The Pull to Do, and the Practice of Being

Self‑Mothering Playlist →

I noticed today how hard it is to just sit with myself.

My dog was lying on me. It was peaceful. Safe. And still, I felt that tug — the familiar pull toward doing. Play poker. Work on the website. Be productive.

Even though poker is a game, it still carries that sense of “progress.” Something I can win at. Something I can achieve. It doesn’t matter how exhausted I am — my mind equates stillness with failure. With being lazy. With being less.

But the truth is: sitting with myself is one of the hardest, most courageous things I’ve ever tried to do.
Because in that stillness, all the parts of me I’ve ignored begin to speak.
And I realise how much of my life has been spent trying to outrun them.

My dog eventually moved away — chose the floor instead. And it stirred something. That small ache of aloneness. Not dramatic. Just a shift. Enough for my nervous system to say, You’re alone again. Time to get busy.

But I wasn’t alone. I was with me.

And maybe that’s the real work now.
Not pushing through.
Not fixing myself.
Just being with myself — especially in those quiet moments when there’s “nothing” to do.

Because that’s when I’m learning:
I am not what I produce.
I don’t have to earn rest.
I don’t have to do to be enough.

Sometimes the bravest thing I can do is simply… be here.