Finding Your Footing When Life Feels Unstable

Person in light denim and ankle boots standing on icy ground, symbolizing finding footing during a life transition.

This week, a lot shifted at once, and the sense of stability I usually rely on felt harder to find.

Planning, the first phase of my life cycle way, went out the figurative window — everything in my world was moving, and the ground below me was shaking uncontrollably.

I was 100% loosing my footing.

It felt like the month had shook my metaphoric glass snow globe without my permission, and the pieces of my family’s stability were suddenly unsettled and rearranged.

My nervous system, already on the sensitive side, went into full protection mode.

My daughter experienced humiliation at school and stopped attending
My dog stumbled on the steps into the kitchen and began seizing
Not long after, my own body followed with a panic attack
My husband was carrying the familiar weight of grief on the anniversary of his father’s death.

Our emotional regulation, rather disregulation, echoed back and forth between us, as if the week itself had paused in time.

Structure, routine, stability, and support became harder to hold —not gone entirely, but momentarily out of reach.

What was I made for?

The largest external shift in my life was the end of my previous employment, and I found myself feeding that emotionaly-charged elephant both relief and grief at the same time.

As music is a consistent presence in my life, What Was I Made For? has been looping in my head, yet I can’t remember Billie’s answer — nor do I seem to have my own answers right now. It’s unsettling times like these where I requestion what I was made for.

An elephant standing in a dry grassland landscape, using its trunk to feed from low shrubs, with soft, muted vegetation in the background.

What comes next

The snow in my head has been falling steadily and has finally settled at my feet — cold, bare, and quiet.

What comes next is unknown, and for me — and maybe for others who live inside carefully contained snow-globe worlds — this kind of change feels unsettling, to say the least.

So for now, for the moment, I’m not trying to solve what comes next.

Instead, I’m focusing on finding my footing — paying attention to what grounds me. Observing what I can see, hear, and hold, and determine what needs gentleness.

I’m tending to the basics: rest, nourishing food, hygeine, and simply being there for my family.

I spent at least an hour meditating this morning, while simultaneously petting my poodle.

I’m not sure who benefited more.

A clear glass snow globe resting on a neutral surface, containing a miniature winter landscape with snow-covered ground, bare trees, and softly falling snow.

If any of this feels familiar, please know that you’re not alone.

Truly.

I don’t know what your season looks like right now. You might be preparing to tranisition to a new chapter, in the middle of something hard, or just quietly off-balance in a way that’s hard to explain. You might also be surfing a fun wave, but also might be hestitant of what comes next when you return to the shore.

Either way, it’s okay if clarity feels out of reach. I’ve learned it often does feel this way, especially when something is shifting.

Here are some questions I’ve been noodling on that might make sense for you right now as well.

Start by noticing

What feels uncertain, or wobbly, right now?
What still feels steady, even in small or quiet ways?
What does your body seem to be asking for more of — or less of?
What feels too heavy to decide today?

There’s no right way to sit with these.

You don’t have to answer them all. You don’t even have to answer any of them.

Sometimes just noticing which one catches your attention is enough.

When things feel unsettled, coming back to the present moment and grounding can help. That might be as simple as naming one thing you can see, one thing you can hear, or one thing you can physically hold.

Or it might mean choosing one small anchor — rest, food, a familiar routine, or a conversation with someone who feels safe.

The anchor can also be a physical item. I’ve been starting to experiment with gem stones, as physical anchors I keep in my pocket, or on my desk.

Finding your footing

If there’s anything I’m learning right now, it’s this: be gentle with yourself. Cue the words: Self compassion, self acceptance.

Here’s what I’ve been telling myself:

It’s okay not to know what comes next
It’s okay to pause
It’s okay if finding your footing is the only thing you have the capacity for right now
It’s uncomfortable, but it really is going to be okay

And a new favorite:

I CAN DO HARD THINGS

Editorial quote on a warm linen background reading, “It’s okay if finding your footing is the only thing you have the capacity for right now,” with the phrase “finding your footing” shown in soft sage green.

I will be okay.

You will be okay.

We will be okay.

And if the question “what was I made for?” is lingering for you too, you don’t have to answer it yet, or at all. Just notice and observe.

I don’t think that question always shows up because it wants a solution. Sometimes it’s just asking us to stay a little longer with where we are and see what we comes up.