Stillness Then and Now

For years, stillness meant something very specific to me: a few stolen minutes of quiet in a life that was full to the brim.

As a mum raising kids, building a career, juggling relationships and everything in between, stillness wasn't something I had it was something I grabbed. A few minutes of silence between the school run and the next deadline. A breath before the next thing started. I didn't think too much in those moments. I just sat in them, gratefully, and let them give me enough to keep going.

That was what stillness meant to me back then: small pockets of space, snatched from a busy life, just enough to breathe.

Now my children are grown, my youngest turns twenty this year and so stillness has changed shape entirely.

There is space now. Real space. Quiet that isn't stolen but simply there, waiting to be filled or not. And I've had to learn that this is a different kind of stillness altogether. It's not a brief pause between demands anymore. It's an open field. And being in that space has brought up things I didn't expect including grief for the life that filled my days for so long, curiosity about what comes next, and moments of real uncertainty about how to exist in something so unstructured after decades of grabbing minutes where I could.

I'm learning that this new stillness asks something different of me. Not to fill it quickly. Not to judge myself for missing the old busyness, or for not knowing exactly what to do with the space. Just to lean into it and to be curious rather than critical, open rather than resistant.

Practically, that's looked like not overplanning my days. Meditation, journaling, movement importantly without pushing. Letting there be space and time for things, rather than forcing them into it. Allowing the emotions that come up including grief, curiosity, uncertainty and to simply be there, rather than feeling there is something there to fix or rush through.

What I'm coming to believe is that stillness isn't one thing. It changes as we do. The stillness of a busy season and the stillness of an open one ask different things of us and both, when we let ourselves actually be in them, can support our wellbeing.

In many ways, this awareness has also grown through the process that sits at the heart of Cedar Willow Wellbeing.

The work I have developed through Cedar Willow encourages us to slow down long enough to notice where we are, rather than immediately trying to change it. Through reflection, journaling, meditation, exploring our own wellbeing markers and becoming curious about the patterns shaping our thoughts, emotions and behaviours, we begin to develop a deeper understanding of ourselves.

For me, this process has helped me recognise that wellbeing is not always about doing more, fixing something or finding the next goal. Sometimes it is about creating enough space to hear what is already there.

It has helped me move from asking, “What should I be doing with this space?” to asking, “What is this space inviting me to notice?”

That shift feels important.

Because once we become more aware of what is happening within us, we can begin to reflect on what we need, set intentions for the way we want to move forward, and make small, meaningful changes that feel aligned with the person we are becoming rather than simply repeating the patterns of the person we have been.

This is very much the Cedar Willow approach: awareness, reflection, intention and gentle action.

Not rushing ourselves towards an answer but creating the conditions in which clarity can emerge.

And perhaps that is what this new season of stillness is teaching me most of all: that space doesn't always need to be filled. Sometimes it needs to be listened to.

So, I'll ask you what I've been asking myself:

If you're in a season of transition, however that looks for you, pause and ask yourself: How are you meeting the space that's opening up?

Are you rushing to fill it, or are you allowing yourself to become curious about what it might be showing you?

And what might become possible if, instead of immediately searching for the next thing, you allowed yourself to be still long enough to hear what wants to emerge?

Until next time

Marie Louise

Wellbeing Life Coach and Founder of Cedar Willow Wellbeing