I am sitting in a silent house, and there is no one here but me.
I’m going to let that sink in for a minute.
And then I’m going to get up and do a quick, little happy dance.
I'm home alone, woo-hoo!
The kids are back to school after two weeks of holidays. My husband is traveling for work. And our most recent round of visitors have headed home.
I wondered for a moment if I should feel guilty about my happy dance. The truth is - it has been lots of fun hosting family in recent weeks; I love that my husband works from home; and I enjoy the road trips and lazy mornings that school vacation allows us.
There is a lot to be grateful for.
AND having silence and time to myself before the sun goes down feels like just what I need right now.
I can feel myself moving into “transition mode” as we prepare for our move back to the U.S. in two months time. Transitions are always a tumultuous time for me. I can do it well - I’m good about closure and saying goodbye. And I can fail terribly - I lose my patience and snap at people more than I’d like.
Having this quiet space today helps. It gives me the time and space for checking in with myself. I took the time do so some yoga. And I spent fifteen minutes sitting outside in the sun, just focusing on my breathing. Those practices bring me into my body. Otherwise, I would just be a busy brain darting around from one task to another, from one distraction to another.
Knowing I am struggling to keep myself in the present moment, I slow down. I write a short list of things to get done today. I include three to-dos for self-care: writing, time outside and a gratitude practice.
Things don’t feels so overwhelming when I slow down. I slow down enough to appreciate the sequoia tree that stands 10 meters away from my desk - a faithful friend embodying silence, patience and presence.
I slow down enough to hear the bird sounds coming to me through an open window in the next room. A song of possibility and promise, a song of spring.
I slow down enough to feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my feet; they, too, are allowed to rest.
In this moment, I carry a prayer of gratitude in my heart:
That I have this space and these words to call my own,
I greet myself on my own doorstep,
Smile, and put the kettle on for tea.
What does self-care look like for you? What do you need from yourself in this moment?
I’m going to let that sink in for a minute.
And then I’m going to get up and do a quick, little happy dance.
I'm home alone, woo-hoo!
The kids are back to school after two weeks of holidays. My husband is traveling for work. And our most recent round of visitors have headed home.
I wondered for a moment if I should feel guilty about my happy dance. The truth is - it has been lots of fun hosting family in recent weeks; I love that my husband works from home; and I enjoy the road trips and lazy mornings that school vacation allows us.
There is a lot to be grateful for.
AND having silence and time to myself before the sun goes down feels like just what I need right now.
I can feel myself moving into “transition mode” as we prepare for our move back to the U.S. in two months time. Transitions are always a tumultuous time for me. I can do it well - I’m good about closure and saying goodbye. And I can fail terribly - I lose my patience and snap at people more than I’d like.
Having this quiet space today helps. It gives me the time and space for checking in with myself. I took the time do so some yoga. And I spent fifteen minutes sitting outside in the sun, just focusing on my breathing. Those practices bring me into my body. Otherwise, I would just be a busy brain darting around from one task to another, from one distraction to another.
Knowing I am struggling to keep myself in the present moment, I slow down. I write a short list of things to get done today. I include three to-dos for self-care: writing, time outside and a gratitude practice.
Things don’t feels so overwhelming when I slow down. I slow down enough to appreciate the sequoia tree that stands 10 meters away from my desk - a faithful friend embodying silence, patience and presence.
I slow down enough to hear the bird sounds coming to me through an open window in the next room. A song of possibility and promise, a song of spring.
I slow down enough to feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my feet; they, too, are allowed to rest.
In this moment, I carry a prayer of gratitude in my heart:
That I have this space and these words to call my own,
I greet myself on my own doorstep,
Smile, and put the kettle on for tea.
What does self-care look like for you? What do you need from yourself in this moment?
 | Jessica Curtis is a professional coach who helps people cultivate intention and live from a place of meaning and authenticity. If you think you could benefit from working with Jessica or want to invite her to work with your group, reach out to start a conversation. |
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