solitude

Learning to Steep Like Tea

Somewhere in my healing journey, there was this gentle slowing down – a soft withdrawal from my usual urgency to react, to fix. Before, when I felt triggered or when sadness and panic hit, there was always this restlessness, this need to fix something, to move quickly. That place was not comfortable to be in.

What I never expected was that this slowing down was actually nature’s way of teaching me to be present. Through my trauma, I discovered this was a sign in my healing journey – that I was learning to let go and be more accepting.

One day when my best friend was asking me how I was doing, the words just came: “I’m steeping, like a tea bag in hot water.” I was surprised I even said that, because it was exactly how it felt.

Now when I need this time, I grow quieter, naturally gravitating toward solitude – long walks in nature, visits to the spa, or simply sitting on my balcony watching the sky and trees. I write sometimes, or just think, or don’t think at all. During this time, I don’t rush to process or understand. I just let whatever I’m feeling exist.

There’s something profound in this stillness. A calmness emerges that I never found in all my previous rushing toward solutions. Realizations surface naturally, like bubbles rising in still water. And in those moments, I find myself talking to my Creator – not in desperation, but in surrender.

“This is where I am. I need your help.”

It might take a day, sometimes longer, but eventually something shifts. There’s lightness. Clarity. A deeper understanding I couldn’t have forced. And always, always, humility.

I realize now that healing doesn’t happen through panic or the urge for immediate fixes, but through presence. Through simply being with what is, without needing to change it right away.

The most healing happens when I stop trying to heal and just… steep.

This process has taught me that sometimes the answer isn’t to do something about our emotions, but to be with them. To trust that sitting quietly with our experience, creating space for it to exist, allows something natural and necessary to unfold.

I’ve learned I need time alone with whatever I’m going through. And in that solitude, in that steeping, I find not emptiness but fullness. Not avoidance but the deepest kind of presence.

Maybe what we call healing isn’t always about getting better faster. Maybe sometimes it’s about learning to be present with ourselves exactly as we are, trusting that this presence itself transforms us in ways our rushing never could.

Moving Through the Space between Solitude and Connection – A Personal Note

The reason for me to write these reflections and share them is my way of reaching with the outer world, perhaps in a way that feels safe for me.

Working from home since Covid has in a way disconnected me from the outside world and socializing. Moving to a new place prior to Covid didn’t help either – the isolation of Covid amplifying the challenge of building new connections. Even before, I have been this reserved, someone who can easily connect deeper one-on-one, rather than in a group. It has come from some challenging trauma around school bullying and people.

I have come a long way taking care of myself – physical fitness, health, mental health, routine practices like meditation, being in nature. Through these practices and therapy, I’ve found peace in solitude, even learned to embrace it deeply. Yet there’s a part of me that longs to be around people – not in large groups, but in meaningful connections.

This morning brought a realization I hadn’t expected: I don’t feel safe around people I don’t know, especially when I need to meet them physically and regularly. This understanding explains why I haven’t joined or have not continued any in-person classes recently – yoga, art, or community groups. Perhaps it’s the fear of getting hurt again, or maybe something deeper I’m still trying to understand. It’s strange because I used to regularly participate in group activities before – volunteering at a hospice, working in homeless kitchens, being a community teacher. But especially since moving and through these Covid years, I’ve felt paralyzed around people. It’s daunting.

While my therapy and meditation practices have helped me heal so much from my depression, find my cheerful self and in fact made me happier than I have ever in my life, there’s a part of me that is still hurting and not open to embrace the goodness of socializing in a way that speaks to me, to feel safer inside beyond the people, environment that I am used to.

Writing this down feels healing somehow. At this moment, I offer a prayer to our Creator to help with continuing my healing journey, to be replaced with Love from Him.

Being aware is the first step, isn’t it? I can feel it – this understanding is already part of the healing. I know I’ll move through this phase too, just as I’ve moved through others before it.

One step at a time.

Finding Myself in Silence

For years, I struggled with depression and a deep sense of loneliness. I attributed my discomfort in large groups to my traumatic childhood, believing this was the sole reason I felt so disconnected when others seemed energized by company. Others would comment on my reserved nature, making me question if something was wrong with me.

I had always been someone who could spend hours simply gazing at nature. While others found it odd, I found complete peace in these quiet moments with trees, birds, and the sky. I confused this natural inclination for solitude with depression, thinking perhaps I just wasn’t interested enough in being sociable. Yet paradoxically, I felt deeply lonely – a contradiction that tore at me. How could I both cherish solitude and yearn for connection?

Living with depression was like carrying a heavy burden – the pain, the confusion about who I was, the thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone. To escape all of this, I often filled my moments with noise – television shows playing continuously, many podcasts one after another. Anything to avoid sitting with the silence and my own thoughts.

Then came a time when something shifted through my meditation practices and the guidance of my Spiritual Teacher. I chose to step away from these distractions and simply be with myself and our Creator, moving through household tasks in quiet presence.

In this gentle time alone, I discovered something beautiful.

There’s a depth in silence with our Creator that nothing else can match. As the usual busyness fell away, a new clarity emerged. The mental fog that often clouds our days lifted, and my heart found its way more naturally to prayer and presence.

Sadness visited too, in a way I hadn’t experienced before. But this time, I stayed with it differently – sharing openly with our Creator. My prayers became deeper, more heartfelt, asking for help with forgiveness, both to forgive and be forgiven.

Through these prayers and silence, I began to understand something profound – the recognition that living like a hermit, even while surrounded by family, can be a blessing when lived in devotion. In this quiet space, I found myself speaking less and listening more. The usual pull toward reactions softened, making it easier to turn toward divine love instead.

In these moments, I felt myself again – perhaps for the first time in lifetimes. It was different from anything I’ve known in this life. This feeling goes beyond belonging to a group or finding people who understand you.

I’ve finally accepted something about myself: I am someone who finds deeper connection in quieter ways. This love for solitude isn’t something to fix or change – it’s simply who I am. What matters isn’t the number of connections, but the ability to be fully myself, even if it’s with just one kindred spirit.