You know, there comes a point where you just feel… off. Like you’re walking around with a backpack full of rocks, and you don’t even remember packing them. That was me, not too long ago. Just dragging myself through the days. Something had to give, right?
My First Shaky Steps
So, I decided I needed to actually do something. Not just think about it, or complain about it, which, let’s be honest, I’m pretty good at. My first real move was embarrassingly simple: I started going for short walks. And I mean, super short. Sometimes just around the block. The goal wasn’t exercise; it was just to move. To get out of my own head, even for ten minutes.
I remember those first few walks felt weird. Like, what am I even doing? But I kept at it. Just putting one foot in front of the other. Slowly, I started to notice things I hadn’t paid attention to in ages. The way the sun felt, the sound of birds, even the cracks in the pavement. It was like my senses were slowly waking up.
Adding Layers, Bit by Bit
Once the walking became a habit, a tiny little anchor in my day, I thought, “Okay, what else?” I didn’t want some complicated self-help regime. I’ve tried those. They usually last about a week. So, I kept it simple.
I started paying attention to what I was letting into my brain. The constant barrage of news, social media, you name it. It’s exhausting. So, I began to curate it.
- I made a conscious effort to put my phone away for certain periods. Especially before bed. That was a tough one, not gonna lie.
- I started reading actual books again. Paper ones. Funny how calming that can be.
- And here’s a big one: I tried to consciously stop myself when I was spiraling into negative thoughts. I’d literally tell myself, “Nope, not going down that rabbit hole today.” Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But trying was the point.
Then came the “letting go” part. Not in some grand, mystical way. But just letting go of small annoyances. Someone cut me off in traffic? Okay, deep breath. Let it go. Before, that would have ruined my mood for an hour. It wasn’t about becoming a saint; it was about protecting my own peace.
The Messy Middle and Where I Am Now
Now, don’t get me wrong. This wasn’t some instant transformation. There were days, plenty of them, where I felt like I was back at square one. Days when the backpack of rocks felt heavier than ever. Days when all I wanted to do was sit on the couch and eat junk food. And sometimes, I did just that. Because, well, I’m human.
But the difference was, I knew I had these little tools. These small steps. And I could always go back to them. The walk. The quiet time. The conscious choice to let something go.
So, where am I now? I’m still walking. Still practicing. The rocks in the backpack are fewer, and they definitely feel lighter. Some days, I barely notice them at all. It’s not about a perfect, healed state. I don’t even know if that exists. It’s about the process. The ongoing journey of taking those small, healing steps, every single day. Or at least, most days. And that, for me, has made all the difference.
