Mindfulness Practice

  Most of us start the day already behind. I have to get up. I have to deal with this. I have to make it through. Those three words quietly load pressure onto everything. They make life sound like one long list of chores instead of a series of choices. Now swap them for something lighter: “I get to.” It changes everything. I get to wake up. I get to show up for work. I get to take care of people I love. Same reality, new energy. You’re no longer the one being pushed by life. You’re the one walking beside it. Why It Matters The way we talk to ourselves shapes how we feel. “I have to” closes the door on gratitude. “I get to” opens it again. It reminds us that even when things are hard, there’s still some choice, some meaning, some gift tucked inside the moment. It’s not about pretending the tough stuff is fun. It’s about seeing that there’s still purpose in the doing. A Simple Practice Catch yourself once today saying “I have to.” Pause for a second. Breathe. Then ...

  I used to think fasting was some sort of punishment. Like something only gym fanatics or monks did to prove a point. But it turns out, it’s less about control and more about awareness. When I’m fasting, I notice all the times I’d normally reach for food for no real reason. Bored? Snack. Tired? Snack. Someone irritated me? Snack again. When you take that option off the table, you suddenly have to sit with yourself. Not always fun, but surprisingly eye-opening. And when I do eat again, it feels different. I actually taste my food. I don’t crave junk anymore. My body feels lighter, and somehow I’ve got more energy than when I was eating every few hours. Go figure. Fasting sort of sneaks mindfulness in through the back door. It’s not about how long you can go without eating. It’s about paying attention — to your body, your habits, and that little voice that says “just one more biscuit.” Turns out, you don’t need another biscuit. You probably just need a glass of water and to tak...

  Breathing is the most ordinary thing you do. But when you pay attention to it, the results are anything but ordinary. The way you breathe can dial stress up or down, sharpen focus, and even influence how well your immune system stands guard. Stress and Immunity Go Hand in Hand Fast, shallow breathing locks your body in fight or flight. That means stress hormones like cortisol stay high, which weakens your immune response. Slow, steady breathing is the off switch. It drops stress levels and lets your immune system get back to its real work. Oxygen is Fuel for Your Defenses When you breathe deeply into your diaphragm, you are delivering more oxygen to your bloodstream. That oxygen powers your white blood cells and the rest of your immune system. Shallow chest breathing is like running on half a tank. Deep breathing fills you up. What Huberman Calls “Controlled Stress” Huberman has highlighted a style of breathwork known as cyclic hyperventilation, often used in the Wim Hof ...

Some days my mind feels like a battlefield. One voice says I’m not enough, another snaps back, and I’m left standing in the noise. It’s not elegant or Zen. It’s messy and exhausting. Mindfulness is not about pretending the fight isn’t happening. It is about noticing it, even when it’s ugly, and choosing not to pile on. Here’s one thing that has helped me: Pause. Feel your feet on the floor. Inhale slowly for a count of four. Hold it just long enough to notice your heartbeat. Exhale for six, letting your shoulders drop. Do that three times. It will not solve everything, but it cracks the door for a little kindness to slip through. After that, name one thing, anything, you still care about. A friend’s laugh, the smell of rain, even your favorite mug. Let it remind you that you are more than the harsh voices. Being human is rough work. Meeting yourself with a scrap of compassion in the middle of the chaos is the practice.

“A tree’s true power lies in its roots.” Before your feet even touch the floor, you have an opportunity — a quiet, sacred moment — to connect with yourself. This is the essence of a grounding practice: not something to master, but something to meet yourself in. A tender act of care. A gift. 🌿 Start Before You Rise Your day doesn’t have to begin with a to-do list. It can begin with presence. As you wake, stay still for a moment. Do a gentle body scan. Feel your breath. Notice where your body feels soft, where it holds tension. There’s no need to change anything — just observe with kindness. 🌿 Touch the Earth When you do rise, let your feet meet the ground with intention. Stand, even just for a moment, and feel the contact between your soles and the earth. This small act reminds you that you are here. Anchored. Alive. 🌿 Use Breath as Anchor Take a few deep, slow breaths. Let each inhale remind you that you are safe in your body. Let each exhale release what you don’t need t...

