In moments of great turmoil, change, transition, loss or even joy, where do you find your steady?

Steadiness is all around us in constant motion. It’s the steady, gradual change of seasons: fall, winter, spring, summer, it’s the steady flow of water through the creek behind your house, it’s the continuity of life and growth from baby to adult. None of these things are static. All of them are steady. And we need that kind of moving-forward steadiness to continue with life.

But what happens when turmoil arrives? When loss, heartbreak, or massive change disrupts our rhythm so completely that we find ourselves stuck — in the moment, in the circumstance, in the grief itself and we find it hard to move again?

Years ago, heading into one of the most difficult seasons of my life, far from home and everyone I loved, I knew I was about to face an extraordinary amount of stress and danger. So, I brought something unexpected with me. My small music keyboard (my beloved Akai MPK Mini, small enough to travel with). But a music keyboard you say? Let me explain.

I adore music. Not just love it — it’s a part of me. Music speaks to me in unique, soulful ways, it lifts my spirits, and most importantly, keeps me steady. Even when my inner or outer world is in turmoil, music reaches me in ways nothing else can. And far from home, far from everyone I love, that’s where I started. Every night I’d sit in my little containerized living area with my music, and find the ground and the hope beneath my feet and steady myself again. And every morning I’d walk back out into the circumstances and show up, able to function the way I needed to. Eventually the inventory grew: my community of extraordinary peers living the challenges with me, the incredible desert beauty all around me especially at night, my own fitness and healing journey, but music remained the anchor I returned to when my inner world felt most turbulent or chaotic.

That is what finding your steady is. It’s the way you find continuity, stability, centeredness and connection within yourself even when times are difficult. And it’s something we rarely explore ahead of challenging times. Understandably so. We’re not taught how to maintain inner steadiness, only told to keep going, without being shown how. So we reach for whatever is closest, and often that means over-relying on the world around us, even the people we love most who make up our comfort zone. And while leaning on others is real and necessary, this is ultimately an inside job.

Our loved ones are real and precious sources of steadiness and support. But I’ve learned they can’t be the only ones. They have their own paths, their own weight to carry. And if we place our entire steadiness on any one person, even the people who love us most, we risk adding weight to a loved one who is also doing their own growing and also navigating their own unsteady seasons. The more expansive and compassionate option for all, is to build an inventory of what keeps you steady, one that goes beyond only the people in your comfort zone.

Because while your steady and your comfort zone can start as the same thing, be aware when they stay the same thing. In my most difficult seasons (and my entire life), I have been tremendously blessed to have deeply loving, strong, healing family bonds that allowed me to anchor in family and home as my safe space. It’s a beautiful, incredibly supportive soft place to land that I’ve always been deeply grateful for. But there’s a moment (and you’ll know it when it comes) when the safe place starts to become a staying place. When the soft-landing space for steadiness, becomes a comfort zone you stay still in too long and may inadvertently add weight to. And in so doing, delay your forward movement and growth and perhaps of those you love as well. And while that’s okay for a season or seasons, you’re not meant to stay still forever but to find ways to keep moving.

And finding your steady is that work. It's the work of discovering or creating the ways that keep you stable and moving forward. It’s not necessarily about what keeps you still and in place, but what gives you the steadiness and resilience to keep going and not get stuck in any circumstance. It requires building an inventory before you need it, of the things that keep you in motion without taking you away from yourself. Because the next moment of difficulty, challenge or loss is an inevitability. Such is life. And when it does, you want to be able to reach for something that restores you and brings you back, not something that keeps you away from your life and the people who love you and need you.

In times of volatility, turmoil, massive change — what keeps you steady? Where do you find the ground beneath your feet? Sometimes for me, it’s the most delicate, meditative, creative things: nature, music, poetry, art.

In times of grief and loss — what keeps you steady? Where do you find the will to continue? Sometimes for me, it’s connection and community. Sharing my experience with my loved ones and others in my experience helps me find the will again.

In times of great growth, transition and evolution — what keeps you steady? What keeps you going as you transform from who you were to who you’re becoming and enter into the unknown? Sometimes for me, it’s just remembering that the process of growth is a process of learning, alignment and coherence. Change is inevitable. The transitions may be difficult, but they show me more of myself than I ever imagined possible. And I get a greater sense of who I am at each transition point — that keeps me going.

In times of great joy and happiness — what keeps you steady? What keeps you present enough to receive it fully? For me, it's learning to receive and give in equal measure. It's the simple joy of existing, being present and feeling alive each day. The ability to receive life fully and openly, to express myself completely and authentically, and just to be wholly present to those I love and all that life is. That is a special kind of well-earned steady I've built for myself.

Now your turn. Remember, you don’t have to be steady everywhere. Find the places, parts and spaces where you already find steadiness and start there.

Where do you find your steady today and these days?

Thank you for reading! If this resonates, feel free to share in the comments or go deeper on your own.

To finding our steady. 🤍 ~ C

I continue to explore and share perspectives on steadiness among other topics in the Substack Notes!

Don’t ask yourself what the world needs, ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go do that. Because what the world needs are people who have come alive. ~ Howard Thurman

What does it mean to come alive?

