It’s funny how fleeting peace can be. One minute you’re leaving pilates feeling like a Zen goddess, all breath and light and “nothing can shake me,” and the next, someone cuts you off in traffic and suddenly you’re auditioning for Fast and the Furious: Emotional Meltdown.

It’s easy to beat yourself up in those moments. You think, Really? Fifty minutes of centering and I’m undone by the fuel line at Costco? You might feel guilty or even like a fraud after practicing “non-attachment” for an hour. But being human means you will lose your shit sometimes. You’re not failing at peace; you’re just practicing it under new uncontrollable conditions.

The trick isn’t to bury your frustration or pretend you’re fine while silently vibrating with rage. It’s to name what’s actually happening, noticing what shows up instead. Anger. Impatience. Fear. The whole untidy, inconvenient cast of emotion. When you name the feelings, they stop being shadows. “I’m angry.” “I’m overwhelmed.” “I’m afraid.” “Mild existential panic, showing up uninvited again.” Your feelings don’t make you weak, but calling them out and pulling over to the curb takes the mystery and power out of them and they don’t get to drive today.

Once you name it, you can sit with it. Breathe with it. Laugh at it. The goal isn’t perfection, it’s awareness. Every time you notice what you’re feeling instead of running from it, you’re rewiring the part of yourself that thinks peace only exists when life behaves and you can control the outcome. Well, you know how that goes. Naming isn’t a failure of composure. It means you’ve chosen awareness over avoidance, presence over performance.

It’s a daily practice, choosing to be present. You may never reach a state of constant inner calm (unless you’ve been put on blocks), but you do get better at recognizing when you’re drifting to gently steer yourself out of the bike lane. That, is progress. I’ve said this before, that’s where serenity lives—somewhere between “I’m losing it” and “I’m learning.”

As the holiday season approaches,
it’s good to remember and prep yourself for what’s really coming. Not just twinkly lights and cherry pie, but that magical time of year when every unresolved childhood wound decides to show up with their pink slips. Suddenly, you’re back at the kids table with the people who taught your triggers how to use a stick shift. Someone says that one thing, and before you know it, you’re calculating how long it would take to repack the car and drive three states back home while mashing the potatoes. Don’t hand your inner child the car keys, she’s adorable, but she can’t reach the pedals.

Step, don’t drive, away. Name what’s happening. “I feel hurt.” “I feel unseen.” “I feel like twelve-year-old me again.” Because when you name the feeling, it stops driving the sleigh. And making yourself small to keep the peace isn’t grace, it’s conditioning. It’s the echo of generations who learned survival before safety. This year, maybe healing looks like breathing before reacting, stepping outside before imploding, or quietly choosing not to race on the same emotional track.

You don’t have to fix it all. Just acknowledge some may never heal and it’s not your responsibility to do it for them. You just have to notice the moment you realize you’re breaking the pattern simply by refusing to keep refueling it.