Relax, nothing is under control

Inviting calm to stay awhile

Jul 05, 2025

grayscale photo of man in suit — Photo by Callum Skelton on Unsplash

Life keeps showing up as both teacher and test — gently (and sometimes not so gently) stretching the edges of my comfort, always with the best of intentions.

I’m writing this while quarantined from the rest of my family, recovering from my first-ever COVID infection.1

After years of hypervigilance, I have finally started reentering the world without a mask. Without COVID fears hijacking every decision, I’ve been savoring what our big, beautiful world has to offer: the lush green hills of Ireland, the joy of watching my brother get married under the pine trees of Stanislaus National Forest, and most recently, an illuminating in-person retreat.

This was the third retreat I’ve attended with Lyle to explore how somatic practices can help me get out of my head and into my body — to feel my feels, listen to my gut, and honor my heart.

Don’t get me wrong — being a hypervigilant uberplanner is a strength. I get sh*t done.

Yet that part of me needs some time off. It has been working hard to protect me around the clock, pulling me out of simply being, and it is time to rest.

So it was with both anticipation and a bit of trepidation — about the effort and vulnerability I knew were coming — that Lyle and I headed into the Sierra Nevada foothills.

At the start of the drive, my mind was whirling. Just a few years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to distinguish that frenetic mental buzz from me.

But this time, I recognized the part of me running the show: my overachieving uber-planner. In a small but meaningful win, I even named it out loud to Lyle.

Then, true to form, I spent the first hour of the drive frantically replying to emails, returning calls, and rechecking every last task that needed to be completed before I could allow myself to truly unplug for the next four days.

By the time we arrived, I could feel my internal energy begin to shift. Slowing, settling. I started to look forward to the space I knew awaited us — one that would help me reconnect with my breath, my body, and step off the relentless hamster wheel in my mind.

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly authentic connection forms in settings like these. All 20 or so of us, from across the country, had shown up with a shared intention: to be real, to stay open, and to do the hard work.

By the time we gathered for our opening circle to introduce ourselves, our intentions, and our hopes for the retreat and beyond, I felt calm.

After the first break, a retreat attendee announced that they wanted to take the pulse of the group. They weren’t feeling well and wanted to know if the rest of us were comfortable with them continuing to participate.

My reaction was visceral.

My tears turned into sobs. The group held space while I tried to catch my breath.

Lyle gently asked if I wanted him to speak on my behalf, and I nodded.

He explained that illness is a big deal for our family. What might be just sniffles or a cough for most can take our daughter, Emily, up to a month to fully recover from, or land her in the hospital on oxygen support.

My hypervigilance was abruptly yanked from rest into full alertness.

Needless to say, everyone supported me, and the unwell participant graciously and compassionately removed themself from the retreat.

I was left with a choice: let hypervigilance stay in control and pack up to leave, regretting that I let my guard down, or accept that this is life. We are meant to be part of a community for support and survival, and living with others comes with risks. From past experience, I knew going it alone carried worse dangers.

So I chose to stay and allow myself to feel all the feelings — resentment, anger, sadness — and to learn from each of them. When we later found out the participant tested positive for COVID, my response was surprisingly calm.

What happened had happened. My hypervigilance didn’t fail. This is the cost of connection — the risk that comes with needing and wanting others. And I’m learning to be okay with that.

Since being home, quarantined away from my family for the last four days, my sense of calm has been tested. But it has held steady. My symptoms have been mild, and the rest of the family remains healthy.

In some ways, quarantine has served as a forcing function, keeping me from immediately slipping back into the hypervigilant, hyperproductive mode that feels all too familiar.

I’m ready, once again, to send hypervigilance on vacation and invite calm to stay a while. I think this new relationship will do me good.

Thanks, life. I owe you one.2

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