Learning to Feel Safe in Stillness

The Healing Cheff | Becoming Her | Episode 01

Have you ever noticed that when everything in your life finally seems to be going well, you begin looking for something wrong? Nothing terrible has happened. Nobody is upset with you. There isn't an emergency that needs your immediate attention. For once, you have an opportunity to sit quietly, enjoy your surroundings, and simply be. Yet something inside you feels unsettled. Your mind begins searching for something to think about. You remember a conversation from yesterday, wonder whether someone is upset with you, or begin worrying about tomorrow, next week, or something that hasn't even happened. Before you know it, the peaceful moment you were given has become another opportunity to worry.

I want to talk about this because learning to live in peace has been part of my recovery journey. Not just learning how to stop drinking, but learning how to live without constantly feeling responsible for everyone and everything around me. For much of my life, I was busy. I was a mother, a wife, a businesswoman, and someone who believed that if something needed to be done, I should probably be the one doing it. There were children to raise, meals to prepare, businesses to operate, relationships to maintain, and responsibilities that never seemed to end. Somewhere in all of that, I became very good at taking care of everyone else while overlooking what was happening inside me.

I didn't always recognize how exhausted I was. I thought being responsible meant being available. I thought loving people meant sacrificing my own needs. I thought keeping everyone happy meant I was doing something right. But there was a cost. By the end of the day, I was mentally and emotionally drained, and alcohol became something I reached for because I wanted everything inside me to quiet down. I wasn't always drinking because I wanted to celebrate. Sometimes I drank because I wanted relief. Relief from thinking, worrying, being needed, and the endless responsibilities I had convinced myself were mine to carry. Wine seemed to offer me an opportunity to finally turn everything off, but that relief was temporary, and the consequences were becoming greater than anything alcohol had ever promised me.

When I began learning to live in recovery, I had to face something I hadn't fully understood before. Removing alcohol did not automatically teach me how to rest. I felt bored! I had to learn that for myself. I had to become willing to examine why I was always so busy, why I felt responsible for other people's happiness, and why sitting quietly could sometimes feel more uncomfortable than having a dozen things to do. I began to realize that I had spent so many years taking care of everyone and everything that I hadn't learned how to simply be with myself.

There is something important to understand about human behavior. When we spend long periods experiencing stress, unpredictability, conflict, or emotional pressure, our minds and bodies can become accustomed to remaining alert. We may become particularly sensitive to changes in other people's moods, anticipate problems before they happen, or struggle to relax because we are so accustomed to having something that needs our attention. For some people, this pattern is connected to chronic stress or earlier experiences of instability. For others, it may be related to anxiety, learned family roles, or years of carrying too many responsibilities. It doesn't mean everyone who feels uncomfortable with peace has experienced trauma, but it is worth examining.

Sometimes what feels familiar is not necessarily what is healthy, and sometimes what is healthy feels unfamiliar simply because we haven't practiced it. If you've spent years believing that your worth comes from what you do for other people, what happens when nobody needs anything from you? If you've spent years anticipating the next problem, what happens when there isn't one? If you've spent years filling every quiet moment with activity, what happens when you finally sit still? You may discover that you don't know how to enjoy the very peace you've been asking for.

I also want to make an important distinction. Peace does not mean ignoring responsibilities, avoiding difficult conversations, or pretending everything is wonderful when it isn't. Sometimes we have genuine problems that require our attention. Bills still need to be paid, relationships sometimes require difficult conversations, children need guidance, work requires effort, and recovery requires discipline. But there is a difference between responding to what is actually happening and living as though something terrible is always about to happen. One requires thoughtful action, while the other can keep us emotionally exhausted before anything has even occurred.

Recovery has taught me to ask myself whether there is something I genuinely need to take care of right now or whether I am creating unnecessary suffering by worrying about something I cannot control. That question helps me return to the present because I cannot solve tomorrow's problems by sacrificing today's peace. I can prepare for tomorrow, but I don't have to live there. I can acknowledge yesterday without continuing to punish myself for it. And I can take responsibility for today without believing I must control every outcome.

