Meditation is not separate from life. It’s the practice of paying attention to life as it’s happening, moment by moment. Learning to actually be present with our own experience while it’s happening is one of the most powerful and life-affirming practices we have.

Life is a lot. The world is a lot. And one of the greatest gifts we can offer, to ourselves and to others, is to stay grounded and present.

As we move into the busy holiday season, I keep asking myself: Can I stay rooted in my practice and true to what I need, even as the pressure to socialize and be cheerful grows?

Here are three simple grounding practices I return to when I start to feel overwhelmed, depleted, or exhausted. Maybe they’ll support you too:

1. Practice first thing in the morning
It doesn’t need to be long or strenuous. Even five minutes of breath and intention before the day begins helps me stay grounded for whatever comes next.

2. Take micro-meditation pauses
In moments of transition - before getting out of the car, walking into my kids’ rooms, starting a meeting
Or anytime I feel irritation rising - listening to my kids screaming, reading an annoying email, you know the moments.
I pause for 30 seconds. I feel sensations in my body and notice my breath. In that presence, things are usually okay, and I remember I have the capacity to meet whatever challenges are arising.

3. Afternoon savasana
If I’m supposed to be social later and I’m already drained, I’ll take a 20-minute savasana in the afternoon. It resets my system and gives me genuine energy, not just the “push through it” kind.

How many times have I said to myself, I don’t have enough time?

My relationship with time has been a major source of stress and overwhelm over the years. I imagine I’m not alone; time seems to be a major stressor for so many of us. Can you relate?

Years ago, my teacher Judith Hanson Lasater said something that radically shifted how I think about time and my relationship to it:

“When we feel like we don’t have enough time, it’s because we’re spending time doing things that are not aligned with our highest values.”

That line has stayed with me. How many times have I felt like I didn’t have time for my yoga practice, yet somehow managed to spend thirty minutes scrolling on Instagram?

There’s been a lot of screaming in my house lately. One or both of my kids often isn’t getting what they want; the breakfast of choice, a different coat, TV before school, and before I know it, it’s meltdown city.

Usually, I can stay calm… until I can’t. My voice rises, tensions build, and suddenly we’re in a power struggle.

Lately, I’ve been trying to say less. I rarely succeed, but when I do, I’m reminded of a truth that applies everywhere in my life: less is more.

Last night, as we were heading out to trick-or-treat, my daughter said, “I wonder what I should be for Halloween next year.” And so the planning begins. I reminded her gently, let’s be present with the current Halloween while we’re still in it.

For about 365 days, my kids dream up their costumes. Endless discussions about what to be, how to make it perfect, who to meet, and which route will yield the best candy haul. The anticipation builds for months, and when the big day finally arrives, there’s always a little disappointment and a few (or a lot of) tears. The costume doesn’t fit quite right, it’s too cold for just one layer, or someone else’s looks “better.”

Restorative yoga teaches us how to take responsibility for our inner world, rather than trying to “fix” the outer one. So often, our suffering doesn’t come from what’s happening, but from the stories we tell ourselves about what’s happening. This practice helps us see clearly how privileged and precious our lives are, to wake up, stop taking our existence for granted, and live fully.

Yesterday, my 9 year old had a full blown meltdown over unfinished homework. In her panic, my first thought was: “This shouldn’t be happening! She’s almost 9, why can’t she handle this better?”

That’s usually where I spiral, wishing reality was different and fighting the present moment, making myself miserable right alongside her.

So many times I’ve grabbed a coffee and pushed through, even when I was completely depleted, exhausted, or overwhelmed. Can you relate?

It’s not our fault; we live in a culture that glorifies busyness, rewards constant doing, and bombards us with the idea that rest is lazy or selfish.

I often resist rest, but this mentality doesn't serve me or anyone else. And it’s worth asking: what’s the real cost of always being busy?

One of the patterns I still catch myself in is comparing who I am now to some idealized version of myself. The me from twenty years ago. The me who weighs less. The me who never misses a workout and always skips dessert.

But the truth is: I love ice cream—and these comparisons only make me miserable.

Last week, we set off on our very first family canoe trip: four days and three nights in Algonquin Park with my brother, sister in law and their youngest. It turned out to be one of the most amazing—and most challenging—experiences we’ve ever shared.

I’ve spent the past week up north with my family at the cottage. Zorik’s been working, so it’s been a lot of unstructured time with the kids—and not much “productive” work from me.

Of course, there were plenty of moments of frustration and irritation (parenting seems to provide those in endless supply). But what was missing was my usual drive to accomplish. I had to let go of wanting to get things done, cross tasks off my list, or feel productive. Instead, I found myself simply being with my kids—just hanging out, without an agenda.

It’s so easy to get swept up in the pace of modern life—the worry, the anxiety, the endless to-do list. But these moments happening right now make up our lives. They’re fleeting. And I don’t want to miss them.

The other day, I was reading through the preparatory documents for my daughter’s first summer at sleepaway camp when, out of nowhere, I was hit by a wave of emotion—something like sadness and fear all tangled together.

In the past, I probably would have pushed those feelings aside. I would have told myself it was silly or illogical, and that I didn’t have time to indulge in emotions like that.

But this time, I didn’t push them away. I sat still and really felt them—the ache in my chest, the tightness in my throat—and to my surprise, after about 90 seconds, it passed. I opened my eyes and calmly went back to reading.

Yes, it slows my heart rate, lowers my blood pressure, and soothes my overstimulated nervous system by shifting me into a parasympathetic state. But it's more than just rest—it's a practice of letting go into the present moment.

The other day, I decided to keep track of how many times I felt a little flutter of irritation, frustration, or stress. By mid-afternoon, I had already counted over twenty. Twenty moments where something small—a tone of voice, a traffic jam, a forgotten task—sparked a subtle surge of agitation. Life, as we know, rarely unfolds smoothly, and it reminded me how profoundly human it is to be affected by these little jolts throughout the day.

For years, I was like a relentless river—pushing forward, plowing through obstacles without pause. I was ambitious and hardworking, rarely took a break unless I was deathly ill. In university, I powered through with endless cups of coffee, diet Pepsi and minimal rest. I exercised endlessly in pursuit of something I thought would somehow fix me.

This morning, I made a classic mistake—I checked my email before meditating.

I know better, and yet, there I was. And of course, I read something that triggered an immediate flutter of irritation. Not only was I annoyed by what was written, but I was also annoyed at myself for reading it before I’d even had a chance to ground myself.

This morning, I woke up at 4 a.m. I love getting up early, but not this early. I tried to fall back asleep, but by 4:35, I gave in and started my day.

Ten years ago, waking up like this would have sent me into a spiral. My first thought would have been, "I didn’t get enough sleep. How am I going to get through the day?" My second thought? "Guess this will be a three-coffee day." Sound familiar?

My almost 99-year-old grandmother passed away last week. She lived a long, full life, and it was her time. But even when we understand this, losing someone we were close to stirs deep emotions.

I used to make the same resolution every year: This year will be the year I lose 15 lbs!

I never succeeded—except for the years I had my children. Honestly, I lost a good 20 lbs just in the process of giving birth! At least that’s one way to meet a goal, right?

Luckily, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to accept myself and even love myself as I am. But that’s not the only point here.

The purpose of formal practice isn’t to master a handstand or sit in perfect stillness for 20 minutes with a silent mind, although those things are fun and wonderful to experience. 

Formal practice is about carving out sacred time to nourish ourselves, calm our nervous systems, and quiet the mental chatter. It’s not about perfection; it’s about preparation—so that when life gets messy, we can meet it with grace and ease.