Human life has a strange way of revealing its deepest truths at the most unexpected moments. Sometimes it arrives through books, sometimes through personal crisis—and sometimes, as it did for one government officer, through a spiritual teacher she first encountered on YouTube. She had listened casually at first, the way we often treat online content. But somewhere in those sessions of listening, something shifted within her. She felt seen. Guided. Anchored.
What she discovered was not merely advice, but a new way to look at life itself—a way to understand the purpose behind all the restlessness that travels with us: the disappointments, the exhausting battles with ego, and the quiet heartbreaks that often go unnoticed. In her journey lies a universal story, one that belongs not just to her, but to anyone who has ever tried to do the right thing in a world that isn’t always kind in return.
This is a story of endurance—of staying centered when the world seems committed to knocking you off your axis. And it is a story of how devotion, clarity, and inner alignment can transform not the situation, but you.
When Doing the Right Thing Hurts
The devotee worked at a senior post in a central government department. On paper, it was an honorable position—authority, responsibility, respect. But the reality, as she confessed, was far from serene. She faced constant ridicule, unsolicited criticism, and the subtle but biting cruelty of colleagues who found pleasure in belittling others. Her days often felt heavy, layered with humiliation, sarcasm, and unspoken hostility.
If you’ve ever worked in a difficult environment, you know this feeling intimately. You begin the day determined to stay calm. You remind yourself that you’re here to perform your duties. But somewhere between the first meeting and the last email, the emotional weight finds you. A rude remark here. A dismissive gesture there. Slowly, silently, it chips away at you.
“Maharaj ji,” she said, “how can one continue working with enthusiasm when surrounded by so much negativity?”
The question she asked is not unique. It echoes across workplaces and families, friendships and relationships. Anytime we step into life sincerely, the world tests the sincerity.
The First Shift: You Must Not Be Wrong
Her teacher listened without interrupting. And then, with the simplicity of someone who understood human nature, he offered her the foundation upon which a stable life is built:
“Do your work with enthusiasm. Only ensure one thing—you must not be wrong.”
It sounds simple, almost too simple.
But consider the power of that instruction. We often suffer not because others judge us, but because their judgment shakes our own inner ground. The moment someone criticizes us, we begin doubting ourselves. The moment someone mocks us, we question our abilities. And when someone insults us, we carry the sting not because of the insult, but because we are unsure whether some part of it is true.
But when you know you are doing the right thing—when your conduct is clean, your decisions ethical, your integrity protected—external noise loses its authority. It does not define you anymore.
“Perform your duty without error,” he said. “Let no temptation or fear move you toward wrongdoing. Keep your professional space pure.”
Purity here does not mean perfection. It means alignment. It means doing what you know to be right, even when it is inconvenient, unnoticed, or unrewarded.
Once that is established, criticism becomes background noise—annoying, yes, but powerless.
And yet, the devotee confessed that even with this inner alignment, the hurt still reaches her. “Sometimes, I cannot endure it. It becomes too much.”
Her master smiled gently. “Then take refuge in the Name.”
The Power of Devotional Presence
The teacher’s advice—“Chant the Name”—is more than a religious suggestion. It is a psychological and spiritual tool for strengthening presence. In modern language, it is a practice of grounding the mind, creating an anchor in the midst of turbulence.
When you chant a Divine name—Radha, Ram, Krishna, Jesus, Allah, Wahe Guru, or even a simple breath-mantra like “So-Ham”—something profound happens inside you:
- Your attention shifts from the problem to the Presence.
- The mind, which loves to spin stories, finds a rhythm to settle into.
- The heart, which tightens under stress, begins to soften.
But the most important transformation is this: endurance comes naturally.
Her teacher explained it beautifully: “A true devotee is the one who can endure. Chanting strengthens endurance.”
This endurance is not suppression. It is not bearing pain silently while resentment grows inside. It is clarity. It is knowing, with quiet confidence, This cannot disturb me unless I allow it to.
What modern psychology calls “emotional regulation,” spiritual traditions have called “sahan shakti”—the power to endure without breaking.
What Endurance Really Means
She asked, “But Maharaj ji, what does tolerance even mean? Should I just keep absorbing everything inside? Should I keep swallowing every insult?”
Her teacher shook his head gently, like a parent correcting a child with affection.
“No, my child. Patience is not inner suffocation. It is clarity. If you have discernment, it cuts through negativity instantly. Endurance is not about burying hurt. It is about rising above it.”
He gave a striking example: “A person engaged in devotion never falls into depression. Why? Because the moment the mind becomes heated, the Name cools it like water on fire.”
This is not denial. This is not escapism. It is a way of ensuring that the emotional fire does not consume your mental clarity.
