This week, yet another storm forced us to slow down. This time it was Melissa, one of those natural phenomena that arrives unannounced, disrupts schedules, halts our rush, and reminds us that control is often an illusion.
Hundreds of people affected, families displaced, work suspended, meetings cancelled… and in the midst of all that, something bigger and more subtle: an almost collective pause.
I say "almost" because many couldn't stop. Supermarkets, medical centers, pharmacies, and many other essential services had to continue, demonstrating that, even though the country may seem to be on pause, life never completely stops.
Sometimes, life has providential ways of reminding us that we need to stop. When we don't do it of our own volition, everything seems to conspire to do it for us. And although at first glance it may seem like chaos, I would venture to say that it's a divine gesture that compels us to take care of ourselves.
Few of us know how to stop. We struggle to accept that the body, mind, and spirit also need space. That there are stages where not moving forward is also a form of progress. That there are silences that teach more than a thousand words.
Melissa, with her inevitable presence, reminded us of that: that there are pauses we don't ask for, but that arrive just in time. That even while working from home or adapting to remote work, many of us—without saying so—were grateful to lower the volume.
Because collective exhaustion is not only noticeable in tense shoulders or overloaded schedules; it is felt in the soul, in the absence of presence, in that feeling of always running after something.
Perhaps this week was an opportunity to listen to what the noise of everyday life barely allowed us to hear: what the body tries to warn us about, what the heart murmurs, what emotions whisper when we finally make space to feel.
I know it wasn't easy for many. It's possible your mind wandered to all the things you couldn't do. It happened to me too, until I remembered something essential: acceptance doesn't mean giving up. It means embracing the reality you can't change and, from there, finding peace.
Simply acknowledging that some moments are beyond our control and that things are as they are opens a window of peace. And it is there that the pause ceases to be an interruption and becomes a reminder.
As an integrative coach, I believe that pausing isn't wasting time, but rather reclaiming it. That's why I'm sharing some questions to help you close out this week with awareness, not urgency:
What does this pause leave you with?
What have you been meditating on these past few days?
How intentional have you been in using this space to listen to yourself?
And how much have you been distracted, thinking about all the things you didn't do, instead of feeling what life invited you to look at?
Sometimes, storms don't just disrupt things. They cleanse the soul.
