Living in rural Quebec has taught me the value of simplicity and connection to nature he other evening, scrolling quietly as the last light faded behind the Laurentian mountains, I came across a question from a fellow soul struggling with a racing mind at bedtime. They spoke of herbal teas and journaling, rituals that sometimes hold the key and other times feel like trying to build a dam with twigs. It resonated so deeply. Here in the countryside, the world grows so quiet at night you can hear your own heart beat, and in that silence, the mind can sometimes decide to shout.
Letting Go of the Fight
My first thought isn’t about a magic ritual, but a gentle shift in perspective. For years, I treated my anxious thoughts like black flies in June nuisances to be swatted away. The more I swatted, the more they swarmed. My real ‘go-to’ began when I stopped fighting. I teach this in my yoga classes: what we resist, persists. Lying in bed, I would feel a worry begin to spiral, and my whole body would tense in opposition. Now, I try to greet it. I picture the thought as a single boat on the Rivire du Diable that flows near my home. I don’t have to get in the boat; I can simply sit on the bank and watch it drift by. It’s my thought, yes, but it is not me. Acknowledging it without judgment is the first step to letting it go.
The Anchor of the Breath
When the mind is a kite caught in a storm, the breath is our anchor to the earth. This is more than just ‘taking a deep breath.’ It’s about finding a rhythm that tells your body, ‘you are safe.’ One of my most grounding practices is what we call ‘Sama Vritti’ or ‘equal breathing.’ I don’t even get out of bed. I simply lie there and begin to breathe in for a count of four, and then out for a count of four. I imagine the steady, sleeping breath of my old dog, Maurice, how his whole body was an image of peace. I match my breath to that memory. In for four, out for four. Its a rhythm as old and steady as the seasons. It doesn’t silence the mind, not always, but it gives you a calm, constant anchor to hold onto while the storm passes.
Listening to the Night
Sometimes, the most profound practice is to simply listen. Not to the thoughts, but to the world outside the window. I open it just a crack, even in winter. I listen for the wind in the pines, the distant call of a loon on the lake, or the gentle creak of the old house settling. I let those sounds wash over me. It reminds me that my inner world, with all its worries and lists, is part of a much larger, calmer, and more patient world. My anxieties feel a little smaller when compared to the vast, breathing darkness of the forest. Its a humbling, and deeply calming, experience.
There is no single remedy that will work every time for every person. We are not machines with an ‘off’ switch. Be gentle with yourself. Some nights are for watching the boats on the river, some are for anchoring with the breath, and some are for simply listening to the world breathe around you. The goal isn’t to force sleep, but to find a little peace in the wakefulness. The sun will always rise, and with it, a new chance to begin again.
With love and light,
Jessica
