A friend of mine used to say: If it’s going to be shit, it might as well come with momentum.

Sometimes several things happen at once, and your mind turns them into one single impression: everything is tipping. That feeling comes especially fast when you are already more vulnerable because something in your life is changing.

Much of what happens is, at first, simply an event. Your mind turns it into a story. It connects things, dramatizes, looks for confirmation, and immediately opens the next scenarios. Then you are no longer with what is actually here. You are with what happened before, or with what might still happen.

In moments like that, it can help to come back to the present moment. Not as a big practice. More as an interruption. A few quiet breaths can be enough to step out of the circling thoughts for a moment.

The problem is not gone. But you notice: I am still standing. I do not have to decide everything at once.

That is the ground. Not some great spiritual foundation, but the experience that you have already gone through a lot and are still here.

You do not always notice right away when you are no longer with yourself. That is completely normal. The day keeps going. You function, react, get things done, and only later do you realize that inwardly you were somewhere else already.

But this can be trained, like a muscle. The more often you practice it, the earlier you notice what is happening inside you. At first, you may still think: “I am away from myself right now.” Over time, it becomes more precise. You notice: “I am angry right now.” Or: “I am happy right now.” Maybe you realize that you just laughed louder than you have in a long time. Maybe you simply feel your heart racing.

This is how you begin to observe yourself more closely. Not harshly, not with control, more with alertness. You notice earlier what is going on inside you, and you can gather yourself again more quickly.

A very simple exercise is often enough: a few breaths in which you focus only on your breathing. You do not have to make anything special out of it. As soon as you truly notice your breath, you are in the present moment for a little while.

In the beginning, I felt the same way about meditation: sitting still, closing my eyes, observing everything, that is not for me. But taking a few calm breaths is so basic that even your inner resistance can hardly come up with a good excuse. You have to breathe anyway. You simply do it consciously for a moment.

Use this even when you are doing well. On a walk. In between things. Without an emergency. Then your breath is not something you first remember when everything becomes too much. It is already there.

The connection to yourself is lost gradually. Not only through stress, but also through habits that once came from a good place.

You are used to paying attention to how others are doing. You give what you have: attention, energy, care, sometimes very practically your time or your strength. It feels familiar to see the others first. And at some point, you realize that you have moved further and further to the back.

I still remember how unfamiliar it felt the first time I said no somewhere. I almost felt guilty because until then, I had not even realized how quickly I usually put myself aside.

Setting boundaries can be practiced, like many things. Over time, you notice that it feels good not to put yourself last. The practice becomes a posture. It just never becomes completely finished. The old habit waits in the dark for the moment when you forget again that you count too.

When you are truly in the moment, there is nothing to do at first. That sounds peaceful, but it is not always pleasant. When nothing distracts you, there is also less to hide behind.

Then something may come up that you would rather not see. A truth that has been there for a while. A feeling you usually move past. You want to do something, anything, just so you do not have to stay with yourself any longer.

Contact with yourself is nothing grand. No program, no special exercise. Sometimes it is enough to stop for a moment in the woods, put your phone away, and lift your eyes.

For a moment, you are simply there.

At first, it feels uncomfortable. It is hard not to move away from yourself again right away. But if you stay, you slowly get used to the fact that your mind does not always have to be buzzing.

The old role does not announce itself dramatically. It returns in familiar moments. You explain yourself too much. You start reading everything from other people’s faces again. You are with them faster than you are with yourself.

And at some point, you notice it in your dissatisfaction: something in you is no longer willing to go back into that old role.

This is hardest with the people you love. They are the ones with whom you practiced it the longest.

But you do not have to start explaining yourself again right away. You can notice: this is the old role. And this time, you pause for a moment before stepping back into it.

Pressure is there. Some demands remain. But on top of that, you put pressure on yourself because you think you have to keep up with what is happening around you.

Part of it comes from what you see every day. Other people show their lives, certain topics are made important, everyone seems to be reacting to something. You do not even have to decide to compare yourself. Seeing it is often enough, and you already start placing yourself somewhere.

At some point, you notice that you are no longer living at your own pace.

Then a stop may be necessary. Sometimes that means canceling something or ending something. Sometimes it simply means answering more slowly and being less available.

For me, this has actually changed a lot. Not all at once, but noticeably. More calm has come in, more trust in my own path. The doubts have not disappeared, but they have become quieter, and they no longer stay as long.