I’ve
always gone through my days on autopilot, moving from one thing to another,
ticking off tasks, showing up where I was needed, doing what had to be done.
Not because I was trying to be responsible or ambitious, but because life simply
didn’t seem to give me space to pause and breathe. There was always something.
Another responsibility. Another silent weight. Before I even realized it, a
whole decade had passed. It’s not that I didn’t have goals. I did. But I
was also just trying to hold everything together.
And
somewhere along the way, even though life never really gave me permission to
stop, I began to feel this quiet kind of tiredness. Not the kind that sleep can
fix, but the kind that builds up when my soul starts to wonder, what am I
actually chasing? It wasn’t burnout from being restless, but a weight I
couldn’t name – like something was missing, just beneath the surface. And that
realization was where it all begins, I started to breathe a little deeper, to
pay a little more attention to myself.
I
didn’t change everything overnight. But I started to breathe a little deeper. I
paid a little more attention to myself, my soul, my body, my needs. I began to
notice the subtle signs I had ignored all along. The way life kept placing
people in my path just when I felt like giving up. The little moments of ease,
right after the moments of chaos. The quiet synchronicities that whispered, “I’m
still here, you’re still under my watch”. And that’s where I am learning to
be an observer of my own thoughts, to react less and understand more.
I no
longer need the loud answers, I just listen for the soft ones, the ones that
come in stillness, in reflection, in the gentle knowing that I’m on my way.
Because maybe the answer isn’t always to try harder. But try softer.