Latest / Still Standing: Stories of Resilience, Survival & Strength / How Routine Creates Space for Unexpected Moments of Grace | Still Standing
Transcript
- I used to think structure was the enemy of magic, until I realized that without a floor, you have nowhere to land when the sky falls. Take a breath with me, because what I’m about to share isn’t about productivity; it’s about survival. There is a persistent myth in our culture, especially one we absorb from social media and self-help books, that grace only comes to those who are free-spirited, unbound, and completely unstructured. We see these images of women waking up at dawn on a beach in Bali, or making art in a sun-drenched loft with no plans, no schedules, and no responsibilities. And we look at our own lives—our packed calendars, our laundry piles, our relentless to-do lists—and we feel like failures before we’ve even had our coffee. We assume that if we just loosened our grip on control, if we just let go and trusted the universe, the magic would happen. But here is the truth that took me years to learn: magic does not happen in a vacuum. It happens in the spaces we carve out. It happens when we build enough structure to hold us so that we can be open enough to receive it. Let me take you back to a time in my life when I thought I had everything figured out. I was working in high-pressure corporate roles, the kind where your phone buzzes with urgency even when you’re asleep. I prided myself on my flexibility, my ability to pivot, to handle whatever chaos came my way. But I was burning out. I was exhausted down to my bones. I thought the problem was that I wasn’t trying hard enough, that I needed to be more adaptable. So I kept pushing, kept saying yes, kept letting the chaos flow through me. And then, one Tuesday, I collapsed. Not metaphorically, but physically. My body simply refused to continue. In the hospital, lying there with IVs in my arms, staring at a ceiling tile that had been stained by water damage for decades, I realized something profound. I had no routine. I had no anchor. I was drifting in a storm, and I called it freedom. I didn’t realize that without structure, I wasn’t free; I was just fragile. When I started rebuilding my life, moving to a small town, finding therapy, and learning to hike, I made a decision. I decided to build a container. A routine. Not a rigid schedule designed to maximize output, but a gentle rhythm designed to preserve my humanity. I woke up at the same time. I drank tea. I walked. These weren’t chores; they were rituals. At first, it felt boring. It felt restrictive. I missed the adrenaline of the unknown. But as the weeks turned into months, I noticed something shifting. The anxiety that had been humming in the background of my mind began to quiet down. Because I knew what was coming next. I knew that after the walk, there would be lunch. After lunch, there would be rest. This predictability created a safe space inside me. It lowered my baseline stress. And in that lowered stress, in that calm, I finally had room to notice things. Room to breathe. Room to be present. This brings us to the heart of today’s conversation. How routine creates space for unexpected moments of grace. When your day is chaotic, when every moment is a reaction to the last, you are in survival mode. You are scanning for threats, managing crises, putting out fires. In that state, you are closed off. You are defensive. You are not open to receiving joy, or insight, or connection. But when you have a routine, when the basics are handled, when you know that your breakfast will happen and your walk will happen, your nervous system relaxes. And in that relaxation, you become available. You notice the way the light hits the trees. You hear a friend’s laugh and actually listen instead of planning your response. You feel a sudden surge of gratitude for a warm cup of tea. These are the moments of grace. They are unexpected, yes, but they require a quiet mind to be seen. Routine doesn’t kill spontaneity; it makes spontaneity possible by giving you the stability to enjoy it. I want to ask you something gently. What did that cost you? If you live in a state of constant chaos, what has it cost you? Have you missed opportunities for connection because you were too busy surviving? Have you ignored your intuition because you were too overwhelmed to hear it? Have you failed to notice the small beauties in your life because you were rushing to the next thing? Let’s sit in that for a second. It’s okay to admit that the chaos has taken a toll. It’s okay to grieve the energy that went into managing disorder instead of living. But now, we have a choice. We can choose to build a little bit of order. Not perfection. Just order. A small routine that holds you. Maybe it’s five minutes of silence in the morning. Maybe it’s a daily walk. Maybe it’s writing three things you’re grateful for before bed. These small acts of structure are not about control; they are about care. They are ways of telling yourself, I am worth protecting. I am worth holding. And please, let’s be clear about this. I am not talking about perfect adherence to a plan. Life will interrupt you. Kids will get sick. Flights will be delayed. Moods will shift. The goal is not to never break the routine. The goal is to have a routine to return to. Think of it like a garden. You don’t plant seeds and expect them to grow while you’re away. You tend to them. You water them. You pull weeds. Some days, a storm comes and destroys half your crop. That’s not failure; that’s weather. But because you tended to the garden, the roots remain. You can replant. You can try again. Your routine is your root system. It keeps you alive when the storms hit. And when the sun comes out, because you were already there, tending, watching, waiting, you are ready to see the bloom. You are ready to receive the grace. So, give yourself permission to start small. To be imperfect. To show up for yourself in tiny, consistent ways. Because in those tiny ways, you are building the foundation for a life that feels less like a struggle and more like a gift. Thank you for sitting with me today. Thank you for trusting me with your time and your heart. I hope you find a little bit of grace in your routine tomorrow. Until next time, keep showing up for yourself. You are doing better than you think.