When Your Mind Tries to Rescue You, But You Don’t Need Rescuing
Photo by Getty Images via Unsplash.
The other day, I was walking with my husband and our dog, Matzah. It was one of those picture-perfect LA days—sun shining, birds singing, the sky a vibrant blue. But internally? I felt… off.
When I checked in, the feeling was low and dull. Immediately, my mind jumped in with a flurry of commentary: You're feeling apathetic. That's bad. You shouldn't feel this way. You have so much to be grateful for. You're not useful in this state. Let's shift this—now.
At first, I believed that voice. I followed its directive to change my state, to do something, to feel better. But none of it helped. If anything, it made me feel more anxious.
So, I slowed down.
What I found underneath the thinking was simple: sensation. A heaviness in my chest. A crawling feeling under my skin. Some heat behind my eyes. Nothing wild—just energy moving. But instead of letting myself feel that, my mind labeled it: Apathy. Wrong. Fix it.
That's what the mind does. It names, analyzes, diagnoses, and plans.
It means well. It thinks it's protecting us.
But what if… we don't need rescuing?
What if what's happening in our body—the raw sensations, not the story—isn't wrong? Isn't dangerous? Isn't something to fear?
What if those sensations are exactly what's meant to be felt?
And what if, by feeling them, we discover how safe we really are?
The mind can't feel. It can't drop into the now. It can only analyze, interpret, and imagine.
But your body? Your body lives in the present.
It doesn't need your mind's permission to beat your heart, digest your food, or breathe. It's built for flow. It knows how to process energy, how to release and return to balance—if we let it.
Somewhere along the way, most of us learned that certain feelings weren't safe. We learned to override our experience in order to be loved, to belong, to survive. The mind stepped in as protector. And it's done a good job—it's just been operating from an innocent misunderstanding: that our feelings are threats.
They're not.
Back to the walk: Once I saw what was happening—how my mind was trying to save me from 'apathy'…a moment that didn't need saving—I stopped engaging with it.
I felt my chest and the crawling under my skin.
I let the sensation move.
I breathed and expanded my awareness.
I noticed Matzah sniffing.
I took in the scent of jasmine.
I felt the sun on my skin.
I got present.
And the apathy? It dissolved. On its own.
Not because I thought my way out of it. But because I met what was actually happening in the moment.
And when I allowed my true experience, it moved.
So if you find yourself in a moment that feels low or off or tender, maybe you don't need to name it.
Maybe you don't need to change it.
Maybe you just need to meet what's there.
Remember: sensations, by themselves, are neutral.
A clenched jaw, a buzzy chest, pressure in the belly—these aren't painful (or even unpleasant) until the mind attaches a story.
Run the experiment for yourself.
See if that rings true for you.
Sending lots of love,
Amber
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