I knew exactly what I should be doing. That’s the frustrating part. The answer sat there like a light switch across a cold room I didn’t want to cross.
By Brandon Houston
Get outside. Move your body. Meditate. I’ve made this case for years in conversations at our coworking space, in newsletters, and with friends going through hard seasons. I had the playbook. I just couldn’t open it.
My dad passed away not long ago. In the weeks after, business pressures that had been simmering boiled over. Admin tasks like paying bills were forgotten, a video project I’d been working on for a client fell behind, a consulting client’s outreach email was forgotten. My normal 5 am alarm went off, and I knew a workout would help, and I just… didn’t. I stayed under the warmth of the blanket, dreading the day. I told myself, tomorrow.
This went on for weeks. My phone lit up with text messages I didn’t respond to. My inbox grew longer.
Most wellness writing is sent from the mountaintop. Find a routine, transform your life, here’s what worked. That’s not where I am. I’m writing from the slope. North of okay, maybe, but not quite there yet. Showered and showing up, but not steady. Paying the bills but misplacing the keys.
The gap between knowing and doing is humbling. You’d think that having the tools would make hard seasons easier. In some ways, it makes them harder. You’re watching yourself not do the things you know work, and the self-judgment piles on top of whatever you were already carrying.
I reached out to a friend of mine, Marc Champagne. Author, podcast host, someone who’s spent years studying mental fitness, because I wanted to know if this was just me. Turns out it’s not.
“This is more of a signal than a failure,” Marc told me. “Something deeper is asking for your attention before you return to the actual doing.”
That reframing helped. I wasn’t broken. I was just trying to build on ground that was still shaking.
He warned against sprinting back to a full routine when you’re depleted. “You need to find your non-negotiable,” he said. “The smallest thing that brings you back into contact with yourself.”
For him, it’s being fully present with his first coffee in the morning. Not thinking or judging or worrying. Just watching the coffee brew. “When your system is overloaded, simplicity is what it can actually receive.”
He also introduced me to the idea of mental nutrition. When you’re depleted, sometimes what you need isn’t more discipline. You need relief and replenishment.
Listening to something that makes you laugh. Reading a biography that reminds you others have walked through something similar and made it through. Not forcing momentum. Creating conditions where it can return on its own.
Last weekend, I finally forced myself outside. Nothing ambitious. Just a hike I’ve done dozens of times. The sunlight hit my face, and something small shifted. I wouldn’t say it was a major transformation. Just a little crack of light. Enough to remind me that the door was still there, even when I couldn’t make myself walk through it.
I’ve returned to my morning meditations since. I started in small 10-minute sits and slowly worked my way back up. Nothing groundbreaking, but my mind feels a little less like a browser with forty tabs open.
Marc shared something from his own practice that stuck with me. He’s been working with what he calls a “Council”. A group of mentors and thinkers he brings questions to, almost like sitting at a table with them. I tried it. I pictured my grandfather in his flannel, a former client whom I respect dearly, a poet whose lines I trust. I asked, What actually matters today?
The answers weren’t mystical. Walk. Do some pushups. Get into nature. One of the perspectives that came back: “The smallest act of self-governance, even imperfect or brief, is not a stepping stone to wellness. It is wellness, in seed form.”
I liked that because it lowered the standard to something that seemed more accessible. One minute of stillness. One walk around the block. One glass of water chosen with intention. These aren’t substitutes for the “real” practice. They are the practice, compressed to what the moment can hold.
I’m not writing this because I’ve figured it out. I’m writing it because I think there are other people in that gap right now. Knowing exactly what would help, and being unable to make themselves do it. If that’s you, I want you to know it’s not a character flaw. It’s information. Something deeper might be asking for your attention first.
Start smaller than you think you should. Even if the non-negotiable feels too big, open a window for just a moment and feel the weather. Drink water. Be easier on yourself than feels earned. And when you finally do make it outside, let the sunlight and cool air hit your face.
It’s still there. You’re still here. That’s enough for now.