I really did fall off the bus this year.
Not literally, although at times it felt close.
It was more like a slow slide from learning to master the art of “being” back into that more familiar way of “doing”. I didn’t notice when it happened; there wasn’t a moment, just a progressive shift, a transition, I didn’t see coming. 

And to be fair to myself, the doing was impressive.
ICF accreditation.
A new website.
A first newsletter (sign up here!)
A new AI-enabled coaching programme…

A trial run (that proved it was viable)
Another full cohort of the Leadership Embodiment Programme with Leigh.
By most measures, it was a strong year.

So why say I fell off the bus?

Because I had a rhythm that worked. A routine that steadied me. And then holidays arrived, routines shifted, and instead of climbing back on, I let the world’s noise take over.

My morning meditation was replaced by morning news.
I’d sit there with my cup of coffee, convincing myself it was noble, that staying informed was a contribution. Shock, grief and helplessness became part of the ritual. I wanted to believe that by watching closely, staying informed, I was doing something useful, as if bearing witness from my couch would shift the world an inch toward peace. Israel and Gaza. Ukraine. Elections. DEI under pressure. Hospitals are being bombed. Rights eroded. It felt impossible to look away.

But the news doesn’t offer relief. It offers cortisol.
And habit being what it is, I kept turning it on.
The switch had flipped without me seeing it happen.

My nervous system paid the price. At some point I realised I no longer began my day with stillness but with tension and anxiety and it was changing me in ways I didn’t like.

The way back to clarity wasn’t glamorous

Meditation didn’t arrive easily for me.
Seven years ago, when I began, I spent more time fidgeting than breathing. My neuroscience studies helped — I understood just enough about my brain and my own reactivity to know why the morning pause mattered — but understanding and practice are very different things.

The “pause” was what changed me first. That tiny internal gap where you notice you’re about to react, implode, or say something you’ll regret. That one breath that lets you stop, reset, and choose differently. Some people learn this on a cushion. Others learn it by leaning against the inside of a public toilet door. I’ve done both.

Over time, something softens. The mind remembers. The wiring changes.
Eventually, sitting for 40 minutes becomes possible, not through discipline, but because your body starts to trust the quiet.

Vipassana accelerated that shift. Ten days of silence unravels every story you’ve been telling yourself. You meet parts of you that have been hiding for years. You see what you’ve avoided. You see what you want back. It wasn’t a holiday. More like a reckoning. But a generous one that rearranges you in the best possible way.

And then something unexpected nudged me back again

Recently, a friend — someone I’d never have pegged as a one for meditation— mentioned Dr Joe Dispenza’s Becoming Supernatural and the manifestation practices that go with it. I’ve always thought guided meditations were cheating – they’re not, simply another way home. A way to imagine a future self.

I tried them anyway.
And they worked.

Not in a magical full-moon transformation kind of way, but in a subtle, domestic way.
You shift internally, and the world shifts with you.
Slowly, subtly, I found myself climbing back onto the bus.

The real practice is coming back

If meditation has taught me anything, it’s that drifting is not the problem.
The return is the practice.

We abandon things far too easily.
Habits. People. Ourselves.
We assume that slipping means failing, and failing means we don’t deserve to try again.

But nature doesn’t work that way – like the moon, it begins again every thirty days, no matter the weather or the season. No drama. No apology. Just a quiet return. There is deep acceptance in that. Every return counts. Every return is welcome.

Meditation works the same way.
You sit.
Your mind wanders.
You notice.
And in that noticing lies all the magic — the chance to come back to your breath, your body, 

Returning to yourself.

There is so much grace in that.
So much acceptance.
A quiet kind of love. A reminder that you are always welcome here.

And so am I.
And so are you.

Why I’m telling you this

Most of 2025 I drifted. I lost touch with the practices that hold me steady.
I don’t think I’m alone in that.

Stillness isn’t a luxury. It’s maintenance.
It steadies the mind, calms the chemistry, reduces the cravings for whatever numbs us, and gently rewires us back toward what feels true.

When I don’t meditate, I feel the shift immediately, I become anxious, irritable, unfocused.

When I do meditate, I remember who I am and regain a sense of direction.

It’s not just me, science now backs the benefits of meditation – 

• Reduces stress
• Eases anxiety
• Brings Clarity
• Supports emotional health
• Builds self-awareness
• Improves focus
• Helps interrupt addiction cycles
• Improves sleep
• Reduces pain
• Lowers blood pressure

Ten benefits. One practice. Most you will find listed on a supplement or prescription drug. Start tomorrow.
Not perfectly. Never perfectly (I know!)
Just gently.

It is the simplest and kindest mental health prescription you’ll ever give yourself.