If you're someone who starts things with passion but gets stuck in the swirl of overthinking — this piece is for you. We'll explore why your mind may be overworking to protect you from feelings you haven't fully met, and how reconnecting with your body can open up space for presence, clarity, and self-trust. =================== In This Article The Gift (and Weight) of a Thinking Mind When Insight Interrupts the Pattern Living From the Neck Up Returning to the Body Feeling More Reveals More Grief, Sadness, and the Gift of Softening Why This Matters — Especially for Deep Thinkers Gentle Practices to Begin A Final Reflection ======================= "Geez, Kathy. You think too much." It was always said casually or jokingly, but it still cut. The message was subtle but sharp: something about me was wrong. I should be more carefree, more spontaneous. A little lighter. Maybe you’ve heard something similar? For a long time, I agreed with and believed them. The Gift (and Weight) of a Thinking Mind I found some relief when I took the StrengthsFinder assessment and saw “Intellection” in my top five strengths. (This wasn't about being smart, but enjoying thinking. ) Finally, a glimmer of affirmation! My constant questioning, analyzing, and deep reflection wasn’t a flaw. It was a strength! As I learned more about Strengths, I understood that when overused, they can become like armor. Something to hide behind, rely on too much and, in the end, cause problems in our relationships and work. For me, thinking was a kind of fortress. A safe place in a world that felt unpredictable and emotionally intense. I told myself I was thinking things through to make good choices — and sometimes I was. But a lot of the time, I was just trying not to mess up. Trying not to get it wrong. Trying not to let anyone down — including myself. It looked like productivity on the outside. But on the inside, the diagnosis was Analysis Paralysis. I have started and not finished SO many posts. Things usually start out smooth and clear with an enlivening spark or idea. The words come easily, and I feel connected to what I'm saying. But then — the overthinking creeps in. I freeze. I start questioning everything. Is this too much? Too unclear? Will people misunderstand me? Will they think I'm being dramatic, or too vague, or not credible enough? The editing spirals begin. I reread and tweak because I want it to be good, but there's a tiny voice afraid of not measuring up. When Insight Interrupts the Pattern The first time I heard the phrase, “ Overthinking is underfeeling ,” my eyes widened and my ears perked up. I knew there was something to this. That simple phrase cut through all the noise. I had always prided myself on emotional awareness. I could talk for hours about feelings — mine, yours, anyone’s. But feeling them? That was another story. Somewhere along the way, thinking became my safe house. And emotions — real, raw, messy emotions — stayed neatly tied up with a bow. Living From the Neck Up When we live primarily in our heads, emotions become concepts. We learn to talk about anger without ever feeling it. We reflect on heartbreak without allowing our hearts to ache. Our bodies, meanwhile, whisper messages that go ignored. Fatigue. Tight shoulders. A racing heart. A quiet sense that something’s off. But the mind barrels ahead, gathering data, building narratives, trying to “figure it out.” The longer we stay in that cycle, the more our intuition fades into the background. Decisions take longer. Relationships feel more performative than present. Stress compounds because we’ve stopped listening to the one thing that never lies: our body. Returning to the Body I didn’t set out to become “more embodied.” That language would have sounded vague or even indulgent to my earlier self. Even now, I know it's nebulous to people. But over time--and with practice-- I began to notice what happened when I stopped trying to understand my feelings and started to actually feel them. At first, it was strange and uncomfortable, but the notion of a "felt sense" slowly shifted from abstract to something I could actually experience. I didn’t think it — I felt it. A nudge in my shoulders. A breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. A tiny, almost imperceptible exhale that signaled some part of me had softened. I began noticing just how often my shoulders were tense, nearly touching my ears. And when I dropped them, my whole posture changed. My body leaned back a little. A breath came — not forced, just... there. Something quiet inside unclenched. Feeling More Reveals More As I began to feel more consistently, I noticed new layers popping up. It was easy for me to get frustrated and fume about little things like a slow-loading website or trying to type and htting the wrong letter over and over again. But when it came to relationships, the emotional stakes felt higher. It was harder for me to express anger in those moments because real rupture is possible. Feeling more has surfaced questions for me: Where am I letting things slide to avoid