Coming Home to Myself (Even When I Feel Lost)
- sarah m.
- Jun 12
- 3 min read
— A soft return to my body, my pace, and my own quiet magic —.
When Waking Up Feels Like Surfacing Through Fog
Some mornings start in slow motion.
Not with yoga and green juice—but with meds. It's a part of how I regulate my nervous system. It's part of surviving, healing, staying upright. But some days, it brings a little sedation. Not a fog exactly—just a dulling of the edges. The world goes quiet. The energy doesn't come easy.
Waking up can feel like crawling out of a cotton cocoon.
Some mornings, the most productive thing I can do is let myself be slow. Let my system come online gently. That's the real home management—internal first, external second.
And still, I begin.
The kettle boils. I hold a warm mug in my hand like a grounding stone. I let the light in — even if I don’t feel quite ready to be seen by it yet.
I do what needs doing: I clean, I care, I make things feel like home — not just for others, but for myself. I edit Reels with soft music. I drive kids home from school. I tick boxes. I smile. I show up.
And yet… some days, there’s this low, strange ache. Like I’ve moved through the day in someone else’s shoes. Present, but hovering a step behind myself. Still moving, still functioning — but a little adrift.
That Feeling? It's a Signal.
Here’s what I know now:
That feeling? That distance?
It’s not a failure.
It’s a signal.
A soul tapping gently on my shoulder saying:
“Slow down. Come home to yourself.”
Coming Home Isn’t Always Grand
It’s not a yoga retreat.
Not a bubble bath.
Not an unplugged weekend.
Sometimes, coming home to yourself is:
A deep breath before the school pickup line
A silent moment in the car before going inside
Letting yourself move slow because your nervous system needs to
Saying “I’ve done enough for today,” and meaning it
Sitting with a warm drink and choosing kindness toward yourself
Noticing the ache — and not trying to fix it straight away
What’s Changing for Me
The more I listen, the more I realise:
I am not lost. I am unfolding.
What looks like “blah” on the outside, is often integration on the inside.
And every time I pause, soften, breathe deeper, or honour my needs —
I take another step toward home.
Not the house.
Not the job.
Not the version of myself others expect.
But my home.
My body.
My inner safety.
My truest pace.
If You’re in the In-Between Too
If you’re here — navigating the strange tension between being capable and still craving rest — I see you.
You’re not broken for feeling flat.
You’re not lazy for needing stillness.
You’re not lost.
You’re recalibrating.
Returning.
Remembering.
And every micro-moment of presence counts.
Gentle Takeaways
Healing doesn’t always feel good, but it always moves you toward wholeness.
Productivity isn’t proof of worth. Your softness holds just as much power.
You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to rise. Both can coexist.
Some of the most sacred work happens quietly, in the pause.
A Soft Return
Today, I held a warm mug in my hands and breathed in the steam. I turned my face toward the light. I showed up gently.
And that was enough.
Let’s Connect
Does this resonate with you?
Have you felt that quiet ache of disconnection on a high-functioning day?
I’d love to hear how you come home to yourself — in small ways or big ones.
Share in the comments or pass this post along to someone who might need the reminder:
You’re not lost. You’re landing.
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