The Invisible Battle You Fight Everyday for Your Passion

Dear fellow creators,

“What if I tell you the world does not need you to create any art”?
Not because it does not like you — but because it simply doesn’t care.

It doesn’t mean to crush your creative dreams.
It just wants you to be useful. Predictable. Present.
Religiously doing your duty — as a son/daughter, a parent, a partner, an employee, and fulfill all your responsibilities with unwavering reliability, quietly.

And somewhere between all that showing up, you wonder:
Is there any room left for people like us — people who still want to create something beautiful, even when it doesn’t pay?

The truth is – if your art doesn’t bring home any money, it’s often dismissed as a dispensable ‘hobby’, an indulgent ‘pastime’, something ‘nice’ but ultimately not important.

No one says it out loud, but you feel it. In their silent dismissals. In their unsolicited advice to “save money for something important”.

Life reorganizes itself against the creative spirit with ruthless efficiency.
Weekends aren’t for living your dream, they’re for errands.
The endless list: clean, cook, buy groceries, pay bills, attend events, entertain guests, take the kids out, spend time with family. And if you’re a woman artist, the list seems bottomless, unforgiving.

Weekdays?
You’re expected to show up on time, meet every deadline, deliver within turnaround time and be the one that your team can count on, and fairly so because that’s what brings salary home.
Then come home, and still keep showing up — for your family, for your aging parents, for responsibilities no one needs to remind you of. Of course, it is not always about responsibilities. It is also about loving your family selflessly to spend those “quality time” with them, without being asked to.

Fair enough. Life is demanding.
But tell me honestly —
After fulfilling everyone else’s needs, where’s the room left for you, for that self-love, for something that soothes your soul?

Anything that makes you feel truly alive — if you choose to nurture it alongside your job — calls for a quiet, relentless battle within yourself. You’ll need to fiercely protect your ‘time’ and shape your daily life around that passion: how far you live from work, how much household help you hire, how early you put your kids to bed, and so on.

It’s not easy. Squeezing in your passion into the bricks of an ordinary life takes fierce love and an indomitable spirit. But that unwavering devotion, that relentless determination — it builds a life touched by something extraordinary.
Because if it’s just a hobby or interest, it will surely die under the weight of household chores, office meetings, PTM notes, medical appointments.

Even if you’re lucky (like me) to have a truly supportive partner — someone who actually tries to carve out space for your art, set aside budget for your next gear — the guilt still lingers.
Nobody may say anything. But inside, you feel it.
The guilt of spending time on something that is “just your passion”, and comes after trading off family time together.
The guilt of investing in an expensive lens, while your other financial goals still remain unmet.
This life doesn’t exactly reward you for choosing yourself.

I know this conflict because I live it everyday.

I am a father to twin toddlers,
A partner to a working spouse and mother,
A son to aging parents with medical needs,
A corporate lawyer in a demanding profession that leaves little room for frailty.

Every day, there’s something screaming for my attention or action.
Everyday, something else feels more pressing than your soul’s own voice.
Every day, the window to “create” narrows down to a slit so small I can barely breathe through it.

And yet — something within me insists on breathing anyway.

There are nights when, after tending to every call for help, after every interruption, I sit down once again to write, to edit, before that narrow window of time is closed with the bedtime.
Often I fail.
But occasionally — gloriously — I succeed too.
And in those moments, I am restored and rejuvenated. In those moments, a hidden piece of my soul stirs to life.

That’s the grace of life — it doesn’t brand you a failure; it reminds you you’re human. It tests your edges, stretches your spirit, and quietly steels you for fiercer battles ahead. No effort, whether crowned with triumph or lost in silence, is ever truly wasted.

Not everyone will see the scars you carry beneath your art.
Not everyone will understand that what you create is not luxury —
it is survival. Survival of your soul.
It is the last thread holding your soul together after life has torn it apart.

Few will ever sense the quiet wars you fight just to stay whole.
Fewer still will ever clap for the things you bleed in silence to protect.

Most won’t understand why you would pour lakhs into a lens instead of chasing stocks.
Or why you’d stay up editing a photograph or writing a piece, late after midnight, that no one ever asked for, or a few would ever ever read.

But you’ll do it anyway — because it matters to you.
You don’t create for applause.
You create to breathe.
(And yes, it’s hard — because secretly, we all hope for a few kind words of appreciation.)

I’m lucky to have a partner who gets this.
Who, even when exhausted herself, holds space for me to chase these small, stubborn dreams, every day.
Not perfectly, but with enough tenderness to keep me believing.

And yes — her burdens are heavy too, often heavier than mine.
But that doesn’t make mine disappear.

So here’s what I’ve learned:
You don’t need the world’s understanding.
You don’t need anyone’s permission.
You don’t need anyone’s validation to keep believing in yourself and your art.

It is enough that you know.

In the end, the question is simple:
Will you still choose to create, knowing no one may ever clap or give you the gift of ‘time’?
Will you defend that tiny space within you — which makes you what you are, in true sense?

I hope you will.

Steal time if you must. Rise earlier, stay up later — but never at the cost of your health, for you cannot create from an empty vessel.

Defend your art as fiercely as you defend your loved ones.
Because some days, it is the only thing standing between you and despair.
Some days, it is the only act of rebellion you have left.

The world will always build walls in front of you.
Climb them.
Break through them.
Create anyway.

Because somewhere inside all this messy, busy, beautiful life —
There’s still a ‘you’ worth listening to and “saving”.

And the world may not always notice,
But you will know:
You didn’t let the light inside you go out.

With you,
One stubborn soul who refuses to give up.
Vivek