Lately, I’ve been paying attention to the moments when I feel slightly off. Not overwhelmed. Not in crisis. Just not quite centred.
At first, it’s hard to name why. Nothing big has happened. Nothing obvious is wrong. And yet something in me has shifted.
What knocks me off centre these days isn’t dramatic. It’s subtle. Quiet. Easy to miss if I’m not paying attention.
For me, one of the clearest examples is money.
Life as a freelancer has its freedoms, but it also comes with uncertainty. Cash flow isn’t always predictable, and over the past six months, I’ve noticed a pattern. Around the middle of the month, when things get tight, something in me shifts.
My bills do get paid, sometimes late, but they get paid. Six months ago, that same situation would have sent me into full panic mode. Today, it still knocks me off centre, but it doesn’t take me out the way it used to.
What changes things now is what I do in that moment.
When I notice the tension creeping in, I stop and say something simple, sometimes out loud:
Everything is going to work out. It always does. This too shall pass.
I don’t say it to convince myself of a future outcome. I say it to calm my nervous system in the present. To remind my body that uncertainty doesn’t equal danger.
Practically speaking, I do what I can. I make small payments to keep things moving. I kick a bill or two down the road when I need to. It’s not perfect, and it’s not always comfortable, but it’s honest. And it’s how I’m coping while cash flow finds its footing again.
There are other small misalignments too.
Moments when something should have gone smoothly and didn’t.
When I feel rushed, even though no one is actually rushing me.
When I notice myself tightening up after an interruption, or replaying a conversation that already ended.
None of these things are emergencies. But they pull me out of my body and into my head.
What I’m learning is that being knocked off centre isn’t a failure. It’s information.
It tells me I’ve crossed an internal boundary. That I’ve taken on too much stimulation, too many expectations, or too much pressure to be somewhere I’m not yet.
The work now isn’t staying perfectly balanced. It’s noticing sooner. And when I do notice, letting myself come back gently instead of forcing a correction.
Some days that’s a pause.
Some days it’s a breath.
Some days it’s just admitting, I’m not centred right now, and that’s okay.
That, too, is part of healing.
