For as long as I can remember, my mornings have been my sacred space.
There’s something tender about the early hours—the way the light slowly pours through the curtains, the silence before the world begins to ask things of you. It’s a time I’ve always protected. Guarded, even. Not because I want to be “productive” or check off a list of goals, but because my morning routine is how I return home to myself.
A warm cup of herbal tea. Journaling by candlelight. Ten minutes of slow, intuitive movement. A soft affirmation whispered over my skin. These tiny rituals have carried me through so many seasons—grief, joy, transition, expansion. They’ve been my grounding wire, my sacred rhythm, my first exhale of the day.
But recently… life asked something different of me.
Over the course of two very full weeks, I let it all go. Not in a dramatic, “screw this routine” kind of way. More like a quiet unraveling. One morning I overslept. The next, I had an early appointment. Then I had a headache. Then my period started. And just like that, the sacred thread snapped. I didn’t light the candle. I didn’t journal. I didn’t even stretch. Two whole weeks passed. No routine. No ritual. Just raw, unstructured mornings.
And let me tell you—things definitely shifted.
Some things fell apart. Others surprised me. But more than anything, I learned—about myself, my needs, and what morning rituals are truly made of.
Here’s the full, honest truth.
What Fell Apart
1. My Emotional Regulation Went Out the Window
Without that soft anchor in the morning, I felt… off. It was like my emotional body had no map. I cried more easily. Snapped at little things. Felt overwhelmed by decisions that usually wouldn’t shake me. And it wasn’t dramatic—I was still functioning—but I was emotionally brittle.
My morning routine usually gives me a sense of emotional buffering. A container where I can meet myself first before the world meets me. Without it, everything felt louder, harsher. I noticed how easily I absorbed other people’s energy and how reactive I became to external stress.
It made me realize: the quiet moments I spend with myself in the morning are not a luxury. They are emotional medicine.
2. I Disconnected from My Body
I didn’t realize how vital those ten minutes of slow movement were—until I stopped. No yoga, no stretches, no breathwork. My body began to feel stiff, disconnected, almost foreign. I wasn’t grounded in her anymore.
The subtle aches started creeping in—tight hips, a sore neck, even a weird tension in my jaw. But more than the physical discomfort, I felt distant from her. Like I wasn’t tending to her like I usually do. The loss of that sacred communication between body and spirit felt heavier than I expected.
3. Mental Clutter Took Over
Journaling is my sacred brain dump. It’s how I organize my emotions, clear my mental fog, and return to clarity. Without it, my thoughts felt tangled. Everything from to-do lists to emotional processing was floating around in my mind, bumping into each other and creating chaos.
I felt scattered. Unfocused. Slightly lost.
And while I still got things done, I didn’t feel present in any of it. I was surviving the day instead of consciously moving through it. It reminded me that journaling isn’t just for “clarity” or healing—it’s a spiritual hygiene practice, just like brushing your teeth is for your body.
4. I Fell Into Passive Consumption
One thing I noticed quickly: without intention in the morning, my phone filled the void. Scrolling became my new ritual. Instagram, emails, texts. Suddenly, other people’s energy was the first thing I consumed every morning.
It felt like I was giving away my energy before I even had a chance to nourish it. And the more I consumed, the more disconnected I felt from myself.
What Didn’t Fall Apart
1. My Worth
Let me say this loud for anyone who needs to hear it (including past me): Your value as a person is not dependent on how well you keep your routines.
You are still worthy even on your messiest mornings. You are still whole, even when you’re inconsistent. You are still divine, even when you feel disconnected.
This was one of the most healing realizations I had over the two weeks. Even though my routines slipped, my self-worth didn’t have to. I didn’t need to earn my right to rest or to be seen as “aligned.” I could be tired and tangled—and still enough.
2. My Growth
For so long, I believed that if I didn’t journal, meditate, or show up perfectly every day, I’d lose all the progress I’d made. But I didn’t.
All the healing work, inner rewiring, and soul-growing I’ve done over the years didn’t just disappear. My nervous system still remembered how to breathe deeply. My intuition still whispered beneath the noise. My compassion still showed up when I needed it most.
This experience reminded me that self-growth is not a house of cards. It’s a deep-rooted garden. And even if you skip watering for a few days, the roots are still there.
3. My Intuition (It Just Got Quieter)
While I wasn’t as in tune as I normally am, my inner voice didn’t vanish. She was just quieter. Harder to hear under the noise and distractions. But she was still there—gentle, patient, waiting for me to return.
That was comforting in a way. Knowing that even when I neglect my spiritual tools, my soul doesn’t abandon me.
What This Break Taught Me
Honestly? I’m glad I took the break.
It showed me the why behind my routine. I’m no longer doing it because I “should.” I’m doing it because I miss myself when I don’t. And that’s a beautiful shift.
Here’s what else I learned:
- Routines are meant to serve you, not imprison you.
- Skipping a ritual doesn’t undo your magic.
- You can always return to yourself—without guilt or shame.
So often, we treat our routines like rules. Something to check off, or else we’ve failed. But that’s not feminine energy. That’s not softness. That’s not soul.
The feminine path is about fluidity. Seasons. Cycles. Some mornings, we rise with the sun and greet our higher selves. Other mornings, we’re tired, tender, and just trying to remember where we left our slippers.
Both are holy.
Rebuilding With Intention (Not Pressure)
Now that I’m slowly weaving my routine back into place, I’m doing it differently.
I’m asking: What does my soul need today?
Some mornings, it’s silence. Others, it’s movement. Some days, I light three candles and cry into my tea. Other days, I stretch and say one affirmation, then move on.
The ritual isn’t in the task—it’s in the presence.
And if you’re in a season where your mornings have slipped away from you too… it’s okay. Let go of the shame. You are not behind. You are just being asked to remember that your rituals begin with how you show up—not what you do.
A Gentle Invitation for You
If this story resonated with you, I invite you to do one small thing tomorrow morning that reconnects you to you.
Light a candle. Take three deep breaths. Write one sentence in your journal. Stretch your arms toward the sky and whisper, “I’m here.”
That’s enough.
You are enough.
With soft light and sleepy grace,
Selene
P.S. I lit my candle again this morning. It smelled like sandalwood and slow forgiveness. I exhaled. And I began again.
