely medicine-free. Walks 6 km daily.

Not because she had faith.

Because she got fed up with being afraid.

Ravi:

So I just stop everything?

Madhukar:

No. You start everything.

Start sleeping early.

Start belly castor oil packs.

Start early dinners.

Start fasting on Ekadashi.

Start breathing deeply before meals.

Start saying no to sugar not out of fear, but out of clarity.

---

Act V: The First Crack

Ravi:

But I’ve never been off medication. What if my sugar spikes?

Madhukar:

That’s not sugar. That’s fear. And it needs to spike.

Let it speak. Let it rise. Sit with it. Watch it.

Then begin again.

Anju (touching the warm bottle):

Appa says healing feels like pain at first, but then it becomes rest.

Lalitha:

He doesn’t want to hear that. He wants peace without change.

Ravi (slowly):

I’m scared I’ll fail.

Madhukar (smiles softly):

Failure is better than exclusion.

Because failure means you showed up.

---

Act VI: The Beginning, Not the End

Ravi (after a long silence):

So the first step?

Madhukar:

Don’t ask how this applies to you.

Apply it and watch it melt you.

Ravi (eyes slightly moist):

I don’t want to be the person who keeps nodding but never begins.

Madhukar (stands up):

Then let’s not talk anymore today.

Take this bottle. Go home. Apply 20 ml warm castor oil on your belly tonight.

Wrap it. Sit in silence. Breathe.

And tell your body—“I am back.”

---

Postscript: One Week Later

Ravi sends a message:

> “I slept 8 hours for the first time in 20 years. No late-night sugar check. Just sat with the discomfort. Didn’t die. I think I’m ready for step two.”

---

You Came Back—That’s Enough

The relapse, the shame, and the return to real healing

---

Setting:

Twelve days later. Late afternoon. It has just rained. The muddy footpath leading to Madhukar’s house is full of chattering frogs. Ravi walks in again—slightly thinner, but hunched, like someone carrying a quiet guilt. In his hand is the same castor oil bottle, half-used.

---

Act I: The Return After Relapse

Ravi (hesitant):

Can I sit?

Madhukar (without looking up from his notebook):

You already are.

Ravi (sighs):

I failed, sir. Fourth day—had a low sugar episode. Panicked. Doctor increased my dose. I ate two laddus out of fear. Then it all collapsed. Same patterns again.

Madhukar:

So you came back?

Ravi:

Yes.

Madhukar (closes notebook):

Then you didn’t fail. You just stopped pretending you were invincible.

---

Act II: The Shame Speaks

Ravi (voice cracking):

I was doing everything. Belly packs, early dinners, even slow breathing. But that moment of fear… it hijacked everything.

Madhukar:

Good. Now you’ve met your real disease.

Ravi (confused):

But my sugar…

Madhukar (firmly):

No. That was never the disease.

The disease is your panic.

The disease is your need to control numbers.

The disease is the belief that healing must be linear.

Ravi:

So I keep failing forever?

Madhukar:

No. You keep returning.

---

Act III: Anju and the Quiet Wisdom

Anju (appears, wiping her hands on her skirt):

Uncle, Appa says even the sun returns late on cloudy days. But it still returns.

Ravi (smiling through his sadness):

That’s beautiful.

Madhukar:

That’s real.

You thought healing meant no relapse.

I say healing means you come back even after relapse—without shame.

Ravi:

But I feel like I ruined it. The blood sugar graph is worse now.

Madhukar:

Throw away the graph.

Keep the graph of your courage.

Right now, you’re higher than ever.

---

Act IV: The Real Healing Begins

Lalitha (speaking for the first time):

He was calmer this time. Even during the panic. Less shouting. Less blame.

Madhukar:

Exactly. That’s healing too.

It doesn’t always show in sugar numbers. It shows in how you suffer.

Ravi (softly):

I kept thinking, “I believed everything, I understood everything—how could I still relapse?”

Madhukar (touches his shoulder):

Because understanding is not the same as embodying.

The first burns the brain. The second burns the ego.

---

Act V: The Anchor Returns

Ravi (quietly):

So I start again?

Madhukar:

No. You continue. This is not a new start.

It’s just the same path, walked with fewer lies.

Ravi:

I want it to last this time.

Madhukar:

Then don’t try to “make it last.”