One of the most important things I've learned about myself is how deeply people-pleasing influenced my behavior. For years, saying yes came naturally, even when I was exhausted, even when I didn't want to, and even when saying yes meant saying no to something I needed. I had to learn that being helpful and being responsible for everyone else's happiness are two different things. When we continually place ourselves last, resentment can begin to develop. We may feel unappreciated, overwhelmed, or frustrated that nobody seems to notice how much we're carrying. But sometimes we haven't given people an opportunity to respect our boundaries because we haven't communicated them.

I had to become willing to examine my part. Was someone actually demanding something from me, or had I automatically volunteered because I was uncomfortable disappointing them? Was I truly responsible for fixing a situation, or was I trying to control an outcome that didn't belong to me? These questions weren't always comfortable, but they helped me understand that I could love people without abandoning myself. I could be generous without exhausting myself. I could show up for the people I loved without believing that every problem was mine to solve. That understanding began creating room for something I desperately needed, and that was rest.

One of the greatest gifts of recovery is the opportunity to examine the way we live. For me, the Twelve Steps became much more than a way to stop drinking. They challenged me to look at my resentments, fears, motives, character defects, relationships, and willingness to change. I began learning that I didn't have to act on every emotion, respond immediately to every thought, or manage everyone else's behavior. I certainly didn't have to exhaust myself trying to make life unfold according to my expectations. I could practice acceptance, pause before reacting, ask my Creator for guidance, and begin building daily habits that supported the kind of life I wanted to live.

That doesn't mean I became perfectly peaceful. I still have moments when my mind gets busy, when I feel uncomfortable, or when old ways of thinking try to return. But today, I have tools, and perhaps more importantly, I have the willingness to use them. I understand that emotional sobriety isn't about never experiencing anger, sadness, fear, disappointment, or frustration. It is about learning to recognize those feelings without allowing them to control every decision I make. It is about becoming responsible for my responses rather than expecting the world around me to behave in ways that keep me comfortable.

One of the practical changes I made was learning to shut my screen off at a certain time in the evening. There was a time when I could keep myself occupied until I was completely exhausted. Even when my body was tired, my mind was still working. I could continue answering messages, scrolling through my phone, thinking about business, or trying to solve problems long after I should have been resting. Today, I try to establish a time when I put my phone away and stop responding to messages that can wait until tomorrow. Not every conversation needs to continue late into the evening, not every request requires an immediate response, and not everyone needs access to me at every hour of the day. Creating that boundary gives my mind an opportunity to settle.

I also had to create healthier ways to unwind. For years, alcohol had been part of my evening ritual, something I associated with finally being able to relax. When I removed it, I needed to learn what genuine relaxation looked like. Sometimes that means taking a long bubble bath, listening to soft music, meditating, praying, or simply sitting quietly. Other times, it means writing. These practices may sound simple, but consistency matters. I am teaching myself that relaxation doesn't have to come from a substance. It can come from the way I care for myself, the boundaries I establish, and the willingness to slow down before I become completely depleted.

Another important part of my evening is practicing the nightly inventory described in the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book, often referred to as When We Retire. I take time to examine my day and ask myself whether I was resentful, selfish, dishonest, or afraid. I consider whether I owe someone an apology, whether there was something I could have handled differently, and whether I was kind and loving toward others. I ask myself what I can do better tomorrow. The purpose isn't to punish myself or spend the night criticizing everything I did wrong. It is to become aware of my behavior, take responsibility where necessary, and continue growing. Once I've examined my part, I can practice releasing what doesn't need to follow me into tomorrow.

Acceptance has also become an essential part of learning to live peacefully. I cannot control how other people think, feel, or behave. I cannot force someone to forgive me, make another person change, or guarantee that every situation will turn out the way I want. But I can take responsibility for my choices, communicate honestly, establish healthy boundaries, make amends when appropriate, and choose how I respond. There is tremendous freedom in recognizing the difference between what belongs to me and what belongs to someone else. It doesn't mean I stop caring. It means I stop confusing caring with controlling.

Perhaps one of the most difficult lessons for women who have spent their lives taking care of everyone else is learning that rest does not have to be earned. How many of us feel guilty when we're doing nothing? We can spend an entire day working, caring for others, running errands, preparing meals, and fulfilling responsibilities, yet when we finally sit down, something inside us says we should be doing more. I had to challenge that thinking. Rest is not a reward reserved for the moment when every responsibility has been completed. Rest is a human need, and I no longer want to wait until I am completely depleted before giving myself permission to slow down.

