The Grip is Gone

How to access relief without forcing a breakthrough

I want to welcome you here properly today.

Not with polish.
Not with a thesis.
But from inside a moment that truly replenished my soul this morning. (Deep I know.)

It was still dark - around 6:30 a.m. - and the house was quiet in that rare, sacred way. Even Rufus (our new 12-week-old puppy) was napping beside me. His small body rising and falling.

For the first time in days I had enough space to return to my meditation practice. It’s been severely disrupted lately. I imagine if you’ve welcomed a new life—human or furry—you get how routines dissolve. Well, mine has been non existent and I can feel the negative effects on my mood, nervous system, and overall daily outlook.

Rufus morning pose.

So I knew I needed to get still in that not-scrolling-the headlines on the couch kind of way but rather a refueling for the mind, body and spirit.

I decided to press play on one of Matt Cooke’s guided meditations. It’s called The Secret Garden and almost immediately, my body responded. (This 28-minute guided meditation takes you on a journey down a magical staircase, behind an ancient door, and into your imaginary garden as you envision and feel your deepest most sacred dreams coming true. It’s one of my absolute favorites to come back to again and again.)

The response wasn’t intellectual, but rather I felt fully immersed in some kind of collective consciousness where I was inexplicably safe and at home.

Tears streamed down my face. Not the tight, choked kind. The kind that arrive when something long-held finally loosens. It felt like a therapeutic purge, but more than that, it felt honest. Unforced. Like my nervous system exhaled before my mind could interfere.

There was a phrase that kept coming through, clear and unmistakable:

The grip.

And just as clearly: the grip is gone.

For the first time in my alcohol-free journey, I didn’t just acknowledge my progress—I felt it. My body felt free. Not celebratory in a performative way, but light. As if I had set something down that I’ve been carrying for most of my life without even realizing how heavy it was. (Today I am 119 days alcohol-free in what I’m calling an ‘experiment’ to see what the highest version of myself might look like and be capable of.)

What struck me most is that this realization didn’t come from effort.
It came from space.

We are all so busy.
Our lives are full.
We’re checking boxes, responding to texts, managing families, relationships, careers, expectations. Even our healing can start to feel like another item on the list.

But when we carve out even twenty uninterrupted minutes, when we let the nervous system soften and the mind step aside, something else gets a chance to speak.

This morning, that something was my inner child.

I saw her.
I felt her.
And I honored her.

Not because everything is easy right now - it isn’t. I’m in a tight space in many ways. Life feels demanding and tender all at once. But for the first time, I could look back and see the measurable, massive change I’ve created in my own life. Not aspirational. Actual. Embodied.

And I realized: this epiphany in the wee morning hours was only possible because I made room for it.

That’s the invitation I want to leave you with.

Not to overhaul your life.
Not to meditate perfectly.
Not to become someone else.

Just to create a pocket of quiet.
A small clearing.
A secret garden of your own.

You never know what you might finally be ready to set down.

Sunrise at Little Gem Ranch.

With love from the ranch,

Catt