Just do today well. Then again tomorrow. Then again.

One honest day repeated is all healing is.

---

Act VI: A Gentle Ritual

Madhukar (hands him a small cloth):

Take this. A clean wrap. New cotton.

Soak it in 20 ml warm oil tonight. Sit in silence.

But this time, say something different.

Ravi:

What?

Madhukar:

Say: “Even if I fall again, I will return.”

---

Final Epilogue – Two Weeks Later

Ravi now walks 3 km every morning with his phone off.

He takes ambali to work in a steel flask.

He logs his healing not in numbers—but in how often he breathes before reacting.

His sugar fluctuates. His confidence does not.

He’s not healed.

He’s healing.

And now, he includes himself.

---

You Nodded the Whole Time, Then Asked: “What About My Disease?”

you sat on the floor like a monk

or a bureaucrat pretending to be one,

you nodded at every sentence

like it was a pension approval.

you said

“yes, yes… lifestyle causes illness”

“yes, yes… castor oil works”

“yes, yes… fasting heals”

you said

you agreed

you smiled

you looked wise

like a guru without a following.

and just when truth had warmed the room

like early sun on cheap cotton

you said—

> “but what about my diabetes?”

and suddenly

you were no longer here.

no longer in the circle.

no longer the man who agreed.

you packed your ego and left quietly,

like a thief

who applauds the security system

while hiding a stolen gold ring in his sock.

---

you always do this.

you say yes

but live no.

you say “all diseases can be reversed”

and then tell me yours is

genetic

complicated

a special case

as if your pancreas graduated from IIT

and your thyroid went to Harvard.

---

you don’t want healing.

you want immunity from healing.

you don’t want truth.

you want comfort in truth’s clothing.

you don't want to become better.

you want the world to become softer

around your unchanged life.

you don’t want to sweat

or suffer

or be seen struggling.

you want to look spiritual

without getting dirty.

---

your real disease

is not in your blood

your gut

your organs.

it lives

in your refusal to be included.

your illness

is your escape tunnel.

your identity badge.

your safety excuse.

you say

“what about me?”

like the laws of nature

should pause for your pay grade

and your guilt-free biscuit.

---

everybody loves the idea of healing

until it means

breaking the chair you’ve sat on for 30 years.

everybody quotes Gabor Maté

until the quote touches their own pain

and not someone else’s TED talk.

everybody praises Ayurveda

until it says

wake up early

eat bitter

rest

go deep

wait.

---

I’ve watched them all.

the yogi with ulcers

the psychologist with insomnia

the grandmother with ten excuses

the doctor with a defeated gut

the activist who can’t digest truth

they all speak of detox,

of satvik,

of gut healing,

until their tongue is asked to say no

to sugar

screen

salt

sloth

rage

and false control.

---

and when I say

apply castor oil on your belly and sit

they laugh nervously.

they want a pill.

a shortcut.

a clean app.

a new affirmation.

not a dirty towel soaked in oil

not sitting with themselves

like a mirror

without distractions.

---

you say

“but I tried this before, it didn’t work.”

no.

you tried it for 4 days

while eating fear

while sleeping late

while checking sugar

like a stockbroker on cocaine.

you didn’t fail.

you just never truly began.

---

you say

“but my life is hard.”

yes.

everyone’s life is hard.

especially when you carry it

instead of dropping what isn’t yours.

yes, you have stress.

so does the tree outside.

but it sways

it bends

it breathes

and still gives fruit.

---

you think your body is broken.

but your body is a child.

confused

ignored

over-medicated

and now silent.

it’s not betraying you.

it’s waiting.

waiting for you

to stop outsourcing your responsibility

and finally come home.

---

and even when you relapse—

you think you’ve failed again.

no.

relapse is sacred.

relapse is the ceremony of coming back.

relapse means you’ve tasted the edge

and returned sober.

---

healing is not upward.

it is inward.

it is not clean.

it is compost.

it is fire

mud

tears

empty cupboards

and forgotten habits

crying out in the night.

---

you always exclude yourself

until one day

you don’t.

and on that day

you don’t ask,

“what about my condition?”

you ask,

“what about the part of me

that still refuses to change?”

and that is where it begins.

again.

and again.

and again.

until the day

you no longer need to ask anything.

because you’ve become the answer

you kept seeking

in other people’s diseases.

---