conflict? Where are my boundaries unclear or leaky? And is that really good for the relationship--or me? Grief, Sadness, and the Gift of Softening Grief and sadness have also become easier to access--and process. I don't feel the same level of shame at being tenderhearted or fear looking "weak." I'm no longer embarrassed or feel like my emotions are a burden. Feeling my own messiness helps me hold others with more grace. Judgment often turns to curiosity. One of the biggest benefits is that for the first time ever, I feel fully here . I always thought I was present. (That's kind of the problem, isn't it-- thinking it?) But now I know what it feels like, and life is a very different experience. I could always analyze emotion, but I couldn’t inhabit it. These days, I know, in flickers and glimpses, what it means to do both. Remember, this isn’t a linear process. I’m still practicing. Some days are easier than others. Some seasons and environments invite it more naturally. Others challenge it. But the difference now is that I know what it feels like to live in my body, not just in my head, and I keep returning when I drift. Why This Matters — Especially for Deep Thinkers If you’re someone who thinks deeply, reflects often, and holds high standards — this isn’t a call to abandon that part of you. Thinking is not the enemy. It’s one of your greatest gifts. But it’s not the only gift. When thinking is the only tool in our kit, it can become avoidance. It helps us stay two steps ahead of pain — but also two steps removed from joy, connection, and presence. Returning to your body isn’t about trading one strength for another. It’s about integration. Letting your mind and your emotions walk side by side. Letting your insights land in your cells, not just your sentences. Gentle Practices to Begin This is not a checklist or a prescription. Just a few starting points that helped me reconnect: Body scans in the morning: not to fix anything, just to notice. Where is there tightness? Warmth? Numbness? Naming feelings out loud, with no analysis. “This is sadness.” “This is frustration.” “This is delight.” Letting tears come without asking why. Sometimes the release is the answer. Taking a walk and NOT listening to a podcast while you do. Let silence be a companion instead of a problem to solve. These small acts of presence, repeated over time, opened the door to something larger: a sense of belonging within myself. A Final Reflection If you recognize yourself in these words — if you’ve ever been told you’re “too much” of a thinker, or if your emotions feel distant even as you talk about them fluently , know this: You don’t have to choose between thinking and feeling. You were never meant to. There’s wisdom in your thoughts, and there’s truth in your body. They’re not in competition — they’re partners. And when they work together, something beautiful happens. Life becomes less about figuring it all out and more about fully and wholeheartedly living it.

What a Weed Eater Taught Me About Presence I took a yoga class a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t done that in a few years, and the combination of a new space, a new teacher, and new movements felt unfamiliar. I was already a little on edge—trying to get comfortable, trying to find my place. Just as I began to settle, I heard it: the mechanical buzz of a weed eater outside—sharp, jarring, impossible to ignore. I felt a spike of irritation. This was supposed to be a peaceful space. And yet here was this harsh noise breaking the stillness. I tried to dismiss it and be "zen" about it, but I was annoyed. The yoga teacher noticed the noise, too, but she had a different response. She smiled and said calmly, “This too belongs.” She explained a bit more about it and it stuck with me after class. I even put a sticky note on my computer. She wasn’t pretending the noise was beautiful. She was simply choosing how to relate to what was present. There were times I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Wasn’t that just an excuse? A way to gloss over discomfort or inconvenience? Some kind of spiritual bypass? But the more I sat with it, the more it began to shift something in me. Because it’s not about surrendering to injustice, or pretending that every experience is good. It’s about acknowledging reality—with presence. It’s about letting what’s here be here, without needing to resist, fix, or exile it. What we resist, owns us. What we allow—we can respond to. The Hidden Cost of Emotional Resistance You might not be battling a weed eater in your yoga class, but you’ve probably felt a similar internal tension. That moment when something interrupts your rhythm or demands something of you, and a part of you says, "Ugh, no." Sometimes it shows up as a sudden irritation. Other times it’s a wearier resentment that’s been brewing in the background for weeks. Either way, it’s a signal from your body. You may sense resistance: when you feel obligated to say yes to something you don’t actually want to do. in an invitation to another event when what you truly