I used to think meditation had to be this long, perfect, monk-on-a-mountain kind of thing. Quiet room, candles, perfectly still mind. And because of that, I skipped it more times than I care to admit. I was waiting for the right moment, the right mindset, the right mood.
But real life rarely gives you that.
I started meditating not because I wanted to be “zen,” but because I needed a way to stay sane. My brain runs fast—always has. Thoughts race, responsibilities pile up, and before I know it, I’m locked in a battle with myself. The overthinking, the self-judgment, the impulse to overwork or self-sabotage—it’s all there, waiting.
Meditation became my defense. Or maybe more accurately, my moat.
“Meditation is the moat I fill every day to keep the bad version of myself at bay.”
It’s not magic. It doesn’t “fix” me. But it gives me just enough space between the trigger and the reaction. It gives me breath when I’m holding it without realizing. It gives me calm when my mind wants chaos.
And here’s something I’ve come to believe deeply: even a shallow meditation matters.
Some days I get 20 minutes of deep stillness. Other days, I barely manage 90 seconds between back-to-back meetings or right before bed. But I still show up. Because even if I don’t feel transformed every time, the habit itself is transformative.
Meditation is a practice in presence. It’s a reminder that I am not my thoughts. That I can notice them without obeying them. That I can soften, even if just a little. And when that becomes a daily rhythm no matter how imperfect it starts to shift things. Subtly. Powerfully.
If you’re waiting for the perfect time or the perfect version of meditation, let me gently offer this: stop waiting.
Just sit. Just breathe. Even if it’s only for a moment.
Because that moment? It’s not shallow. It’s not wasted. It’s a step in the right direction. It’s a small win in your own internal civil war.
And some days, that’s more than enough.