It’s a question I find myself coming back to often these days. And yet I don’t think most of us ever really stop to ask it. Partly because many of us are just moving through life, getting it done, and partly because the answer seems obvious, doesn’t it — but is it? It’s like asking: do you know how to breathe? Yes. But am I breathing well? That’s the real question.

And I think most of us assume it means existing, surviving, achieving, doing. Meeting obligations, schedules, milestones, checklists, expectations. Following the path in front of us. Following the rules given. That seemed the way. And that’s definitely how I used to see it.

I was doing all of it, and doing it well (or so I thought). And yet I still felt incomplete. Not fully present. Like something big was missing. And I just never questioned whether I was actually living in these moments or just existing. It didn’t really cross my mind.

Until I was forced to transform. To shed an old identity, to crack my heart open, to heal deeply and lay bare everything for examination. That’s when it hit me — while I was existing, and existing well according to society’s standards, I wasn’t really living. I was only partially there. I hadn’t yet connected fully with my core self: heart, mind, body, soul and so I was existing in pieces instead of whole. I felt alive in moments, but never fully. Never completely.

It doesn’t mean I wasn’t fulfilled in some ways. It just felt like only parts were fulfilled, not my whole self. Never realizing that what was missing was wholeness.

I don’t think this is just my story. I think most of us are living this way. Existing in pieces, going through the motions, sometimes on auto-pilot. Never quite feeling whole or fully present. Some of us never stop to question it. Some of us live an entire life that way.

We have become comfortable with existing as is, without going deeper or stepping further. Never exploring what it means to be a fully present, connected, whole self in every sense as a person: as a daughter or son, parent, sibling, friend, partner, leader, creator. As a full person in every space we occupy. We have never really questioned this. At least I never did.

And I think that’s what’s potentially missing — not only in us, but between us. In our relationships, our communities, our creations, our world. Because we've been told for so long that only doing, achieving, accomplishing is what we need. But what if what the world needs isn’t just more doing but more being. It’s more people being fully themselves, fully alive and then showing up that way.

This is a conversation and the work we owe ourselves. I know I owed it to myself, years before I was dragged into it by life’s circumstances.

So many of us are beautifully loving, kind, generous, talented, and oh so powerful — and yet just existing. Not yet fully seen. Not yet fully present. Not yet fully alive.

What would this world look like if we were? What could we create, what could we give ourselves and each other. Who could we become?

That’s the question. Are you living — or just existing? And what does this mean for you?

I continue to explore and share perspectives on how to do this, including through our Podcast Series on Building Unshakeable Self-Worth at thecreativeverse.com, for people like me, in the process of growing, learning and becoming more.

Years ago I intentionally decided to become a hermit of sorts. I had this vision of climbing a steep mountainside, finding a cave at its edge and sitting in stillness until I was ready. And that’s essentially what I did.

But the cave wasn’t just a metaphor or some romantic idea in my head. It was an absolute necessity. I was deeply wounded and I knew that if I didn’t tend to myself, I would hurt myself and others. And yet life was demanding and relentless. So I withdrew inward into a kind of hermit mode, to protect myself and those around me, while still showing up for the world as best I could. The cave was a kind of sacred, necessary withdrawal.

And for many years, I went within. With the fervor of a seasoned detective and the deep empathy of a healer, I explored the deepest, messiest, most hurt, shadowy parts of myself. I unraveled, processed, examined and integrated each layer I found, bit by bit, until a kind of light shone through. I worked through the mess until an alignment with myself emerged.

Then I retired from the military in 2022 and my hermit mode reached its culminating stage, as I painfully transitioned out and retired an old identity, to make space for a more complete and aligned expression of myself.

And I found myself in a beautiful space of becoming. A sublime space, where I could just be, breathe and look back, grateful for the journey, for the wisdom gained, for how far I’d come. And a new journey took shape and came into focus.

Today, I find myself at the cusp of a rebirth and it feels quietly powerful and peaceful. I can smell the roses, enjoy the sunrise and sunsets, stand in awe of the journey and also glimpse a new story unfolding. A new story that looks completely different from anything I’ve ever experienced before … and that’s exhilarating and scary at the same time.

Sometimes I follow my fear and find myself being pulled back to the safety of old patterns. Almost automatically. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by how much still feels undefined and messy, and that tends to slow me down. It’s a delay mechanism I know, but it feels safe. And so I stay there for a little while. But here’s the thing: I’m already expanding, growing, becoming. Those patterns belong to a version of me I’ve lovingly integrated but am no longer defined or led by. And so they hold less and less interest as the weeks and months go by. I can only now stay in them for so long before the new unfolding story beckons and forward becomes the only direction that makes sense.

I know many in our world today find themselves here, at the end of a massive inner transformation journey, on the cusp of major shifts, and stepping out of their cave if you will, into something completely different from what came before. And that’s an electrifying new story to be living.

So if you’re like me, give yourself grace as you move out of the old and into the new. It is a very human thing to fear change — perhaps the most human thing. But rather than judge or criticize yourself for falling back or slowing down, remind yourself how much work you’ve already put in. How far you’ve already come.

