Easier said
When the sun hits my face in early spring or on a quiet winter’s day, I can’t help but pause and soak it in—quietly enjoying this little moment of warmth and peace. Just a few seconds of feeling completely content and in touch with myself. No disturbing thoughts, no feelings of pressure—just being. Every day I tell myself I need to take more moments like this for myself, but it’s hard to break the pattern of always being on the move. Now that I have the luxury of time to focus on myself, I find I keep busy with constantly learning, doing what I love, and working toward the future I dream of. I realize I’m very good at overworking myself—especially when I’m doing what I love. I need to stop and breathe.
To me, taking care of myself is more than eating healthy, exercising, and sleeping well. I need to create or be inspired by beautiful things—but just as important as being creative is simply being quiet. To calm my mind, to check in with my body and emotions, and to recharge by simply being content to just be. I know how to reach this state, and I truly want to take more moments like this every day. But it’s easier said than done.
It should be like brushing my teeth—a ritual that helps me stay in touch with my true self. That quiet body of water where I find peace and stillness. That place where I can explore my feelings without being swept away by the current of strong emotions. Where the choppy waters always return to a calm, still surface.
And that's why I'm sometimes afraid. Having experienced this deep calmness within myself, I wonder if I’ll fall back into old patterns and lose my way to that place again. Now that I no longer have the immediate need to find calm, I notice I'm not taking enough time to return to my inner sanctum—that sacred place. And the time will come when I have to return to regular work. When that moment arrives, I’ll need to know the road to stillness by heart, so I can always find my center when the outside world bombards me with the chaos of responsibilities, pressure, and expectations.
Today, after I fed my five cats, I rolled out my yoga mat and moved through several rounds of sun salutations. I focused on my breath and noticed every sensation in my body. And once I was done, I thought, this feels good. Why did I stop doing this? During the pandemic, this was my morning routine. Maybe I did it because I couldn’t go to the bouldering gym during lockdown. And when the pandemic ended and I was able to return to bouldering, this routine simply faded from my mind. The need wasn’t there anymore.
I realize that I need to shift my mindset—seeing personal care not just as a solution to a problem, but as a preventive practice that helps me navigate life more smoothly.
In my early twenties, rituals and taking care of my mental health came more naturally. I trusted my intuition—that deep inner compass that guided me back to myself. Every morning, I visualized the sun’s rays entering the crown of my head and flowing through my body, out through my feet into the earth beneath me—cleansing me of intrusive thoughts and energizing me. Then I visualized the earth’s energy flowing up through my feet, through my crown, and into the sky—nurturing me and planting seeds of possibility and growth. I called this ritual "Greeting Mother Earth and Father Sun." It may sound woolly to some, but it simply felt good.
Personal rituals have always been important to me—and they still are. But over the years, the practice faded, and I wonder why. I think I was afraid of what people would think if they knew what I was doing. Honestly, I still am. I don’t want to explain myself or defend my rituals to people in my closest circles. I’ve found that society tends to value cognitive ability and rational thinking more than intuition, spirituality, and ritual. So, I hid that part of myself, and over time, it disappeared. I surrendered to fear and to my core pain: the belief that I am not worthy of love. I worried that if I kept practicing these rituals, others would find me weird, judge me, and deem me unworthy of their respect and love.
Do I really need their respect? Is it truly important what they think of me? I know what is good for me—so why do I keep molding myself into someone I’m not? Before I can change my mindset, I need to let go of this fear. I have to live with myself until the end of my life; I cannot avoid who I am. Others may walk out of my life if they don’t like who I am—but me? I’m here for the whole journey. And because that’s a fact, I’d better start valuing myself as worthy of love—especially my own.
Just start, I tell myself, and don’t expect it to be perfect all at once. Just begin somewhere and build from there. Today, the yoga practice was a good beginning. I try to stay aware of what I call the “lazy mind”—the one that tells me it’s too much effort to roll out my mat or insists I don’t have time because there’s so much to do. But one of those things I want to do is practice yoga and meditate. Because that is how I take care of myself—and I am worthy of that care.
