I chaperoned a class hike today. A child fell and scraped her knee. She lost her confidence to keep going. I attended to her, gave her options, let her choose, and stayed close until she didn’t need me – then let her go. That’s probably the work. Not fixing people, not instructing them. Staying regulated enough that they can borrow it, the way nervous systems entrain to each other. Maybe my part isn’t to lead anyone anywhere. Maybe it’s just to get out of the way.
I don’t feel unless I have a reason to
I cried this morning, alone, before anyone else was awake. Nothing triggered it – no movie, no story, no one in the room to react to. I’ve spent years managing my emotions instead of sitting with them, allowing them, acknowledging them. I wasn’t taught to do any of that. I’ve always needed someone else’s story as a mirror to feel what I’ve dismissed inside.
It’s surprising how easy it is for others to ruin my day
I won’t run an errand unless I’ve picked a time I think will be quiet. A Sunday night, or an early hour before the crowds. I tell myself it’s efficient. Really, I hate being boxed in by people who don’t follow the rules I expect them to. Their randomness produces something inside me that I don’t want to feel. I’d rather never need to confront that about myself. It’s easier than being the one who can handle anything.
When emotions surface, I reach for my phone
Since I started morning pages, I catch my hand leaving the pen the moment something starts to surface. I reach for my phone before the feeling can finish arriving. I did this as a student too, needed a chat window open just to survive an essay. As soon as I pick it up, I’m sucked into doom-scrolling. Avoiding the feeling just gave me a fresh one to avoid. I haven’t found a real solution. I bought a device too boring to scroll – black and white, built for nothing but reading – and it draws a boundary I couldn’t hold on my own. The habit isn’t broken. It’s just been redirected somewhere I’ve agreed to call acceptable.
Your mind doesn’t need to know
People say you need to name your emotions to release them. My body has been teaching me something different. I don’t always know what I’m feeling or why something hurts. I’ve learned I can let it go without knowing. The sensation moves whether or not my mind has a story.
Illness costs more than the time it takes
Valley fever took years I could name. It also took the version of me who would have lived them. She would have built her own systems, known her own car, learned the basic competences of running a life. I’m meeting her absence now, ten years later, every time I find another thing I quietly handed off and never reclaimed. The grief isn’t for the time. It’s for her. I keep trying to become the person she would have been by now. I have to stop. She isn’t ahead of me, she doesn’t exist.
The body knows what to do once you stop fighting it
Last night I felt energy gathering around my lungs and moving up along the left side of my throat. I almost reached for it – to understand it, to name it, to fix it. Instead, I thought, it’s just grief, let it be. Then I fell asleep. The body was already doing the work. The fight was the only thing in its way.
The body speaks in beliefs, not just sensations
The tension in my left hip kept travelling – down to my knee, my foot. I found myself asking what belief lives there. The answer came quietly: that it doesn’t matter. That it can all be taken away. Are you willing to listen?
Meditate for peace when you want to shop
I noticed the pattern – when I feel discomfort and don’t want to sit with it, I look for something to buy. What if instead I set a timer and meditated for peace? Not as a discipline. As a redirect. The energy must go somewhere. Choose where it goes.
Regulating yourself is how you stay useful to a world that needs you steady
The world feels like it’s coming apart. I don’t know how to act normal when nothing is normal. But I keep coming back to this – a regulated nervous system is contagious. When you stay steady, the people around you have something to lean on. You can’t fix the world. But you might be able to anchor the room you’re standing in.