need is solitude. when you see someone’s name pop up on your phone and feel yourself emotionally brace. You might recognize the emotion first—frustration, dread, or guilt. That's your body saying No, but your mind hasn’t caught up yet. This is what makes resistance so slippery. It doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it whispers through fatigue, tension, or a lack of desire. When we override those signals, even for good reasons, we drain ourselves. Over time, this builds up until we find ourselves burned out. Disconnected from our own knowing, our joy, and our ability to choose freely. A practice like "this too belongs" matters—not because it makes everything feel good—but because it helps us feel everything. It keeps us in relationship with what’s real (and ourselves), so we can respond from a place of wholeness instead of pressure. Understanding Resistance as a Nervous System Response You’ve probably told yourself (or someone else) to "just let it go" or "don’t take it personally." But if your body is experiencing something as a threat, it doesn’t matter how much you know you shouldn’t be upset. Even small things—a sharp tone, a critical email, or an overflowing schedule—can cue your system into protection mode. "Your nervous system doesn’t speak logic. It speaks sensation. This is why resistance isn’t just a mindset problem—it’s a nervous system one. Your body constantly scans for cues of safety or threat. When it senses threat, it shifts into protection—fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. That might look like overexplaining, going quiet, apologizing reflexively, or wanting to escape. These responses aren’t flaws—they’re smart, protective strategies that helped you survive. If you’ve spent years reading the room and managing others’ emotions, your own signals may feel faint or confusing. Not gone—just buried. You haven’t lost your inner signals—they’ve just been drowned out. That’s where interoception comes in: your ability to notice what’s happening inside your body. It helps you differentiate between: A genuine yes and a polite or fear-based one Numbing and true rest Avoiding something vs. honoring your capacity This isn’t about analyzing every sensation. It’s about re-learning how to listen to the language of your body. Real-Life Tools for Meeting Resistance with Neutral I wish I could tell you that once you recognize resistance, it disappears. It doesn’t. But what does change is how you meet it. These days, when I feel that subtle internal aversion—the "yuck"—I try to: Notice how strong the feeling is Ask how much energy is tied up in it Bring Neutral energy and just sit with it, without judgment (see the link below for an audio recording of how to find neutral) When I do this, something shifts. My body feels more spacious. I’m not in a tug-of-war with the discomfort. I can relate to it instead of reacting from it. That gives me more choice about whether to move forward, hold back, or shift direction entirely. Letting the resistance have some space brings me back to myself. How My Clients Shift from Burnout to Self-Trust A client of mine—let’s call her Jenny—once described how she used to move through her week in "torpedo mode." She was smart, efficient, and on the edge of total burn out. When we started working together, she thought she had a time management problem. But what she really had was a self-permission problem. Her nervous system had learned that forward motion = safety. Slowing down felt dangerous. Saying no felt risky. But when she learned to pause, check in, and bring Neutral, she began making clearer, calmer choices—without abandoning herself. She still excelled, but with less friction. And more freedom. She lost nothing and gained a lot. This is what it looks like to move from automatic to aligned. Not perfect. Just present. You Don’t Have to Fight So Hard to Feel Better Most of us are trying to do something meaningful—raise families, run businesses, show up well. Often while quietly managing stress, fear, doubt, or fatigue. As a recovering perfectionist and doer, here’s what I keep reminding myself: You don’t have to fight what’s hard. You don’t have to fix it right away. You don’t have to pretend it’s not bothering you. You don’t even have to fully understand it. You just have to include it. "This too, belongs" helps us pause, reconnect, and respond from presence instead of pressure. By meeting resistance with Neutral instead of force, we have more choice. Instead of reacting we're able to stop abandoning ourselves. Want support in practicing this? I’ve recorded a short audio that guides you through bringing Neutral energy to "something yucky." Try it out and let me know how it goes. Kathy Taylor Read my Bio

