we were never meant to live this way.
- Shorina | Mindful Soul Collective

- Oct 13
- 5 min read

I still remember the exact moment my body said enough was enough. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was actually quite quiet.
I was standing in the kitchen, trying to answer emails on my phone while cooking dinner and simultaneously managing bedtime chaos in the background. My shoulders were tense. My jaw was clenched. My mind was a storm of unfinished to-do lists and looming deadlines. And my body? She felt like a machine. Tired, aching, and so deeply disconnected.
That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, I sat on the floor of the shower and just cried. Not because of one specific thing. But because everything felt like too much. Life had become a cycle of rushing and pushing. I couldn’t remember the last time I had taken a deep breath without feeling guilty. I couldn’t remember the last time I did something slowly just for the joy of it.
That moment marked the beginning of a slow, very imperfect return. A return to myself. A return to presence. A return to the truth I now know deep in my bones... we weren’t meant to live this way.
We weren’t meant to fill every second with productivity. We weren’t meant to ignore the body’s whispers until they become screams. We weren’t meant to live in this constant urgency, measuring our worth by how much we achieve or how fast we go.
And yet, somehow, that’s become our norm. Somewhere along the way, we learned to glorify busy. To mistake exhaustion for success. To believe that rest needs to be earned, and that slowing down is a luxury rather than a necessity. We built lives so full that we forgot how to feel them.
But when we move at a pace that disconnects us from our bodies, we miss everything that makes life truly meaningful. We miss the small moments. We miss the connection. We miss the guidance of our own soul.
And our bodies… they remember. They hold the score, as I'm sure you've heard. They ache, they tense, they fatigue. Not just because of physical strain, but because of emotional depletion. Because of unprocessed grief. Because of the sheer weight of trying to hold it all together in a world that asks too much.
I see this in my work every day. Clients who come to me on the edge of burnout. Who’ve done all the 'right' things. Who’ve worked hard, shown up, checked all the boxes, yet still feel unfulfilled. Anxious. Disconnected. Tired in a way that sleep doesn’t fix.
Because this kind of exhaustion isn’t fixed or relieved with a nap. It’s much deeper than that. It comes from living out of alignment with your own rhythm.
That’s what this healing work invites us into, not just to feel better, but to remember a different way of being. A way of living that honours the body. A way of moving that’s guided by intuition rather than obligation. A way of choosing that’s rooted in soul-truth, not external noise.
So I want to ask you... what would it feel like to move slower? To wake up without immediately checking your phone? To make space between one task and the next? To sip your tea slowly, instead of drinking it while replying to emails?
What would it feel like to laugh more? Not the kind of polite laughter you give in conversation, but the belly-deep kind that bubbles up when you feel safe and connected. When you let yourself be fully present with someone you love. When joy doesn’t need a reason.
What would it feel like to breathe deeper? To place your hand on your chest and actually feel your breath again? To soften your shoulders, unclench your jaw, and remind your nervous system that it’s safe to rest here? To use your breath as a bridge between your body and your soul?
What would it feel like to connect more? Not just to others, but to yourself. To the version of you underneath the roles you play. To the child within you who once moved slowly, curiously, without guilt. To the truth that’s always been there, waiting for you.
What would it feel like to live with more presence? To notice the way the sunlight touches your skin. To hear the sound of birds as something more than background noise.
To watch your kids play with pure joy. To hold a moment and let it hold you back.
Because that… that is where life happens. Not in the next achievement. Not in the constant doing. But in the being. In the breathing. In the noticing.
And I know this isn’t always easy. Especially if you’ve been taught that your worth lives in your output. Especially if you’re carrying responsibility for others, running a business, managing a home, raising children, or holding space for others.
But even so, I promise you this... you are allowed to soften. You are allowed to take up space in your own life again. You are allowed to rewrite the story.
Because underneath all the conditioning, all the pressure, all the hustle, your soul remembers. She remembers slowness. She remembers simplicity. She remembers what it feels like to be instead of always doing.
And the more you return to that rhythm, the more your body will thank you. The more your mind will quiet. The more your nervous system will regulate. The more life will feel like something you’re living, not surviving.
So if you’ve been feeling disconnected, exhausted, or just feeling off. You’re not broken.
You’re likely just out of sync with your soul’s rhythm. And the answer isn’t to push harder.
It’s to soften. To slow. To listen. Because your body is always communicating. Your soul is always whispering. And your healing begins when you choose to hear them again.
You weren’t meant to live in constant tension. You weren’t meant to perform your life. You were meant to live it. To feel it. To be in it. And that doesn’t mean it will always be peaceful or joyful or easy. But it will be real. And that realness, that raw, honest, present way of livingk, is where everything changes.
That is where healing begins. That is where self-connection is rebuilt. That is where you finally come home to yourself.
And that’s the answer to whatever question you’ve been asking.
With love & support,
Shorina | Mindful Soul Collective
Holistic Counsellor, Wellbeing Coach & Business Mentor



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