Life has a funny way of pulling the rug out from under us. And when that happens, coping with uncertainty becomes a deeply personal journey.
In this reflection, I want to explore the ways we react when life feels unstable—and how to meet ourselves with care when everything starts to wobble.
Have you ever noticed how we all have our “go-to” when life starts to wobble?
Some of us throw ourselves into work. Others scroll until the scrolling numbs the noise. Some reach for a glass of wine, a bar of chocolate, or collapse into the arms of a binge-worthy Netflix series.
No judgement. We all do it. I’ve done it too. But over time, I realised that coping with uncertainty isn’t really about the action itself—it’s about the need beneath it. It’s a signal from your nervous system saying, “I don’t feel safe right now.”
And when we pause—just long enough to witness what’s really going on underneath—something powerful happens.
We begin to meet ourselves.
I remember one particular time when everything felt deeply uncertain.
We were about to move house, and my elderly mum had a fall. She ended up in hospital just as my partner and I had to put our belongings into storage and move into a caravan, waiting for our house purchase to complete.
In my head, I’d planned to use that time to reconnect—to myself, to my work, to the quiet. I’d imagined long beach walks and gentle days of reset. But life had other plans.
Instead, I found myself doing 20+ mile round trips every day to the hospital, trying to run my business, and care for my own family—all while watching my mum slowly fade.
It was tempting to drop everything that kept me steady.
To fall headfirst into burnout and survival mode.
Because the truth is—I was scared. I could see her slipping away. I felt the weight of being the best daughter I could be, of holding it all together while also preparing to say goodbye.
But something in me knew…
Throwing myself into “doing” wouldn’t help.
Pushing harder wouldn’t ease the pain.
What I really needed in that moment wasn’t distraction.
It was grounding.
A reminder that I was still here. Still whole.
That’s when I turned to the tools I trust:
A quiet moment of breathwork.
Journaling under the moon.
Placing my hands on my heart and letting Reiki flow.
And no—you don’t need to be a Reiki Master to do this.
You just need a little space.
A little stillness.
A little curiosity.
Your Turn:
What do you reach for when the world feels wobbly?
And what might you really be needing underneath that?
I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments—or simply take a quiet moment to check in with yourself today.
With love,
Debi x
