Pause & Untangle

The practice of pausing is paying off. I actually find myself, in a moment of decision, stopping—checking in with my inner teacher, higher power, whatever-you-want-to-call-it. And frequently, the answer that comes back is the same: "It doesn’t matter." At first, this response felt dismissive—like some cosmic brush-off. But the more I listen, the more I realize: the pause itself is the answer. In that space, the pressure to "get it right" disappears. The illusion that every choice is critical, every moment leading to some fateful, inescapable outcome, starts to dissolve. I had this unreasonable expectation that with synchronicity and "God winks" everywhere, every decision I made had to be deeply significant, leading me down a perfect magical path to a perfect outcome. Yikes, that’s pressure.

But again: "It doesn’t matter." This phrase shows up in the simplest places. Should I call so-and-so? Should I go to this meeting or that one? Should I email or write or meditate now? Should I buy this or that? Should I say something or stay still? Turns out, most of the time, it really doesn’t matter. The level of gravity I place on these questions is often just a reflection of my own anxiety, my need to control things, my craving for certainty. But pausing pulls me out of that spiral. Instead of gripping onto the decision, I get to step back and witness—without urgency, without attachment, without weight.

The pause is everything. It is the space between impulse and action, where I get to question my automatic reactions instead of being dragged along by them. When I hit the pause button, I interrupt the script. I make room for something new. It’s in that moment that I get to ask: Is this real? Is this necessary? Is this true? Without the pause, I react from habit. From old conditioning, old fears, old expectations—many of which aren’t even mine. Cultural beliefs. Family narratives. The shoulds, the musts, the knee-jerk justifications and rationalizations that keep me locked in patterns I don’t even realize I’m repeating. Pausing is the antidote. It’s the simplest, most radical way to reclaim awareness, choice, and honesty in real time.

Who, me? Pretentious? Grandiose? Just a tiny bit pompous? What? No! SLAP! Amazing how simple and unemotional the response in my mind appears, smooth and quiet, like water over stone: "It doesn’t matter. And… it’s OK." But occasionally, if I sit with the silence just a moment longer, I’ll hear something else: "But… it would be fun to _____." Sometimes the nudge makes sense. Other times, it’s totally unexpected. And in that moment, fun replaces force, ease replaces overthinking, and I just… follow it.

Then, there are the times when the pause doesn’t bring peace—it brings something darker. Lately, I’ve been present to a lack of self-confidence, a smoke-like saboteur lingering at the edges of my awareness. The voice of self-doubt, rebellion, resistance. I recognized it instantly—the same one I fought during my Never Binge Again era. The part of me that hates being contained.

Pause. "It doesn’t matter." But then another whisper: "You may want to allow it. Explore it." Really? That seems scary and odd. Shouldn’t I try to whisk it away with some happy color or ignore it until it leaves on its own? Oh. Here’s a chance to actually practice what I’ve learned. Allow it. Explore it. Observe, honor, release. And when I do—when I sit with it instead of fighting it—I see it clearly: the hatred is just fear. The fear is grounded in not feeling safe. 

So I try something different. As an experiment, I spent an entire day repeating a simple phrase: "I am safe." Every spare open space in my thoughts, I filled with it. I paused to remind myself: I am safe. That is all. No long explanation. No overanalyzing. And then I asked: Does that apply right now? To this English muffin? To this car ride? To this song on the radio? To this conversation, this feeling, this thought? And you know what? It did.

Pausing gave me the space to notice reality instead of assumption. To separate feeling unsafe from actually being unsafe. To recognize how often my thoughts create tension where there is none. The pause is truth serum. It asks: What’s actually happening, right now? Not the story, not the fear, not the future projection. Just now. So, I keep pausing. I keep asking, "Does this actually matter?" and listening for the answer. And more often than not, I hear the same thing: "Nope. Not today It doesn’t."

But what does matter? Presence. Curiosity. The ease that comes when I stop chasing and start trusting. The choice to rewrite the patterns that no longer serve me. The ability to step outside my habitual responses and meet life as it is—not as I assume it to be. That’s what the pause reveals every time. And shit, that matters.

"The image is a ZenTangle piece of art that I created.. This piece reflects my process—pausing, untangling, letting clarity emerge. The rigid lines remind me of the mental frameworks and expectations I unknowingly carry, while the mushrooms grow freely, expanding within and around them. Pausing isn’t about tearing down structure; it’s about softening, making space for what wants to grow. Clarity isn’t forced—it reveals itself when I stop gripping so tightly. So I pause, I breathe, I untangle."

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