Knowing our limits—and when to gently push them—is a daily practice in self-awareness

Though I've learned this through my journey with traumatic brain injury, the lesson applies to anyone navigating life's challenges. Setbacks occur when life disrupts our carefully structured routines, and that's when we most need tools for finding our way back.

A Late Night, a Risky Choice

We came home way too late last night from a Tommy Emmanuel concert. I have been under the weather for a couple of weeks, and the timing wasn't great. But we had tickets, too late in the day to sell them at a profit. So off I went, armed with a couple of painkillers. It turned out to be even better than the last time we saw him in concert. To be honest, I was a little fearful that the auditory input would send me right into sensory overload, a common TBI challenge. After years of wearing noise cancelling headphones all day, it is still hard to believe I can handle live rock-n-roll.

I don't regret going, though the aftermath isn't pretty. Since my last traumatic brain injury I don't do well on short nights. My neuropsychologist told me that extended afternoon naps would be mandatory for the rest of my life. While my recovery has progressed beyond some initial predictions, I've learned to respect my brain's need for rest periods. Skimping on sleep is a risk I understand better now.

My husband will attest that I don't get cranky on little sleep, but I have to drag myself through the day like a shadow, where normally there is a spring in my step. And I woke up with a screeching headache—one of the post-TBI symptoms that still needs careful management. I'm still trying to understand why my usual stress-related headaches have shifted to nocturnal patterns. Though after disrupting my sleep routine like this, the morning headache isn't surprising.

Small Acts of Reset

Today, exhaustion has the upper hand—my breaks are stretching longer than the actual work periods. My mental tasks have twisted into one big knot of frustration, making me want to turn my MacBook into a frisbee. Other than that I am fine. Or I pretend to be. I smile my way through the day with my signature pursed lips, though I can feel the tension, know that it’s there. Eventually, I turn to one of my proven strategies for getting unstuck. I clean out one of the kitchen cupboards—a task that requires just enough focus to shift my energy without becoming overwhelming.

Seeking another way to reset my overstimulated nervous system, I turn to one of my favorite Spotify playlists. Usually, I jump and dance along to the music while doing housework, but today the bright and bubbly music just irritates me. Then it happens. Karen Drucker’s “Gentle with myself” begins to play. How did this end up in my bright and bubbly list? I wonder. I whisper the words along with Karen, and that's when something changes. Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly. Is this actually what I needed, a little gentleness? How corny. Of course I know it's true. I’ve been force-feeding myself tasks that need to be done—or that I think need to be done—draining all the juiciness from my days. I do need to be gentle with myself. I can now sing along with the song, and then the idea comes.

The creative idea unfolds as I walk Customs through the streets of this tiny village—movement and fresh air doing their healing work. I breathe a sigh of relief, scrolling through the videos we took of Tommy Emmanuel at last night's concert. While Customs investigates every bush along our path, I find myself doing my happy dance walk again. I'm back.

Things aren’t completely hunky dory yet, but when I get back home, I choose gentleness over diving back into the hard mental work. I lie down on the couch to write this blogpost on my phone, with the little doggie nestled on my legs. Then disaster strikes—the complete message gets erased. I jump up from the couch, but instead of frustration, determination takes over. I grab a drink, settle at my Mac, and start recreating the piece. No pursed lips, just focused attention and excitement. This is what I want to do, and I'm doing it.

From Frustration to Flow

It comes down to this: sharing my life, my knowledge, my journey. Sometimes it really is that simple.

I'm still tired, and my day isn’t exactly perfect, but I’ve moved up the emotional scale—from frustrated to hopeful to slightly positive. My self-talk has improved. I have something meaningful to share, and I'm doing it. And now, this gentle revelation has become a writing prompt I’m excited to share.

“Gentle With Myself” by Karen Drucker

I will be gentle with myself, I will be gentle with myself
And I will hold myself like a newborn baby child

I will be tender with my heart, I will be tender with my heart
And I will hold my heart like a newborn baby child

Chorus:
And I will only go as fast as the slowest part of me feels safe to go

I will be easy on myself, I will be easy on myself
And I love myself as a newborn baby child

Chorus:
And I will only go as fast as the slowest part of me feels safe to go

Now I know I am gentle with myself, I am gentle with myself
And I hold myself like a newborn baby child

And I rock myself like a newborn baby child
And I hold myself like a newborn baby child
And I love myself like a newborn baby child

An Invitation to Build Bridges

As I write the song down it brings tears to my eyes again. These tears are such a beautiful signal for healing. For something that I need.

Sitting with these emotions, I wonder: what signals your body and heart when you need gentleness? Is it tears, tension, or perhaps a deep sigh? Sometimes we need more than words on a page—we need to feel the resonance of music, the rhythm of breath, the permission to pause.

This brings me to a practice I’ve found helpful when I’m caught in that gritty state of mind—you know the one: “I must do this,” “this won’t work,” “I don’t have the time,” “It’s taking too long,” “it’s so frustrating.”

From that state I can't magically find that gentle place in myself; I need a bridge to bring me there. The following statement is really helpful for me.

Writing Prompt: Bridges to Gentleness

When we can’t magically find that gentle place within ourselves, we need to build bridges. Today’s prompt invites you to explore these bridges through writing:

Step 1: Capture a moment when you're feeling resistant, overwhelmed, or pushed beyond your limits. Write down the thoughts running through your head—all those "must-do's" and "should-haves" that are creating tension.
Step 2: Create your bridges to gentleness using this format: Instead of... I will now…

Examples From My Own Life

Instead of: watching Netflix indefinitely
I will now: walk the dog for just five minutes

Instead of: mindlessly checking the fridge
I will now: put on music and move my body ever so gently

Instead of: forcing myself to continue with frustrating computer work
I will now: water the plants while humming a tune

These bridges to gentleness might seem small, but their impact can be profound. We don't need grand gestures—the beauty lies in these small, mindful shifts that bridge us back to gentleness. Sometimes it’s as simple as recognizing where we are, choosing a small shift, and allowing ourselves the grace to make that transition.

What’s Your Bridge to Gentleness Today?