Sometimes I catch myself—shoulders tight, jaw clenched, lungs empty. Not because I’ve stopped breathing altogether, but because I’m barely breathing. It’s like my body is waiting, bracing for something I can’t quite name. I didn’t even realise how often I was holding my breath until I started healing. Now, I notice it all the time. Stress. Fear. Even excitement. And suddenly, I’m frozen, breath trapped in my chest. No one ever taught me that breath was power. That it could anchor me. That it could calm the storm inside me. That I could use it to come back to myself when I felt overwhelmed or lost. But now I know better. And even though I still forget sometimes—even though I still find myself gasping for air after hours of shallow breathing—I come back. To the inhale. To the pause. To the exhale. To the letting go. Try it. Right now. Breathe in slowly. Hold it for a moment. Now exhale, longer than you think you need to. Do it again. Feel the difference? That’s your body softening. Tha...

Words. Tiny little things made of letters and sound. But oh , how they carry the weight of worlds. A single sentence can stop your heart. A phrase can mend it. An echo of something once whispered can live rent-free in your mind for years—long after the speaker has forgotten they ever said it. They can break you. Think back. To the moment someone said you weren’t enough. Weren’t thin enough, smart enough, worthy enough. Those words wrapped themselves around your ribs, squeezing slowly over time—until one day you started repeating them to yourself. That’s the thing about words. When repeated often enough, they stop sounding like someone else’s opinion. And start feeling like truth. They can make you. “I believe in you.” Three words. But said at the right moment, in the right voice, they hit different. They lift you. Not in a hyped-up, fake-confidence kind of way. But in the slow, anchoring way that makes you stand up straighter. Speak softer, but with more conviction....

  There’s something I’ve come to know deeply — something I teach, talk about, write about, and come back to over and over again: The journey to your best life isn’t about changing who you are. It’s about finally seeing who you are. And yet, some days — especially when I’m spiralling — I forget. When my thoughts are racing, when I feel pushed aside or ignored, when something small tips me into a wave of self-doubt... I forget everything I know. The tools, the mantras, the years of inner work — all of it fades into a blur. That’s the thing about spirals. They pull you into survival mode. And in survival mode, awareness doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a chore. Like something else I’m not doing “well enough.” But here’s what I’m learning (still, always): Self-awareness isn’t perfection. It’s simply the willingness to look inward — with gentleness, not judgment.   What Self-Awareness Isn’t Let’s be honest. Self-awareness is not: Constantly analysing yourse...

  It’s always the small things that tip me over. A cancelled visit. An unanswered text. Something that shouldn’t matter so much, but somehow… it does. It really does. Suddenly, I’m not just disappointed—I’m spiralling. The voice in my head wastes no time. See? You’re not a priority. People always leave. You care too much. You’re too much. Or worse: You’re not enough. I try to quiet it. Try to reason with myself. Tell myself it’s not personal, that they’re busy, tired, caught up in life. But the damage is done. That tiny crack becomes a storm, and I feel myself losing footing. It’s not coming from nowhere. There were times when silence meant punishment. When cancelled plans meant I’d done something wrong. When the lack of response felt deliberate. Cold. Designed to teach me a lesson. That kind of trauma doesn’t just vanish. It lingers in the nervous system, in the body’s quiet reactions, in the way I brace myself for rejection—even when no harm is intended. So yes, i...

If life came with a remote, most of us would be pressing the “mute” button on certain people, skipping past the awkward bits, and turning the volume way down on Monday mornings. Sadly, no such remote exists.  Instead, we’re left with a lot of things we wish we could control: what people think of us, the weather on braai (BBQ) day, or that one colleague who just won’t stop oversharing. Spoiler alert: we can’t. I saw this simple diagram the other day:  Two circles: 🔘 The outer one says: “Things we CANNOT control.” 🔘 The inner one? “Things we CAN control.” And honestly? It was the gentle slap of truth I didn’t know I needed. We can't control what others say or do, how they feel, or what happened in 2015 that still randomly pops into our minds at 2 a.m. But we can control our reactions. Our words. Our priorities. Our bedtime (even if Netflix disagrees). And our self-talk, because, let’s be honest, that inner critic is often just a drama queen with a loudspeaker. When ...

