The Grace of Leaning Back: A Somatic Practice for Overwhelm

There is a particular kind of quiet that arrives just after a peak…

after the moon has been full,

after the month has already found its stride,

when the initial rush of becoming starts to soften into something more saturated.

I’ve been sitting with a certain weight lately.

Not a heaviness that needs fixing…

more a sense of the collective pressing in.

The noise, the movement, the sheer muchness of everything.

And alongside that, a very human realisation:

I don’t quite have the capacity to meet it all.

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The Edge of Openness

I noticed how quickly the impulse comes to try and rise to the moment…

to stay open, to meet the world with love,

to be resourced, to be of service.

But the truth in my body was much simpler:

I don’t have it in me right now.

There’s a particular edge we meet there…

the place where “seeing with love” starts to blur into

carrying more than is ours to carry.

The place where an open heart

stops feeling like a gift

and starts to feel a little exposed… a little tired.

I could feel the subtle effort in me…

trying to keep things balanced,

trying to meet an expectation of how I’m meant to show up.

And then, something shifted.

Not upwards... not into more capacity - but down.

A kind of gentle surrendering.

Laying it all down for a moment…

the effort, the responsibility, even the idea of “doing this well.”

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The Millimetre of Relief

I’ve been playing with something very small in these moments.

Just noticing the point where I begin to lean forward to meet the world…

and gently easing back, even a few millimetres.

Feeling the support behind me.

The back of my body. The ground. The chair.

Letting my gaze soften, or even turn slightly away…

as if I don’t have to take everything in all at once.

Nothing dramatic…

just small returns.

It makes me wonder how often we move through the world

trying to stay open in a way that quietly overrides our own limits.

How often we confuse love

with holding everything.

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A Practice of Staying Close

Resourcing doesn’t always look like expanding.

Sometimes it looks like stepping back a little.

Letting something pass that we would usually pick up.

Allowing the scales to tip without rushing to correct them.

Or simply… not offering ourselves quite so quickly.

If you find yourself in a moment like this,

you might gently ask:

What is actually mine to hold, right now?

What happens if I let the rest move past me, just for a while?

What does “being with myself” look like here, in this moment?

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There isn’t a right way to meet these times.

Only the quiet, ongoing practice

of staying close enough to yourself

to feel what’s true…

and letting that be enough.

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May you feel the place where you don’t have to hold it all.

May you remember the quiet ground of yourself,

even in the midst of the movement.

And may your heart find its own rhythm of opening and closing…

in a way that truly nourishes you.