Here in the quiet of the country, you learn that every living thing must claim its own space to thrive, but that process is rarely simple. It’s a lesson the forest teaches with every new season.
The Young Maple and the Old Grove
Theres a grove of old sugar maples behind my home, their branches intertwined like old friends. A few years ago, I noticed a young maple sapling fighting for its own patch of sunlight, its leaves pale and small. It was crowded, overshadowed by the established trees. For it to survive, it had to grow in a new direction, to push its branches into the open air. In doing so, it changed the shape of the canopy. It wasnt being selfish; it was answering a deep, vital call for light. When we start setting boundaries, we are like that sapling. We are not trying to hurt the grove; we are simply trying to find our own sun. It can feel like a disruption to the old, familiar shade, and sometimes, those who were comfortable in that shade will resist the change.
Finding Your Edge on the Mat and in Life
I remember when I first started teaching yoga, I said yes to everything. Early mornings, late nights, covering for others, even when my own body felt tired and sore. I thought that was what it meant to be dedicated. But I was shrinking, making myself smaller to fit the needs of everyone else. The first time I said, Im sorry, I need to rest, it felt like a betrayal. A dear friend was disappointed, and I felt a wave of guilt that was so physical it almost knocked me over. In our practice, we call this finding our edge, that place between comfort and strain where our muscles learn and grow. Saying no was my edge. It was uncomfortable, it was shaky, but it was also the first time I truly honored the needs of my own body. It taught me that self-respect is a practice, just like holding a difficult pose. It requires strength, breath, and the courage to be a little bit uncomfortable.
The River Doesn’t Apologize for Changing Course
The Reddit poster said that growth felt like grief, and that is a profound truth. You are grieving the person you used to be, the one who was perhaps easier for others to love because they never asked for anything. You are also grieving the relationships as they once were. A river doesn’t look the same as it did a hundred years ago; it has carved new paths, leaving old channels to become quiet wetlands. The river doesnt apologize for its journey. It simply flows where it must to reach the sea. We, too, must allow ourselves to flow towards our own peace, even if it means leaving the familiar behind. That sense of loss is real and deserves to be felt. Sit with it, breathe with it, and know that it is the sign of a powerful, natural shift within you.
Choosing to live with boundaries is a quiet act of courage. It is not a declaration of war, but a gentle request for the space to breathe. Like the young maple, you are not a villain for seeking the sun. You are simply answering the most fundamental call of your own spirit: the call to grow. Be patient with the process, be soft with your grieving heart, and trust in the path you are carving for yourself. The world needs your light, not your shadow.
With love and light,
Jessica