Then came the teaching that shifts one’s entire understanding of life:
“The one who endures becomes wise.
The one who breaks becomes worldly.”
A broken response is a reactive response—one driven by ego, fear, or insecurity. Endurance, on the other hand, is a response rooted in maturity. It protects your peace. It preserves your energy. And most importantly, it keeps your inner world from being dictated by outer chaos.
Why Life Gives Us Difficult Situations
At this point, the devotee asked a question nearly everyone asks when life becomes painful:
“How long must I endure? How long must I tolerate?”
Her teacher answered with one of the most liberating perspectives on life:
“Circumstances were not given to change you—they were given to mature you.”
Read that again.
The situation itself is not the enemy. It is the environment in which your inner strength is tested, shaped, and refined. Just as pressure creates diamonds, life’s difficult circumstances create resilience, compassion, insight, and strength.
We often pray for situations to change:
- “God, take away this toxic colleague.”
- “God, change my office culture.”
- “God, remove this obstacle.”
But the teacher said, “Do not ask for the situation to change. Ask for the strength to remain steady within it.”
This teaching carries immense psychological wisdom. Because even when one situation ends, life will present another, different but equally challenging. Running from one workplace to another is like trying to outrun your own shadow. Wherever you go, the world follows.
And so he said, “Where will you run? Wherever you go, Maya—the tests of life—will follow. The circumstances in which God has placed you were chosen for you thoughtfully.”
This idea—that our current challenges are crafted specifically for our growth—transforms how we respond to them. Instead of feeling victimized, we begin to feel entrusted. Instead of resentment, there emerges a quiet sense of purpose.
The Ego and the End of Suffering
The teacher offered one more profound insight:
“Hurt only exists as long as ego exists.”
This is not easy to admit. Much of our suffering is tied to identity:
How could they speak to me like this?
How could they disrespect me?
How dare they insult me?
If the ego is alive and alert, every little remark becomes a wound. But as the ego dissolves—even a little—insults lose their sting. Criticism floats by like dry leaves in the wind. You begin seeing others’ behavior not as personal attacks, but as expressions of their own conditioning, pain, ignorance, or insecurity.
“If a madman shouts at you,” he said, “you don’t feel hurt. Because you know he is lost in his own delusion.”
Most people in the world operate from a place of inner confusion. When they criticize you, they are revealing themselves, not you.
Understanding this brings a serenity that feels almost like freedom.
How to Practice Devotion in a Busy Life
The devotee raised one last concern—one that almost every modern seeker faces:
“Maharaj ji, my entire day goes in office work. I don’t get time for chanting.”
Her teacher smiled knowingly.
“When you make devotion your goal, you can practice even in the busiest workplace.”
He explained:
- You don’t need a temple.
- You don’t need silence.
- You don’t need a rosary in your hand.
Even during work, the mind can repeat the Divine Name gently inside. In moments of pause, in the spaces between tasks, during walks between meetings—you can return to the remembrance.
“When the goal becomes clear,” he said, “the mind naturally flows toward God even amidst chaos.”
But if the goal is unclear, then even sitting with a rosary in solitude achieves nothing. The mind keeps wandering in worldly thoughts while the fingers move mechanically.
“So let this be your practice,” he said.
“Let the mind repeat ‘Radha Radha Radha.’
Offer your work to God.
And fill the remaining time with remembrance.”
When work becomes worship, and remembrance becomes breath, life itself becomes spiritual practice.
The Path Becomes Clear
The teacher ended with a promise:
“When remembrance and service come together, the spiritual path becomes bright and strong.”
This is not a poetic statement. It is a psychological truth.
When your actions are aligned with integrity (service), and your mind is aligned with devotion (remembrance), something remarkable happens: you stop reacting to life and start responding from your center. The world may remain complicated, but your relationship with it becomes simple.
You begin living with purpose—not because life suddenly improves, but because you do.
Final Thoughts: Strength Is Not in Avoiding Life, but in Meeting It Fully
Life is not meant to be comfortable. It is meant to be transformative.
Every difficult situation is a classroom.
Every unkind person is a lesson in maturity.
Every insult is a mirror—not of your flaws, but of your attachment to identity.
Every challenge is an invitation to grow.
We cannot change the world around us—not completely, not permanently. But we can change the way we meet it. When we act with integrity, when we chant, when we reflect, and when we surrender, something extraordinary begins to happen:
We stop asking, “Why is this happening to me?”
And instead begin asking, “What is this teaching me?”
In that shift lies the entire journey from suffering to wisdom.
And in that wisdom lies the quiet strength that no insult, no hostility, and no circumstance can ever take away.