My Calm Doesn’t Come Easy
Calm doesn’t come naturally to me.
Not the kind that sinks deep into your bones and stays there.
Not the kind that floats gently on the surface.
The calm I carry is constructed—on purpose, and with effort.
It’s chosen. Re-chosen. Rebuilt a hundred times a day.
It’s not a personality trait.
It’s a decision.
The Quiet Work
A steady breath when my mind wants to spiral.
A held tongue when my ego wants to fight.
A soft response when I’m met with chaos.
I work so hard to be calm on the inside.
And most people never see it.
Because it’s not loud. It’s not flashy.
It doesn’t announce itself.
What It Looks Like
But it’s there.
In the pause before I answer.
In the questions I ask instead of assumptions I throw.
In the moments I let go of being right, in favor of being real.
It’s not easy.
It’s not automatic.
It’s not comfort.
It’s calculated. It directed.
Focus Over Friction
Because if I don’t choose my focus, I’ll waste energy on every emotional draft that passes through.
And I don’t have that kind of time anymore.
Not for panic.
Not for performing.
Not for perfection.
I want to spend my energy on what actually matters—
Connection. Integrity. Healing. Presence.
Calm Is Not Weak
Calm isn’t passive.
It’s fierce in its own way.
It takes strength to be steady
in a world that keeps shifting beneath you.
The Weight of Choosing Calm
Some days, staying calm is its own kind of exhaustion.
Because it takes effort to stay grounded when your insides want to do anything but.
But once you’ve lived through chaos long enough,
you start to recognize a different kind of tired.
The tired that comes from holding steady
is so much lighter than the tired that comes from spinning out.
And even when it wears me down,
I’ll still choose it.
Every time.
Fighting for calm is such an oxymoron—
but it’s better than fighting through chaos.
Calm Is a Skill, Too
Here’s what I wish more people understood:
Calm is a skill.
One I had to learn.
It wasn’t an obvious part of life.
I didn’t just “find my center” one day and stick with it.
I had to build it—through trial, through failure, through asking better questions and practicing uncomfortable pauses.
Even now, it takes mindful effort.
But it’s mine. And I’m still learning.
So if calm feels far off for you—
That doesn’t mean you’re doing life wrong.
It means you’re in process.
You might always be in process, and that’s okay.
You Are Not Less Because It Takes More
Having to work hard for your calm doesn’t make it worth less.
It doesn’t make you worth less.
If anything, it might make you more aware.
More intentional.
More able to hold space for someone else’s storm because you know what it takes to weather your own.
Sometimes the effort you put in becomes the bridge
to a kind of connection that only people who’ve done the work can fully recognize.
If This Is You, Too
So if you’re someone who looks calm on the outside,
but only because you’re doing the invisible work every minute to hold it together inside—
I see you.
It counts.
Even if nobody claps.
Even if no one notices.
Even if all it ever does is make space for the next moment to be a little clearer.
That’s still holy work.
Sometimes it doesn’t work.
Sometimes the calm slips. The fuse shortens. The repetitive thoughts and the anxious pose come.
And when that happens?
Give yourself grace.
You’re not failing.
You’re human.
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