She was in a parking lot, well-dressed down to her high heels, wrestling with a full sheet of plywood in the back of a borrowed Jeep. Her own car was in the shop, but she'd come prepared to haul lumber anyway. What she hadn't counted on was it not fitting — and having to muscle it in by herself. So there she was: pulling, adjusting, climbing around, even kicking off her heels to get better leverage. People watched as they drove by. Someone may have pulled out a phone. But no one offered to help. Eventually, she got it in. She climbed into the driver's seat — sweaty, flushed, but victorious. She did it. When she told me this story, her voice carried real pride — and there should have been. The grit, the problem-solving, the sheer determination were impressive. Pride, because she figured it out on her own. Sadness, because she felt like she had to. Why Didn’t She Ask for Help? That was the question that popped into my head. Not judgment — genuine curiosity. I probably would’ve done the same. But still, I wondered: Why didn’t she flag someone down? Make eye contact? Just say, “Hey, mind giving me a hand with this?” (Why wouldn’t I have?) I’ve been her more times than I can count — not always with plywood, but with life. And if I’m honest, it’s because somewhere deep down, I felt like I had something to prove. The Proving Game We’ve learned that being “capable” means doing it alone. That real strength is solitary. That the ideal woman isn’t just competent — she’s bulletproof. We think when we don’t need help, we’re winning. We’ve watched ourselves and other women be dismissed, underestimated, talked down to. So when we manage something solo, there’s a real sense of reclaiming something. But the constant proving? It’s exhausting. Have you ever noticed the quiet resentment building from hoisting and hauling and doing it all yourself? The Cost of Not Asking A lot of us don’t ask for help because at some point, it backfired: We were told, “You should be able to handle that yourself.” We were dismissed: “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re fine.” Or the help came with strings — and now we owe them. We got used to grinning and bearing it. Now, even when support is available, we miss it. We’d rather strain and sweat than risk the vulnerability of asking. It’s self-protection, yes. But it’s also self-denial. Strong Women, Tired Souls The women I work with are strong. That’s never been in question. But by midlife, many of them are tired — not of doing, but of doing it all in the way they were told they had to. They still want to contribute, build, grow. But they want: Effort that feels aligned Work that’s sustainable Success that feels alive — not driven by grind How can I feel powerful without having to prove it constantly — even to myself? A Different Kind of Strength At a retreat I hosted, one of the participants stood quietly under a tree. My horse Isaac wandered over, rested his forehead gently against her chest… and just stayed. No asking. No fixing. Just presence. Something in her softened — like an exhale she didn’t know she’d been holding. Sometimes we don’t need to hold it all. Sometimes, we are meant to be held. I submit that we must be. ❤️ Strength with Softness That image stayed with me. Not because it was dramatic — but because it was the opposite. Quiet Grounded Simple It reminded me: Being held isn’t weakness Receiving is sacred We can soften and still be strong We don’t need to prove anything. We're allowed to be helped. Maybe this is the version of strength we’re actually hungry for. What Keeps Us From Asking? The barriers are often invisible but powerful: Cultural conditioning — asking = weakness Wounds — being shut down, dismissed, guilted Power dynamics — help can feel disempowering Identity — we like seeing ourselves as capable, resourceful, independent And we are all those things. But when that identity becomes too rigid, it cuts us off from ease, softness, and connection — even from ourselves. What If Asking is the Strength? Let me offer a quiet reframe. What if strength isn’t doing everything yourself — but being secure enough to ask? What if: The strongest thing you can do is let someone help — without shame? Vulnerability is a leadership skill? Receiving is what actually makes the next step possible? What if the “power over” story we grew up with isn’t the only option? A Personal Story When I brought my horse Bentley home, I hoped his intro to the herd would go smoothly. It didn’t. Isaac went after him immediately — teeth bared, full-on aggression. I was alone in the pasture, trying to separate them, heart pounding. Eventually, I got Bentley into a separate space. Safe, for now, but I was shaking (and so was he). As someone with decades of horse experience, I felt a wave of shame for pushing my agenda.. I should’ve known better. And worse, I told myself: “I should be able to fix this on my own. Finally, I called my totally non-horsey husband to help me think. That call was the turning point. Not because he solved it — but because I let myself receive support. I wasn’t calm yet, but I wasn’t alone. That changed everything. Asking wasn’t failure. It was leadership. It’s how we stay grounded, resourced, and able to move forward. An Invitation If this stirred something in you, just sit with it for a moment. No fixing. No solving. Just presence. Ask yourself: Where am I still trying to prove I can do it alone? When was the last time I asked for help — without apology? What would ease look like in this season? There’s no right answer. Just honest ones. Give Yourself Permission You’re allowed to ask and to soften. You’re allowed to be strong and still want to be held. Yes, asking can feel vulnerable. It might make you feel exposed, unsure, and seen. Ask anyway. Vulnerability doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re human. It means you’re living with your heart open. Let that be true. Let that be enough. And if you need someone to remind you of this-- I’m here. Kathy Taylor read my Bio

