When Stepping Back Is the Real Insight

Week 22, 2025

A stone like a giant egg — still, grounded, and quietly strong.

ℱ𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈... 🫶💌☕

I’d like to share something I only just fully connected with over the last week (even though I’d been living it before I realised what was happening). So, we could say this is almost like a part 2, if you like.

You might remember last week’s letter, where I said I sat down to reflect… and nothing came. No big feelings. No overwhelm to unpack. Just stillness. A quiet, almost strange silence in my body and mind.

At the time, I thought, “Great — finally some rest, a moment to let down the guard.” Like my nervous system was exhaling for the first time in ages.

But this week, I saw it was something deeper.

It wasn’t just rest.
It was resistance.
Quiet, gentle resistance.

I’d pulled back at work (the bread and butter ‘day job’) not dramatically or angrily — just quietly choosing to hold space for myself.

After years of doing more than my job described, taking on invisible tasks no one thanked me for, being one of the few people who kept everything from falling apart on a daily basis… I stopped.

Not because I was petty, or weak, or bitter.
But because I finally let myself feel how heavy it all was.

And that silence I felt wasn’t failure to reflect… it was the reflection itself.

A message, not a glitch.

That stillness was the weight of letting go.
My nervous system saying, “Thank you for stopping.”

Sometimes,

the quiet isn’t emptiness —

it’s the body’s way of saying,

‘I’m still here.’

I know stepping back or being still isn’t simple for many of us.

That’s why I don’t ask you to rush toward calm, or pretend safety is equal for everyone.

Healing is messy. Uneven.
It’s about meeting yourself where you are — even if that place is restless or raw.

Sometimes the bravest thing is to say:
I’m not ready yet.
And hold that without shame.

Sometimes,

no reflection

is the reflection,

if and only if

your body and mind

can hold it safely.

For so long at work, I kept things moving because letting go felt like watching everything fall apart.

I did so much more than my title suggested and I did it without the pay to match, because it felt easier than the alternative.

No one really saw how much I was doing and assumed I could keep going forever.

Eventually, my body said no more.
Not with drama or anger — just quiet, steady “enough.”

I stopped chasing the missing pieces.

I did what I was there to do, and nothing more.

That stillness on my days off?
Not numbness.
Clarity.
A moment my nervous system finally had space to breathe.

Imagine a place

where your boundaries

are held like tender hands —

a soft, strong place

to stand.

Boundaries matter — not just the loud, obvious ones, but the internal ones.

The ones where we whisper, “This isn’t working anymore,” and actually listen.

If that feels impossible right now (if stepping back scares you or feels far away) — I see you.

I see how hard it is.

Not everyone has the space, support, or language yet.

That doesn’t make you weak or broken.
It means your system is doing what it needs to keep you safe, with the tools it has.

The following poem on stepping back isn’t about failure or giving up, it’s an act of courage and care.

The Space Between

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do
Is to step back, not push through.
Boundaries held like tender hands,
Provides a soft, strong place to stand.

In stepping back,
We find our way,
And build new light
For another day.

This past couple of weeks wasn’t a strategy for me… it was a signal.

My body knew before my mind that something had to shift.

I’m still figuring it out. Still listening. Still learning. Still navigating.

But maybe you’ve had a moment like this too? A tiny step back followed by quiet that wasn’t empty, but honest.

And if you haven’t had that moment yet, maybe just holding the possibility is enough today.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒,

🙏 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝓍𝑜