things that make me feel like a person again

there are days where i can’t tell if i’m tired or just hollowed out. where i open the fridge three times, not to eat, but to stare. where texts feel heavy and mirrors feel unfamiliar. where i forget how to sit down without checking something. it doesn’t always feel dramatic — just off. like i’ve misplaced some small but essential part of myself, and i can’t remember where i last felt whole.

i’ve learned that disconnection isn’t always loud. sometimes it arrives dressed like discipline. you keep showing up. keep working. keep checking things off. and from the outside, you look fine. capable. stable. but inside, you’re slipping away from your own aliveness. you’re still functioning, but the spark is missing. you become someone who keeps going because there isn’t a convenient moment to stop.

i’ve been through that cycle more times than i want to admit. i’ve rationalized the disconnection — told myself it’s just a rough week, just a deadline, just hormones. but over time, i’ve come to recognize the feeling sooner. the subtle signs. the mental fuzz. the emotional flatness. the part of me that forgets what i love. the part of me that stops laughing at things i used to find funny. and the only way back is never force. i’ve tried pushing through. productivity doesn’t bring you back to yourself — it just buries the question a little deeper. i’ve tried “fixing” myself with big resets, expensive routines, habit trackers. sometimes they help. mostly they exhaust me further.

what helps, instead, are the smallest things. things that are too gentle to market, too ordinary to post. things that bring me back to my body. to my senses. to the world that exists beyond tasks and opinions and timestamps. the things that don’t require a full version of me to begin — just the part that’s willing to show up. these aren’t solutions. they’re touchpoints. grounding cables. little rituals and choices that quietly whisper: you’re still here. you still get to feel. you still belong to this world. so here they are — the things that make me feel like a person again. in case you’ve also been floating, also been fried, also been trying to remember where you put your softness.

things that make me feel like a person again

1. making toast slowly, and eating it while it’s still warm

nothing fancy. just bread and butter, maybe something sweet or salty on top (i prefer salty). what matters is that i stay with it. no scrolling. no rushing. just the pleasure of something simple, crisp, slightly warm in my hands.

2. walking without a destination

no step count. no podcast. just moving through air with nowhere i have to be. i watch my breath sync to my pace. i notice flowers i’ve passed a hundred times and never seen. movement without measurement returns me to presence.

3. brushing my hair without urgency

not the rushed, break-the-tangles kind. the gentle kind. where i feel the bristles move through strands i haven’t paid attention to all day. sometimes i do this twice — not because it needs it, but because it feels like care without agenda.

4. opening the window in the morning, even if the weather isn’t perfect

i need to feel air that isn’t climate-controlled. even if it’s sticky or sharp. even if it messes my hair. there’s something holy about morning air. it reminds me that the world moves without my permission.

5. handwashing a mug instead of putting it in the dishwasher

i don’t always have the energy for chores, but this one is sacred. one dish. warm water. no rush. the act of cleaning something i use daily feels like a small renewal.

6. putting on perfume, even if i’m not leaving the house

there’s something grounding about scent — how it changes the space around you, how it lingers in your clothes. sometimes i spray it on my wrists just to remember that my body is allowed to smell like something i chose.

7. writing one sentence, just for myself

not a journal entry. not a to-do list. just a sentence that feels true. something like: “today i want to be quiet” or “i feel tired in a way that sleep doesn’t fix.” when words return, so does my sense of self.

8. wiping down a surface without needing it to be spotless

sometimes i just tidy one corner. a table. a windowsill. the act is more important than the outcome. it’s not about being clean — it’s about being aware of the space around me.

9. listening to a song i loved five years ago

music from a different version of me. something i played when i was becoming someone else. it reminds me that time has passed, that i’ve survived things, that i still know how to feel.

10. lighting a candle and letting it burn for no reason

i used to save candles for special days. now i light them when i feel far from myself. the flicker reminds me that small warmth still matters. even when the world doesn’t see it.

11. washing my face slowly, with both hands

not skincare. just water and contact. the kind of ritual that says: you’ve touched a screen all day — now touch your own skin. come back to where you live.

12. looking at the sky and saying nothing about it

i don’t always need to name it. i don’t need to take a photo. i just want to witness it. wide and indifferent and quietly beautiful. it holds space for me when i forget how.

13. touching fabric — the soft ones i keep for “better moods”

some shirts are kept at the back of the closet, waiting for a more put-together version of me. sometimes putting one on now reminds me that i don’t have to be fixed to be dressed.

14. pausing before responding to anything

texts, emails, dms — they can wait five more minutes. choosing not to rush a response makes me feel like i own my time again. silence is still a valid place to exist.

15. choosing one corner of my day to romanticize

a bath. a glass of water. the act of folding clothes. nothing grand — just something i can slow down enough to savor. beauty is easiest to find when i stop trying to earn it.

i don’t always do all of these. some days i forget most. but they’re there — a little catalog of ways back to myself. and even when i feel far away, just reading the list makes something in me soften.

because feeling like a person again doesn’t mean becoming your most productive, radiant, healed self. sometimes, it just means remembering that your life is happening. and you’re still inside it.

calmly. gently. imperfectly — but still here.