Some weeks I don’t realize how thirsty I am until I finally stop moving. This is one of those weeks. Thrive is where I check in with the parts of myself I’ve been neglecting — the quiet corners, the tender roots — and see what’s still alive under the surface.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the parts of myself that go silent when life gets loud. Not because they disappear, but because they’re patient. They wait. They trust I’ll eventually remember them.
There’s a version of me — softer, slower, less performative — who only shows up when I stop trying to outrun my own thoughts. He’s the one who notices that the songbirds are back so that means Spring is here. He’s the one who names all the plants in our yard; the one who remembers to breathe before reacting. The one who doesn’t need to win, impress, or optimize anything.
He’s been quiet lately.
Not gone. Just… under‑watered.
I can’t speak for anyone else, but in general I find it funny how easy it is to forget the parts of ourselves that don’t demand attention; it’s like part of the human experience or something. The loud parts — the anxious planner, the overachiever, the fixer — they’re always right there, waving their arms with the “pick me” energy of a dozen Instagram influencers, insisting they’re essential. But the gentler parts? They whisper. They wait for an invitation. They have to be intentionally engaged most of the time.
This week, I finally heard the whisper…”you need to paint without goals, just paint. That is your happy/Zen place.”
Lately, I’ve been treating painting like a project or reward instead of a requirement. And the part of me that thrives on the peace that comes while creating—the part that actually knows how I flow and grow — has been patiently tapping its foot, wondering when I’d notice and pick up my paints and canvas.
So, I slowed down.
Not in a glamorous, Instagrammable way. More like… I sat on the couch for ten minutes and let myself feel tired. Then, I started painting without turning it into a productivity hack. I let myself be a person instead of a project to be improved and let the paint flow wherever it wanted.
And in that moment, I felt a shift. Not a breakthrough. Not an epiphany. Just a softening. A loosening. A sense that the part of me I’d forgotten to water was still there, still willing, still mine.
Some of the most significant growth isn’t always as dramatic as turning your whole world upside down (which I’ve done… a couple of times, do NOT recommend). Sometimes it’s just remembering to tend to the parts of yourself that don’t shout.
If there’s a part of you that’s been quietly asking for attention, maybe this is your sign to check in. You don’t have to overhaul your life. Just offer a little water. I’ve found the quiet parts are often the ones that bring us back to ourselves.
–> If If you want to watch me connect these dots in public, Mugwump Ramblings drops on Monday.
–> And if you want the more intimate, slightly mischievous chapter of the story, Sexplorer shows up on Saturday.
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