Let’s be real: when someone pushes your buttons, mindfulness is usually the last thing on your mind. You want to lash out, shut down, defend yourself, or run for cover.
I know that feeling very well. For years, my reactions ran the show — and let me tell you, it rarely worked out in my favour.
But here’s what I’ve learned: sometimes the most powerful move isn’t saying the perfect comeback (as tempting as that is), or holding it all together like some Zen robot. Sometimes, the game-changer is the pause — that breath, that tiny moment where you resist the urge to react.
It sounds simple, doesn’t it? It’s not. But it is possible. And it changes everything.
Why Do We React Without Thinking?
When you’re stressed, angry, or overwhelmed, your body flips into survival mode: fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. That passive-aggressive text? That dismissive tone? Your brain treats it like you’re being chased by a lion.
You can’t logic your way out of a stress response — not in the moment. But you can learn to notice the signs and make space between trigger and response. That’s where emotional regulation begins.
How to Practice the Pause (Even When It Feels Impossible)
There’s no one-size-fits-all approach here. But these simple mindfulness techniques can help you interrupt the pattern — and choose your next move, rather than letting it choose you.
1. Notice Your Body’s Signals
Does your heart start racing? Do you clench your jaw? Feel heat rising in your chest? That’s your nervous system sounding the alarm. Pay attention — it’s your cue to hit pause.
2. Name the Feeling
Label it internally: “I’m feeling defensive.” Or “This hurts.” Naming an emotion creates just enough distance to break the autopilot response.
3. Take One Conscious Breath
You don’t need a full meditation session. Just one slow breath — in… out. Tell your body: We’re safe. We don’t need to explode.
4. Delay the Response
Say: “Give me a second.” “I need a moment to think.” It might feel awkward at first, but it creates space. And in that space? That’s where your power lives.
5. Move Your Body
If possible, walk away. Even just pacing the room helps. Movement clears the static and calms your system.
Why This Mindfulness Practice Matters
Pausing isn’t about being passive or letting people walk over you. It’s about choosing your response, not being hijacked by emotion or trauma.
Sometimes my pause looks messy — biting my lip, rummaging for my lip balm instead of saying something I’ll regret, or literally sitting on my hands.
But every time I choose to pause instead of react, I’m rebuilding trust with myself.
You Don’t Have to Be Perfect — Just Present
This is a practice. You’ll mess up. I still do. But if you catch yourself one second earlier than you did last time? That’s progress.
We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to be present enough to try again.
💬 Let’s Talk
How do you stay calm under pressure? Do you have a trick, phrase, or grounding tool that helps you pause before reacting?
Drop it in the comments — someone out there might need exactly what you’ve figured out. Or join the Facebook Group and joining the support circle.
Learn how to pause before reacting with this beautifully designed, printable journaling workbook. Whether you’re dealing with stress, conflict, or emotional overload, these prompts will help you reflect, reset, and respond with intention.
Click the button below to download your FREE “Pause Before You React” workbook.
Healing isn’t a neat, Pinterest-worthy process. It’s messy, unpredictable, and at times it feels like you’re going backwards. You think you’re doing better, then boom—something knocks the wind out of you, and you’re right back in that heavy place. No one really talks about that part.
There’s this glossy narrative floating around about “overcoming trauma”—as if healing is just a matter of ticking a few boxes, drinking green juice, lighting a candle, and suddenly you’re whole again. But in reality, healing is gritty work. It’s slow and it’s quiet and most of it happens behind closed doors, in the dark corners of the soul where nobody claps for you.
For me, the hardest part has been the loneliness. Even when you’re surrounded by people who care, no one else can actually crawl inside your skin and do the work for you. And when the people around you don’t quite get it—or worse, think you should be over it by now—it can make you feel even more alone. It’s not just about processing pain; it’s grieving the version of you that never got to exist. The version that didn’t get hurt. The version that felt safe in the world.
Trauma changes you. That’s not a failure—it’s just a fact. And coming to terms with that truth is its own kind of heartbreak.
And then there’s the body—oh, the body keeps score whether we want it to or not. Trauma doesn’t just live in your memories; it takes up residence in your muscles, your immune system, your sleep, your skin, your everything. I developed Multiple Sclerosis, and I believe my body finally said, “Enough.” Years of tension, unprocessed fear, self-betrayal… it adds up.
There’s also this strange guilt that creeps in when healing doesn’t follow the tidy timeline society seems to expect. We’re conditioned to believe that recovery should be linear—fast, visible, “productive.” But healing doesn’t care about your calendar. Some days you’re meditating and eating your veggies, and other days you’re crying in your car and ghosting everyone. Both days count.
And then there are the triggers—the tiny landmines that can blow a hole in your progress without warning. A smell, a song, a stupid Facebook memory. Suddenly, you’re not here anymore—you’re there, again. It’s jarring. But here’s the thing: being triggered isn’t proof you’ve failed. It’s proof you’re still healing. It’s part of learning how to live with what happened without letting it define you.
One of the strangest side effects of healing is that you might outgrow people. As you start setting boundaries and prioritising your peace, some relationships fall apart. It hurts—especially when those people once felt like your home—but it’s a necessary kind of grief. Not everyone is meant to walk with you through your healing. Some were only ever there to survive the storm, not rebuild after it.
And then there’s the fear of feeling too much. When you finally let yourself feel, it can feel like opening a floodgate. Anger, sadness, shame, rage—all the things you’ve tried so hard to outrun come rushing in. It’s overwhelming, yes. But it’s also where the magic begins. Because the only way out is through. Feeling doesn’t mean you’re falling apart—it means you’re finally listening.
Truth is, healing doesn’t mean going back to who you were before the trauma. That version of you is gone. But that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re building someone new—someone wiser, stronger, more self-aware. Someone with roots, not just wounds.
Relearning how to trust yourself after trauma is no small feat. But it’s possible. With time, with gentleness, with truth. And maybe that’s the most powerful part of healing—not the big, dramatic breakthroughs, but the quiet decision to keep going. To get up, again and again, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
So if you’re in the thick of it, please know: you’re not doing it wrong. It’s just that healing is hard. And you’re doing it anyway. That’s the victory.
