I find mindfulness helpful when difficulties arise (and man, they sure do). I spent decades in chaos and that does not serve me. There is a lot/too much going on in our world and my personal sphere, and I have to slow myself down or I crash hard into anxiety, agitation and hopelessness. I am an active participant in my community(ies), no head in the sand, no avoiding, clear and present. A human, being, practicing the pause.
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Some people may ask: “How can I stay peaceful when difficult situations arise?”. We must begin by understanding: we are where we are. Situations happen—often without warning, often beyond our control. We cannot always prevent or change them.
This is what mindfulness offers in difficult moments: not power to control what happens, but wisdom to see clearly what helpful action we can take, to breathe consciously, to remember that even in difficulty, we are still held by life, still capable of responding wisely instead of simply reacting.
The situation is what it is. But we can change how we meet it—with presence instead of panic, with clarity instead of confusion, with wise action instead of helpless worry.
Peace in difficult times doesn’t mean nothing bothers us. It means we stop making everything worse by losing ourselves in our thoughts. It means we stay grounded enough to see what we can actually do, then do it with a calm heart."
~ Walk For Peace
This I needed today, thank you 
Circa @SassyRocks 2021.
This is wonderful
I love the idea that energy lingers. In my experience it is absolutely true.
Reminds me a lot of TS
“I locked the classroom door, and the sharp metal click sliced through the room. The sound felt louder than it should have, like a warning shot.
Twenty-five seniors stared back at me. Class of 2026. The generation everyone said was born knowing everything. Screens in their pockets, answers at their fingertips.
But what I saw wasn’t confidence. It was fatigue.
“Phones away,” I said calmly. “Not on silent. Turn them off.”
They hesitated, groaned a little, then obeyed.
I’ve been teaching history in this working-class Pennsylvania town for thirty years. I’ve watched factories shut down. I’ve watched addiction seep into families. I’ve watched kitchen-table arguments turn into national shouting matches on TV.
On my desk sat an old, olive-green military rucksack. My father’s. It smelled like oil and worn canvas. Torn. Ugly. Ignored for weeks by the students, who assumed it was just another piece of my clutter.
They had no idea it was the heaviest thing in the building.
This class felt fragile. Not weak, just worn thin. The athletes carried practiced confidence. The theater kids filled the air with noise. The quiet ones hid under hoodies, even when it was still warm outside.
The room wasn’t tense with anger. It was heavy with exhaustion.
“I’m not teaching the Constitution today,” I said, dragging the rucksack to the center of the room and dropping it onto a stool.
The thud made a student jump.
“Instead, we’re doing something different.”
I handed out plain white index cards.
“Three rules,” I said. “Break one, and you leave.”
“No names. This stays anonymous.”
“Be honest. No jokes.”
“And write down the heaviest thing you’re carrying.”
A football player raised his hand. “Like… textbooks?”
“No,” I said. “The thing that wakes you up at 3 a.m. The thought you never say out loud. The weight you pretend isn’t there.”
Silence filled the room.
“This is the rucksack,” I said. “What goes in it stays here.”
For a long moment, no one moved. Then a girl in the back started writing fast. Another followed. Then another.
The football player stared at his blank card, jaw clenched, before bending over and writing just a few words.
One by one, they walked up and dropped their folded cards into the open bag. It felt like a quiet confession.
I zipped it closed.
“You see each other as labels,” I said. “But this bag holds who you really are.”
My hands shook as I opened it.
The first card read:
“My dad lost his job. He pretends to go to work so no one knows. I’m scared we’ll lose our house.”
Another:
“I carry Narcan for my mom. I saved her last week and came to school the next day like nothing happened. I’m exhausted.”
Another:
“I plan escape routes everywhere I go. I’m eighteen and already afraid to exist.”
Another:
“My parents scream about politics. They don’t know I believe the opposite. I feel like a stranger in my own home.”
Another:
“I look happy online. I cry in the shower so my brother won’t hear me.”
The truth kept coming.
“I’m gay. My family would never accept me.”
“We pretend the WiFi is broken because we can’t afford it.”
“I don’t want college. I want to work with my hands. I already feel like a failure.”
Then the last card.
“I don’t know if I want to stay alive. I’m waiting for a reason.”
The room changed.
The tough linebacker was crying openly. The perfect student reached across the aisle and held the hand of the kid who always sat alone. No cliques. No armor.
Just kids. Drowning quietly.
“This is what we carry,” I said softly. “And in this room, you don’t carry it alone.”
The bell rang. No one rushed out.
As they left, each student paused to touch the rucksack. A hand on the strap. A tap on the buckle. A silent promise: I see you.
That night, I got an email from a parent.
“My son hugged me today. He finally told me he’s struggling. We’re getting help. Thank you.”
The rucksack still hangs on my wall. To outsiders, it’s just junk.
To us, it’s proof.
Everyone you pass is carrying something you can’t see.
Be gentle. Ask questions. Choose kindness.
Sometimes, that’s how lives are saved.”
Credit must go to the respective owner .
Thanks guys for sharing, its very encouraging :)))
Thank you for posting this, Alisa. Made me cry a little and it is a great reminder to soften and take a step back when I am certain to have all the answers 
This gave me goosebumps hun, in a world where we can be anything, be kind 
Wonderful