We grow up with stories of rescue. Fairytales. Cartoons. Romantic comedies. There’s always someone who swoops in just in time. A prince, a parent, a friend, a miracle. Someone who sees your pain and says, “I’ve got you. Let me take it from here.” I think I internalised that without even realising it. That someone or something would save me. That eventually, the chaos would stop. The shame would lift. The noise would quiet. That I’d wake up and somehow everything would be okay, because something outside of me would make it so. But here’s the hard truth that’s been crashing down on me lately: No one is coming to save me. And wow… I’m exhausted. Not just tired— exhausted . Bone-deep. Soul-deep. From carrying too much for too long. From pretending. From performing. From constantly trying to hold it all together while feeling like I’m falling apart on the inside. And if I’m completely honest, I don’t even like who I became somewhere along the way. I lost parts of myself I used to b...

I’ve got my square squad . The people who know me—really know me. They see my heart, they see my effort, they see the messy, raw, real me, and they hold space for it all. Their voices are the ones I trust, the ones I go to when the world gets loud. And yet, this week… someone outside that circle said something cruel. Something untrue. And it got to me. I found myself spiralling—defending, justifying, doubting. Then I caught myself trying to apply logic: “She’s not in your square squad. Her opinion doesn’t matter. Don’t let it in.” But here’s the hard truth: It still hurt. Because no matter how strong our boundaries are, or how clear we are on who matters and who doesn’t, we’re human. And words—especially unkind, false ones—can sting, even when we know the source is irrelevant. This is where the work lives. Not in pretending we’re untouchable. But in acknowledging the sting, sitting with it, and choosing not to let it define us. I reminded myself of three things today: Just b...

  Understanding the Impact of Emotional Abuse We often associate the word “abuse” with what we can see — bruises, scars, broken bones. Things that show. Things that can be explained. But what about the wounds no one sees? What about the damage caused by words that cut deeper than a slap ever could? By silence that screams louder than any raised voice? This is emotional abuse. And for so many of us, it goes unnoticed — even by the person living through it. “It’s not that bad…” — Except it is Emotional abuse is sneaky. It doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it whispers just loud enough to make you question your own voice. It might look like: Constant criticism disguised as “jokes” Being blamed for everything that goes wrong Feeling like you’re walking on eggshells Being ignored or given the silent treatment Being made to feel like you’re “too sensitive” or “overreacting” And the worst part? It builds slowly. So slowly that by the time you realise something’s wrong, you’...

There are days when I want to put the world on mute. Not pause. Not rewind. Just mute. Like, can everyone just lower their voices, slow down the pace, and stop breathing so loudly for five minutes? You know the days I’m talking about—when the traffic feels personal, your phone won’t stop buzzing, the kettle boils too aggressively, and even your thoughts seem to have a megaphone. It’s like the universe forgot to take its ADHD meds and now I’m stuck in the chaos with no escape plan. So, what do you do when everything is too much? Too noisy, too busy, too everything ? Here’s what I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way. 1. Acknowledge the Overwhelm (Don’t gaslight yourself) First things first: you're not being dramatic. You're not weak. You're not “too sensitive.” You’re human . And this modern world isn’t really built for soft, sensitive, deep-feeling people—especially the ones trying to heal, grow, keep promises to themselves, and not scream at the cashier who forgot the...

In a world that’s louder, faster, and more demanding than ever, Generation Z — those born roughly between 1997 and 2012 — are leading a quiet revolution. While previous generations may have turned to hustle culture or numbed out with distractions, Gen Z is pausing, breathing, and tuning inward. And whether you’re 15 or 55, there’s a lot we can learn from their approach to mindfulness. 1. They’re Breaking the Stigma Around Mental Health For Gen Z, talking about anxiety, burnout, or therapy is not taboo — it’s normal. They’re rejecting the idea that struggling makes you weak. Instead, they’re open about their mental health journeys, often sharing them online in a raw, authentic way. Mindfulness is a natural extension of that honesty: it’s about meeting yourself where you are, without judgement. Helpful Resources: Therapy apps and resources Mental health advocacy in Gen Z 2. Mindfulness Is Their Protest Gen Z grew up online. They know better than anyone the toll constant notifi...

