Returning to Self

There came a point where I had to stop.

In that stopping, I began to return inward.

I had been moving through life in a steady rhythm for a long time — holding responsibilities, showing up, supporting others, doing work I genuinely cared about.

But over time, something in that rhythm began to shift.

It wasn’t obvious at first.

More like I wasn’t being honest with myself inside of it anymore.

There was a feeling that I had been holding more than I realised for a long time.

There was global disruption unfolding that affected life for many people in different ways.

It changed how we moved, how we worked, how we connected.

And like many others, I felt that shift too.

Not just externally — but in how I was holding everything internally.

Something began to surface that I could no longer ignore.

I describe myself as being on autopilot, survival mode.

It was a period of heightened stress — globally, professionally, and personally.

There was a lot of uncertainty moving through everything at once.

It’s no wonder my nervous system was fried.

(And I can say that now with a bit of humour looking back.)

At the time, it just felt like constant crossfire coming from all directions. I was holding a lot, and most days I was simply responding rather than consciously choosing.

It wasn’t something I chose — it was something I stepped into because I had to keep going.

But it was exhausting.

Because internally, so much of it didn’t feel aligned.

I was often having to be things I didn’t actually feel like being, just to move through what was in front of me.

It felt like a prolonged fight for what felt right, even when everything around me felt off.

Looking back, it wasn’t just busy years.

It was sustained internal tension between what I was holding externally and what I was experiencing internally.

And that tension is what slowly wore me down.

See, when I go into reflection, it often opens perspectives that weren’t visible in the moment of the experience.

Only afterwards — when I look back at who I am and what I’ve learned along the way — does it all start to make sense.

Over time, that built.

Not all at once.

But it built through holding.

Continuing.

Pushing through.

There is a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t arrive all at once.

It builds through holding.

Continuing.

Pushing through.

By the end of this period, I reached a point where I had to stop. After looking at myself in the mirror, I had become unrecognisable to myself.

After that, I retreated.

I often describe it as going into my cave.

Not to escape — but because I needed somewhere to land.

It wasn’t until I had the space to stop and breathe that the enormity of what I had been carrying became front and centre.

Up until that point, I had still been showing up.

Still holding space for others.

Still moving forward.

But internally… I was drowning.

The weight of excess becomes so heavy that eventually, you are left with a choice:

You either drown…

or you swim.

So I swam.

For my life.

It’s funny — I’m not a confident swimmer naturally.

And yet, in that moment, something in me knew how.

Into my inner sanctuary — where I felt safe, held, and able to finally face what was there.

Resistance surfaced.

Doubt.

Fear.

All of it rising to be felt, recognised, and released.

I allowed space.

Space to breathe.

Space to feel.

Space to return.

And I found my way back to what had always supported me.

Reiki.

Meditation.

Yoga.

Practices that had served me deeply over the years… until I had become distracted, overwhelmed, or disconnected from them.

Yet they had never left.

They were always there — steady, grounding, quietly waiting.

 Anchoring me back into my truth.

In that space, something began to settle.

Not all at once.

But enough for me to feel myself again.

The sanctuary I built around myself became a sacred space — not only for me, but for the way I now hold and share my work.

What has always mattered most to me is what becomes possible when someone is given enough space to meet themselves honestly.

Without pressure.

Without expectation.

Without needing to be anything other than where they are.

Over time, this has shaped how I now work.

Less about doing.

More about holding space for what is already there.

When life slows you down enough, you begin to hear what you were always moving past.

Today, in a world that continues to move through its own disruptions — including ongoing global unrest and war — that returning inward feels more important than ever.

Not as escape.

But as grounding.

For me, this is the practice now:

Returning to self.

Returning to stillness.

Returning to what is already here.

Returning to the knowing alive within.

 If this speaks to you, your welcome to connect.

Kimley