Lately, I’ve been listening more closely to myself. Head tilted, eyes a little unfocused. Tuning inward before I reach for the cards, the stars, or even worldly logic. Whenever I get feedback, my body returns to that same state. Intent. Aligned, quietly excited. “What do we think about this?” I ask. “Does this feel right? Do I actually want to do this? Should I press send?”
These are the fruits of a rite I’ve come to go to again and again, that of sitting down with myself, and myself alone.
Not too long ago, my internal dialogue sounded a bit different…
If I were to sit down and just breathe, would life still hold me?
Or would I be dragged down with the current, no matter what?
If I were to lay my Apple pencil down, or put a pause in the search for more gigs — just for a moment — would I be betraying myself?
Shouldn’t I be going at full blown speed trying to get everything, anything, my hands can get a hold of?
A voice, unidentified, but somehow with the audacity to speak loudest, replies:
No rest. You don’t deserve rest. Work yourself to the bone.
My body is an obedient, loving animal. Were I to be despotic about how I go about my time, it would do its best to fall in line. It has before.
However, let’s look at that language. It isn’t something you would tell a friend, right?
That voice again, it couldn’t care less that it’s interrupting me:
You SUCK. You better shut the fuck up and keep on doing the same old shit. Because it’s obvious you don’t know what else to do.
Ouch.
I am not much of masochist, at least not in the day-to-day, and one morning, I’d had enough. I yanked my journal from under a stack of books and grabbed a pen. I was going to have a serious talk with myself and see why the hell I was speaking to the receptive-me like this.
In the thick of my no-nonsense era, my body showed signs of great distress. My skin was acting up. My eyes looked so sad, sadder than I’d ever seen them. My teeth and gums were incredibly sensitive; I had to brush them gingerly to avoid that surge of nerve pain. I was on edge. My lived experience was freaking me out. I felt like I wasn’t doing enough. I felt like I wasn’t enough.
I am mildly vain, and on top of that, the pain (teeth, neck, lower back) tugged at me to listen. If I didn’t stop whatever I was doing for my own mental sake, I had to do it for my body’s comfort …and aesthetics. My vanity does serve a noble purpose. Ha!
Like a mad metaphysical scientist, I reached for alternatives in the midst of demolition. The tone I had chosen to address myself — the rigidity, the constant pin-down to that electric chair — was sheer torture. The body expressed itself in the only way it could given those circumstances: hot, angry tears. It came to a point where the dam I had built caved to the mounting pressure, and cue: the ✨crashout✨. I let the heavy tears roll down the cheeks. I allowed some whining — WHY WhY whY whyyy — until I was tuckered out and once again receptive to self-care.
Then, I would repeat truths while Magdalena Bay’s “Live 4ever” played on repeat for an hour. I’d let the gentle words of an affirmation tape lull me as I wrapped myself in a blanket and sometimes… I allowed myself to take a delicious nap. No alarm set.
Given the frequency of these crashouts, I’ve come to learn what to do when the body buckles. But surely there must be a gentler, softer way to do this — all of this — and avoid getting into that emergency state in the first place. How do I honor myself above all circumstances, without the need to gaslight myself or slap metaphorical band-aids over gaping psychic wounds?
✦ Astral Field Note: I have a chat with the nasty voice. Materials used: journal, pen, imagination.
I pictured myself in the greenhouse of Howl’s Moving Castle. I am Mme. Suliman — or her younger sister, lol — and I summon the me (the voice that interrupted us earlier in this essay) that had been nasty to the rest of the flock.
I debated internally whether I should ban them outright from the kingdom. Wisdom advised differently: Listen, and see what they say first.
Bellicose exasperated-me sat down surly on the chair I offered. I gestured towards the cookies and the tea, and made myself a cup right after. The Other, still nameless, touched nothing.
I sipped my tea. My gaze soaked her in. I couldn’t hold my curiosity any longer, so I asked, “Why do you speak to the rest the way you do?”
She replied, eyes ardent, “Because if I don’t do this, then how will we make it through this?!”
Oh! That changes things, doesn’t it? This person is not my enemy — just misguided —and maybe, just maybe, I haven’t been very present.
✧ Rite in Practice ✧
mirrorfeast has three category tags: mirror, feast, and rite. You’ve already tasted a sampling of the first two. This post dips into rite.
After much experimentation, there is a self-made liturgy I follow to turn down the noise, stop the scramble and the inner competition between all my selves: the one that wants to create 24/7, the one that is worried about finances, the one that has been eyeing that one-way Lufthansa flight ticket for months, the one that wants to stay here for at least a few more months so I can stabilize, and more.
It’s not complicated or ceremonial. No incense, no velvet robe. But it is a rite. A return. Something that grounds me.
The Rite of Sitting Down.
Sitting down entails presence. And nothing more.
It doesn’t mean I am giving up on what I desire. It doesn’t mean I am forsaking responsibility. It means choosing softness over performance, devotion over battle.
I am choosing presence.
✦ Astral Field Note, Part 2: Integration. Result: The meeting was a success!
The conversation continued. I let her speak. Poor thing, she’s traumatized, and though she chose sharp fire to combat the world, I understand why.
I tell her that I could be like Zeus and with brute force, push my thumb down on them all — especially her, My Prometheus (for I think I know what her name is though she doesn’t have the faintest clue).
But I opted not to do that. I did invite her into the greenhouse for a heart-to-heart after all.
She took in those words and humbly recognized the power I held and that I, in fact, was not a tyrant. I could see her body relax. She reached for a cookie and took a bite.
“I know your name,” I said. Her ears perk up. “You are Change. With the right role, clear constraints, and with ample space to create and experiment, I have a feeling you’d bloom beautifully.”
The Other leaned in, a wonderful sparkle in her eyes. We chatted about how we could utilize her vigor, her sense of right and wrong, and bountiful energy in a way better aligned.
She was all in.
✧ Rite in Practice Continued ✧
You can get technical about the rite of sitting down, thinking, “Oh yea, I am intentionally breathing slower. I am counting the inhale in (4 beats) and the longer exhale out (6).”
When I am really off-kilter and feeling queasy, I place one hand over my upper stomach and the other one on my heart. Aloud, I remind myself: I am here. My breath is enough. About ten minutes in, I am able to start mulling over my intentions for the day without the danger of triggering myself back into crisis mode.
It can also look like zoning out, but instead of focusing on whatever your last TikTok doomscroll imprinted on you, you’re paying attention to your body (Is it heavy, tight in some spaces, in pain? Does it feel relief when you offer something specific? Do you need food, water, sleep?) as well as the thoughts that drift through the marquee of your mental space.
For this rite, there is no need to fix or chase anything. In my personal experience, when I’m not caught in the storm, the solution comes forth like a sweet summer breeze. Since there is no longer a tempest within, life reclaims agency and readjusts to the gentler tempo.
So to summarize: Awareness first. Then sink into yourself. Embody… your body. Slowly come into right relationship with the self, with what you tend. Take your time. I tend to rush this part, and suffer for it later when I choose to push mercilessly instead. If you’re like me, treating yourself softly may be one of the most frustrating things to do ever because it feels like you’re not "doing" anything. The mind wants action, results, movement. If that’s the case, make this the goal: gentleness. After that, you can yap to yourself, journal it out with pen and paper like I did in that particular case with the "nasty" voice, or type away in your notes app. For those of you that like more structure, you can map out your ideas. And if you are not feeling words, draw. Or move the body how you like best. Dance. Stretch. Pilates. Play a sport where you can be a little rowdy. Inspired action naturally follows this deceptively simple practice. Eventually… don’t force it. And remember this: the world does wait for you. It’s a thousand times more effective to act from a calm, focused center than from a state with no center at all, where you’re constantly reacting to external stimuli.
It’s comforting, the thought — that we are safe, that we are okay. Even if some days, I still eye that with suspicion. Because ultimately, we are in good hands.
Our own.
Every time I sit down with myself, even if it’s the last thing I want to do, I’m learning to hold that close.