Some days, I wake up and I’m already in battle. Not with the world. Not with people. With my own thoughts. The ones that tell me I’m not enough. That I should have done more. That I’ve messed it all up—again. That everyone’s watching. Judging. Waiting for me to fail. It’s exhausting, isn’t it? To be your own biggest critic. To carry a war inside your head while trying to smile through the day. To look calm on the outside while your mind spins stories that feel so real, they make your stomach churn. I Used to Believe Every Thought If my mind whispered, You’re a disappointment , I’d nod in agreement. If it shouted, You’re not worthy of love , I’d retreat, make myself small, apologise for existing. I thought these thoughts were me . That they defined me. But I was wrong. Not every thought deserves my attention. Not every voice in my head speaks the truth. Sometimes, my thoughts are just echoes of old wounds—unhealed parts of me that resurface in moments of stress or fa...

  How often do we break promises to ourselves while keeping every commitment we make to others? We say we’ll wake up early, exercise, eat better, or finally start that passion project—yet when life gets busy, those personal commitments are the first to go. I know this because I’ve been struggling with it myself. Lately, I’ve been realising how much it matters. Every time I let myself down, I chip away at my self-trust. I send the message that my own needs and goals don’t matter as much as other people’s. And that’s a pattern I want to change. Why It Matters When we follow through on promises to ourselves—whether small, like drinking more water, or big, like setting boundaries—we prove that we are reliable and worthy of respect. It’s like building a relationship. If someone constantly let you down, you’d stop trusting them, right? The same applies to the relationship I have with myself. Right now, I’m working on rebuilding that trust, one step at a time. The Struggle to Follow T...

Nature has an incredible way of teaching us about resilience, strength, and renewal. The sun rises after every night, never questioning whether it should. The waves crash against the shore, retreat, and return again with unwavering certainty. Trees lose their leaves in autumn, stand bare in winter, yet bloom again in spring. These natural cycles remind us that we, too, can trust in our ability to rise, adapt, and keep going—even in the face of hardship. Embracing Life’s Ebb and Flow Much like the ocean’s tides, life moves in waves. There are moments of calm and clarity, and there are storms that shake us to our core. It’s easy to feel defeated in difficult times, but nature teaches us that nothing stays the same forever. Just as the storm eventually passes, so too will the struggles we face. When we understand that challenges are part of the natural rhythm of life, we begin to approach them differently. Instead of fearing the dark moments, we can learn to accept them as a necessary par...

Healing is not a destination. It’s not a place you arrive at, where everything suddenly makes sense, and the past no longer aches. Healing is a journey—a slow, winding path with detours, setbacks, and moments of clarity that feel like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. For so long, I thought healing meant erasing the past. If I could just forget, if I could just move on, then maybe I would be whole. But I’ve come to realise that wholeness isn’t about forgetting—it’s about integrating. It’s about taking the broken pieces and making something beautiful out of them. Some days, the weight of old wounds still presses against my ribs. Some nights, echoes of past pain whisper in the quiet. But I am learning to sit with it, to hold myself gently, to remind myself that I am more than my scars. Healing is in the small moments—the way I breathe deeper now, the way I listen to my body instead of punishing it, the way I choose love over fear, again and again. I am not the same person I was...

I have a morning routine that, on paper, sounds like a productivity dream. I wake up, drink a glass of water, make myself a cup of coffee, do a quick 15-minute workout, journal for a bit, and then dive into lesson planning or writing while my mind is still fresh—all before 6 a.m. when I officially start my day. Sounds great, right? A structured, disciplined start to the morning, setting the tone for the rest of the day. But here’s the reality of how today went: I woke up and had my glass of water—so far, so good. But then, I felt too sore and tired to work out. I made my coffee but added milk (at least I skipped the sugar, so small victories?). I’m supposed to be fasting until 8 a.m., which means no milk or sugar, but today, I just couldn’t bring myself to care. Then came journaling. I opened my notebook, pen in hand, ready to reflect, plan, or pour out my thoughts. And all I could think was: Blah. I’m tired. Not exactly the profound insight I was hoping for. So, I jotted down some...