You’ve achieved a lot, held things together for so long, and... can you feel that quiet longing for something to shift? To finally stop pushing so hard. To live and give from a place that feels more whole. It often starts with a bold decision—a New Year’s resolution, a vow after a hard week, or a moment of clarity that says, "I want something different." You start out strong, but then it doesn't stick. And you wonder why. It's not because you didn't want it badly enough, or because you're lazy, or lacking in willpower. It's in the body. The body doesn’t like being commanded. It wants to be understood. To be met with gentleness and curiosity. Big goals aren’t the problem. It’s how we pursue them. Ambition can be a beautiful thing when it moves in partnership with the body, not in opposition to it. (But that's now how we're trained.) When the nervous system is overwhelmed with too much to do or too many requests, it can’t integrate what’s happening, so it resists. This can look like procrastination, anxiety, a sense of hopelessness, perfectionism-- even "forgetting." It's not that our system doesn't want healing, it's that it needs safety first. That’s where the minimum effective dose comes in. Or as I call it: baby steps. Gentle nudges. Starting small doesn’t mean staying small. It means creating the safety your body needs to go big. ​ So maybe today, you ask: What would feel like a gentle next step toward my goal or desire? How can I honor my body’s rhythm? This isn’t about doing less because you’re incapable. It’s about doing less because your body is wise. And it wants to heal—so you can thrive. One small, safe step at a time.

In the last post , we explored how perfectionism and people-pleasing keeps your system in a state of low-level threat. Many of you wrote back sharing how deeply you resonated with that feeling of guilt when finally allowing yourself to rest. Today I want to share some specific practices for increasing your capacity for rest that allow you to be creative and take meaningful action. Not through pushing or forcing, but rather through a dance of awareness and practice. I hope it will be especially useful to you around the holidays. Fear of Stopping There have been many days in the past when I had lots to do and I was on a roll. I could feel the tired coming on, but I was determined to finish without stopping. I knew if I did stop, it would take a LOT of energy to get going again. This cycle of over-functioning and collapse isn’t healthy or sustainable. I’ve been there. Starting Where You Are The most crucial step is to accept your current capacity not where you think you should be. Be honest with yourself. How much capacity do you have in this moment? (It’s OK if it’s not very much.) Can you notice and take a break when you’re at 80% rather than waiting for complete exhaustion? Celebrate those small shifts in awareness and treat your resistance to acceptance with curiosity rather than judgment. A little ​self-compassion​ goes a long way. The goal isn’t to eliminate stress or stay permanently relaxed - that’s neither possible nor desirable. Instead, it’s about developing flexibility to move between these states naturally, expanding what we call your “window of tolerance. Small Moments Matter Rather than waiting for long periods of rest, scatter micro-moments of regulation throughout your day. Here are some small steps to practice. Take 3 conscious breaths before checking email or scrolling (2-second inhale, 8-second exhale) Feel your feet on the ground between meetings—and even during them! Look around the space you’re in and notice 5 things you see, 4 things you hear, 3 things you can touch or feel (inside or outside your body), Next notice 2 things your can smell and one thing you can taste. Share your wins AND your challenges - both build connection and resilience Practice receiving support in small ways (accepting help, taking in compliments) One Step at a Time Don’t try these all at once. That’s too big a bite. Instead, choose ONE practice to focus on for a week. See how you feel. Remember, every time you notice tension and choose to pause, every time you honor a need for rest, you’re rewiring your nervous system. This is neuroplasticity in action - your brain and body learning that it’s safe to operate differently and support you in sustainable success. What would become possible if you had just 10% more capacity? Where would you feel that first in your body?