Slowly Emerging From My Cocoon

A Mindful Musing on rest, listening, and honouring the season I’m in

I feel as though I’m slowly beginning to emerge from my cocoon.

Not with some dramatic burst of energy or a sudden feeling that I’m ready to take on the world again. It feels much gentler than that. More like slowly peeking my head out, noticing what is around me and beginning to feel the subtle pull towards the outside world again.

And as I’ve started to emerge, I’ve found myself reflecting on why I needed to cocoon in the first place.

At the end of last year, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s.

That in itself has been an interesting journey to navigate. Trying to understand what is happening in my body, what it needs from me, and how I want to support myself has been complex at times.

I’ve also found navigating the Western medical model incredibly frustrating. There are so many differing opinions and mixed messages around Hashimoto’s—what you should eat, how you should exercise, what you should avoid, what you should supplement, what your blood results mean, what they apparently don’t mean…

You can disappear down one hell of a rabbit hole.

And amongst all that information, I’ve been trying to come back to something much simpler:

What does my body actually need from me?

Then, before Christmas, we began the deep dive into finding our family home.

We thought we had found the one. It wasn’t to be.

Then February came around and there it was—a home that somehow checked every box.

So, the Year of the Horse was certainly off to a racing start.

We bought a house. We moved. We unpacked and began creating our beautiful home.

And within weeks of moving in, I was heading to Kaikōura to host something I had dreamed about for a very long time—Embrace.

My dream retreat.

Alongside my beautiful friend Shannon, who helped me hold and facilitate the space, and my beautiful friend Heila, who cared for and nourished us in a way that words really cannot describe, something I had carried in my heart for so long came to life.

It was magical.

It was everything I had dreamed of and then some.

And then I came home…and my beautiful boy started school.

Well, this mother’s heartstrings were pulled in every possible direction.

So when I look back at all of that, of course I was depleted.

Not depleted because anything had necessarily gone wrong. In fact, so much of what had happened was beautiful.

But beautiful things still require energy.

Dreams coming true require energy.

Moving house requires energy.

Creating, facilitating, holding space and running a business require energy.

Parenting requires energy.

Watching your little person walk through the school gates for the first time requires a whole different kind of emotional energy.

And navigating changes in your own body alongside all of it requires energy too.

I realised I needed to go inward.

I needed to slow down.

And perhaps, from the outside, my version of slowing down might not have looked particularly slow. But for me, it was a massive shift.

I started calling it my cocooning phase.

And I really allowed myself to be in it.

My Saturday mornings began looking different. Rather than feeling the pull to get up and go—brunch, walking the Richmond hills, heading out to Rabbit Island or filling the morning with activity—I sometimes stayed in bed and read my book.

And it felt bloody lovely.

There have been lots of early nights. I have always been someone who goes to bed relatively early, but this became a whole different level of early.

Some nights I’ve been tucked up at the same time as my five-year-old.

And some mornings, despite all of that sleep, I’ve still woken feeling as though I haven’t slept enough.

Instead of fighting that, I’ve been trying to listen.

That has probably been one of the biggest parts of this season: honouring what I need rather than what I think I should need.

There is a difference.

There have been moments when I haven’t known what my body needs. Navigating Hashimoto’s has sometimes made those messages feel confusing. I’m still learning what supports me, what drains me, what restores me and what my body is asking for.

And I think that’s completely okay.

Life is a journey.

We are constantly learning and growing, and I hope I will forever be a learner.

Perhaps one of the things I feel most grateful for as I reflect on this season is recognising that I really do practise what I teach.

I spend so much of my work encouraging people to become curious about their bodies. To notice. To listen. To move away from judgement and towards compassion. To recognise that our capacity changes and that rest does not need to be earned.

And when my own body asked me to slow down, I listened.

Not perfectly.

Not always knowing exactly what I needed.

But I listened.

And most importantly, I have rested without shame.

I have rested without guilt.

I haven’t needed to justify why I was tired or convince myself that I had done enough to deserve it.

I needed rest because I needed rest.

Maybe that is one of the greatest things this cocoon has reminded me of.

There are seasons for expanding, creating, moving and doing.

And there are seasons for turning inward.

Neither is more valuable than the other.

I can feel something beginning to shift now. There’s a little more curiosity about what comes next. A little more desire to emerge. A little more energy for the world outside my cocoon.

I’m not rushing it.

I don’t need to suddenly burst out as some shiny new butterfly with everything figured out.

I’m just slowly emerging.

Listening.

Noticing.

And continuing to ask myself:

What do I need today?

Because perhaps honouring ourselves isn’t about always knowing the answer.

Perhaps it’s about being willing to keep asking the question.

Thank you for being part of this community. Together, we can navigate the stepping stones of life with compassion and curiosity.

With gratitude,
Hayley Guinness

Founder, Stepping Stones Yoga & Therapy