You’re not behind. You’re not stuck. You’re just mid-draft. Keep writing, keep going.

Your rebirth is here. You’ve earned it. You’re ready. Now move — forward.

Related readings at thecreativeverse.com:

The Wisdom of Transition — Writing Series

• Part 1 — Transition: Why Change Fails Without It

• Part 2 — Navigating the Messy Middle

• Part 3 — The Quiet Before Becoming

Building Unshakeable Self Worth — Podcast Series

• Ep. 1 — Excavating Your Inner Gold (more episodes at thecreativeverse.com)

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I know this may seem like an obvious thing we do, but I don’t think we make space or make room for what we want, as deliberately or as often as we think.

I think we often assume we already have the space — the capacity, the time, the energy, the will, the maturity. And then we find out later that if we truly want something, we have to move things around. We have to clear room for it. We have to grow within ourselves to hold it consistently. We do this almost automatically for the big milestones in life, the obvious ones. But we don’t always do the same for the less apparent dreams and desires and the new people we want to build our lives with.

For a long time, life for me felt like a “this or that.” This path or that one. This version of me or another. This thing I want or that thing I want. But more and more, I’m realizing it can be “this and this and this and this” if ... I’m willing to create the room for it. Because it doesn’t just show up. I have to do the work. I have to clear the space to make it possible.

So as I lean into crafting my next chapter more intentionally than ever before, I’m noticing what that requires. For me it means reassessing where I am, what I’m carrying, and what I’m ready to make space for now. It means being more selective and more deliberate. Clearer about what truly matters and what I want to experience more of in this life and building space for that. I’m the author of my own life, after all!

For now, I’m reminded of this (and this may help you as well): space isn’t found, it’s made. And even if it takes a little time to open it up, it’s well worth the effort.

Here’s to making space for the more we want.

Here’s to the extraordinary one or ones in our lives who, despite long distance, long silences, long years, remain deeply bonded to us.

Who remain connected to us in ways that don’t quite follow the usual rules — that exist outside of time and circumstance. Unconventional and grounded all the same.

The ones who inspire (sometimes push) us lovingly to grow, transform and blossom, but do so alongside us (knowingly or unknowingly) — even when that growth is uncomfortable, inconvenient, or hard.

The ones who fight and heal with us — through the highs and the lows.

And even when the bond evolves, the love remains steady … and they stay. Reminding us how beautiful and powerful we are just as we are, especially when we forget or we can’t see ourselves there yet.

That kind of bond isn’t something we come across every day.

It’s not the kind of bond that you can sign on paper.

And perhaps that’s what makes it feel so quietly sacred.

It’s the kind of bond with someone who shows up in all the ways needed, and chooses to be present each and every day. Not because they have to, but because they want to.

So if you have a special person, a special soul like that in your life or you’re working towards it — lucky you are.

Because I don’t think a love like that is common.

It’s steady, it’s healing, and a little bit like magic.

And it’s a gift.

A rare gift, indeed.

Lucky we are. 💗

Something I learn more and more each day is to honor my maturing pacing, timing, and rhythm.

For many years — over twenty — I lived in a constant state of motion. I had a demanding career in the military, one that placed me in highly challenging, sometimes traumatic circumstances. At times, I even volunteered for them. I’ve always appreciated a good challenge; it stretches me, helps me grow, and I love that fire within me.

What I rarely allowed myself, though, was rest.

I was always working — either on my career or on myself. Healing, growing, evolving. I was a workaholic in every sense, even in transformation. And while that kind of work ethic is often praised in our society, it comes at a cost. That cost is burnout (and disconnection) — sometimes severe.

The burnout I experienced eventually led to something even more difficult: stagnation. I had no spark and no energy left to move, and so I stopped moving altogether — emotionally, physically, spiritually.

Now, after being retired from the military for four years, I’ve broken through that burnout, disconnection and stagnation. I find myself in a precious kind of quiet. A sweet, soft, deeply earned space. A space where I can simply be.

Even as my constellation of dreams and ongoing projects beckon me with excitement, I’m honoring this interim stillness. I’m holding it with appreciation and gratitude — not only for the journey itself, but for the effort it took to arrive here.

And I’m realizing something else now, too. Surprisingly, I’m ready for more. Not more in the way I once chased it, but more in a way I can actually receive wholeheartedly. This quieter pace has given me capacity I didn’t have before — space, energy, clarity. Even moving more slowly, I find I’m able to dream bigger. And I can put my energy towards more of what I’ve always wanted. More of what truly matters.

This is the pace, timing and rhythm I honor now.

The go-getter energy still lives within me. I have many dreams yet to fulfill and projects to lead and create and adventures to have. But now, that energy is tempered — by wisdom, by discernment, and by an intentionality I didn’t have before. What a gift.

As always, in gratitude for the journey. 🤍

For those who want to know a bit more about my journey, you can read my full bio here at my website: https://thecrv.com/about/

And if this is you too or you resonate with anything here, don’t give up — keep going. You will find your way through.