The Quiet Gift of Feeling Pain

This morning I sat in my reading chair with a warm cup of tea in my hands. A cat curled up beside me. Outside, soft light filtered through the window. A quiet moment. And all I felt was pain. A kind of sadness that wasn’t loud, but fully present. The quiet truth that I’m living a life that doesn’t feel like mine. A job that brings security, but not fulfillment. Structures that bind me where I long to be free. A daily rhythm that leaves me tired, because I hold too much together – and leave too little space for myself.

And still, I’m grateful.
Grateful that I can feel this. That I notice when my soul lags behind. That I’m no longer simply functioning. Because not long ago, I wouldn’t have noticed the pain at all. Just a vague sense of unease, without knowing why.

What changed?
Nothing dramatic. Just a slow return to myself. Radical slowing down. Detox on all levels – body, mind, and soul. Less noise. More stillness. Less striving. More noticing.
And eventually, what I was feeling became audible again. Even the pain. And because of that: the gratitude, too.

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Maybe today, you’d like to give yourself a moment where nothing needs to change. Just be. And feel what’s already there. What is it that stirs in you when everything goes quiet?