Found Energy

Found Energy

Today I woke with found energy — a small, unfamiliar spark after a long season of quiet heaviness. Instead of celebrating, I moved. I turned toward the overdue chores, the warm hum of the stove, the leash clipped to the puppy’s collar, the laundry that’s been waiting longer than it should. I wrote a little. I kept myself busy with busy work, anything to keep my mind occupied.

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What I noticed about the motion

I can name what I’m doing and why it feels complicated. On the surface it looks like productivity: dishes, laundry, a walk, a meal I cooked instead of ordering. Underneath, it’s doing several things at once.

- Protecting. Motion creates a buffer. If I keep moving, there’s less time to sit with the weight that lives in my chest.  

- Nurturing. Cooking and walking the dog are small, clear ways of proving to myself that I matter.  

- Reorienting. Completing overdue tasks stitches me back into a life that felt paused; each small win is proof that things can shift.  

- Measuring. There’s a harshness in checking off what I neglected, as if the list will tell me how far I’ve fallen or how much ground I need to gain.

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Why today, of all days?

Maybe this energy is a shield. Maybe it’s a hand reaching toward me, asking to be fed. Maybe it’s both. When you’ve been sad for so long that “normal” slips out of reach, sudden liveliness can feel dangerous — like it will break or vanish if I look at it too closely. So I blow on the ember with frantic breath, or I cup it and hold it, or I simply let it warm me for a moment. All of those responses are human and valid.

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How I’m learning to hold it gently

I don’t want to rush this small flame into a conflagration, nor do I want to snuff it out out of fear. Here’s how I’m practicing tenderness with my found energy:

- Two intentions, not ten. One task to calm the space (laundry, dishes), one to feed the heart (15 minutes of writing; a slow walk).  

- Time-box the motion. Work for 20–30 minutes, then pause five. Notice how the body and mind feel.  

- Turn chores into care. Brew better tea while cooking; play a song that makes the room softer while folding.  

- Capture one sentence. Jot a single line about today into a note — a checkpoint without pressure.  

- Return to the body. Two deep breaths and a gentle stretch between tasks remind me I’m here, present and humane.

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If it feels like too much

If you’re reading this and you feel close to breaking, please reach for someone — a friend, a family member, a counselor. Asking for help is not surrender; it’s a brave, practical step. If you ever feel unsafe, get help immediately.

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A small truth to hold

Keeping busy today is not only avoidance. It’s also evidence: you still care enough to show up for yourself. The chores, the walk, the cooking, the writing — these are acts of repair. They are how you practice being human again, one ordinary, imperfect step at a time.

Today, I’m learning how to be with myself. I’m letting the ember glow, and I’m trying, gently, not to blow it out.