If stillness feels uncomfortable for you, I encourage you to begin practicing it gently. Start with five minutes. Find a quiet place where you feel comfortable, put your phone aside, and simply notice what happens. You don't have to force yourself to feel peaceful. Become curious about what comes up. Do you feel an urge to check your phone? Do you suddenly remember something you believe needs to be done? Do you feel guilty because you're not being productive? Does your mind begin searching for a problem? Instead of immediately responding, pause, take a few comfortable breaths, and notice your surroundings.

If a genuine responsibility comes to mind, write it down for later and return to the present moment. You can also begin with a calming activity rather than complete silence. Stillness is a practice, not a test you have to pass. If quiet reflection brings up overwhelming distress or painful memories, don't force yourself to remain in it. Ground yourself in your surroundings, seek support, and consider working with a qualified mental health professional. The goal isn't to become perfectly comfortable with silence overnight. The goal is to begin developing a different relationship with it.

I want you to consider something. What if today is simply a good day? What if the people you love are doing exactly what they need to do on their own journeys? What if the conversation you're replaying doesn't need another hour of your attention? What if the problem you're anticipating never happens? And what if you allowed yourself to enjoy the life that's happening right in front of you?

I spent too many years exhausted by things I believed I had to carry. Recovery is teaching me that I can care deeply without carrying everything, be responsible without being controlling, love people without rescuing them, and be still without feeling that I have somehow failed to be productive. That is part of emotional sobriety for me. It isn't the absence of uncomfortable feelings. It is learning healthier ways to respond to them.

As you reflect on your own life, I encourage you to ask yourself a few questions. When was the last time you experienced a peaceful moment without feeling the need to fill it? Do you associate being busy with being valuable or needed? Are you carrying responsibilities that may not actually belong to you? When you feel uncomfortable in stillness, what thoughts or emotions begin to appear? Do you confuse helping others with controlling their outcomes? What healthy evening ritual could help you unwind without escaping your feelings? And perhaps most importantly, what would it look like to give yourself permission to rest today?

You don't have to answer every question at once. Sometimes one honest answer can reveal something we've spent years avoiding. The important thing is to approach yourself with honesty and compassion, recognizing that growth requires both accountability and patience.

A Prayer for Peace and Willingness

Creator, thank You for another opportunity to grow. Help me recognize the difference between what requires my attention and what I need to surrender. Teach me to be responsible without trying to control everything around me. When my mind becomes restless, guide me back to the present. When I feel guilty for resting, remind me that I am worthy of care even when I am not doing something for someone else.

Help me release yesterday, remain present today, and trust You with tomorrow. Give me the willingness to examine my behavior, the courage to change what I can, and the wisdom to accept what is not mine to carry. Teach me to receive peace without questioning whether I deserve it, and help me become a woman who no longer needs chaos to feel useful, needed, or alive. Aho. Amen.

Becoming Her

There was a time when I believed peace would come when everything around me finally settled down. When the children were okay, when the business was running smoothly, when relationships were going well, when nobody needed anything from me, and when there were no problems left to solve. But life doesn't work that way. There will always be responsibilities, uncertainty, and people and situations beyond my control. If I wait for the entire world to become peaceful before allowing myself to experience peace, I may spend my whole life waiting.

Today, I'm learning something different. I can experience moments of peace even when life is unfinished. I can stop trying to solve problems that haven't happened. I can allow other people to walk their own paths, and I can give myself permission to enjoy the life I worked so hard to reclaim. Because I didn't get sober just to spend the rest of my life worrying. I got sober to learn how to live, and sometimes learning how to live means learning how to be still.

Sobriety is the beginning. Becoming is the journey.

With love and continued growth,

Michelle Ann
A Woman in Recovery
THE HEALING CHEFF
RECOVER • REINVENT • RISE

TheHealingCheff.com

This lesson shares lived recovery experience and general educational information. It is not a substitute for individualized addiction treatment or mental health care.