How I Found Balance When Life Felt Overwhelming

Three months ago, I moved across the state and felt completely off-balance. I was doing everything unpacking, new job, responsibilities piling up but neglecting myself entirely. That's when I discovered something that changed how I think about balance. Not as a perfect 50/50 split, but as something entirely different.

Rumi, the 13th-century poet, stated, "Life is a balance of holding on and letting go."

Imagine that you have to move in two weeks. Would you be able to pack all your possessions in that time and clean out your house completely?

How about your mental baggage? If you have only two days left to finish all the important projects in your life, would you be able to do it?

The Move That Changed Everything 

Three months ago, I moved permanently to a different place on the west side of the state. I downsized from a 2-bedroom, 2-bath house to a 1-bed, 1-bath condo.

Packing was not easy because there were so many things that were meaningful to me, but of course, I couldn't take them all. But even more difficult was the part of leaving my friends and community behind. I couldn't put my friends in a suitcase and smuggle them across the state.

The Spinning Plates Problem 

Has your life ever felt like a row of spinning plates?

I often visualize a plate spinner, a performer who captivates audiences by skillfully managing multiple plates on long sticks. The essence of the act lies in maintaining a delicate balance, spending just enough time and attention on each plate to keep it moving without losing track of others and causing them to shatter on the floor. This analogy resonates deeply with various aspects of my life, from work and family to fitness, friendships, volunteer work, school, and hobbies.

Throughout my adult life, I often used this spinning plates analogy to comprehend the complexities of my personal and professional life. Each aspect demanded attention, yet they all seemed to coexist simultaneously. The image resonated so profoundly with my ongoing sense of busyness that I never questioned its validity or the underlying message.

If we can spin these plates fast enough, we should be able to manage multiple tasks simultaneously. However, the person at the center of this whirlwind of attention is constantly darting back and forth, their mind racing with a jittery focus. This constant juggling act has always struck me as a manic and exhausting endeavor. While it may be entertaining to observe, does it truly reflect the quality of our lives? I, for one, have found myself entangled in this cycle.

That's when I realized: I was pouring everything into DOING (work, obligations, helping others) and nothing into BEING (rest, reflection, my own needs).

Life, in essence, is a delicate balancing act, and we are perpetually on the brink of a fall.

The Moment Everything Became Clear 

Photo by Khanh Do on Unsplash

I remember standing in my new kitchen at 11 p.m., surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, trying to find a coffee mug for the next morning. My cat was meowing for attention, my work laptop was pinging with emails, and I realized I hadn't sat down all day. That's when it hit me: I'd brought the spinning plates with me across the state.

I swamped myself with projects—unpacking boxes, starting a new job, worrying about my senior cat's health. The list kept growing.

I've tried to take on more responsibilities than I can handle, such as shopping, cooking, cleaning, and job duties. In the process, I've neglected some of my needs and priorities, including exercise and relaxation.

I felt utterly disoriented and out of balance.

It was a wake-up call. I need to make some changes.

From Spinning Plates to Simmering Pots                                                                  

What if I shifted the perspective of my analogy for life from spinning plates to simmering pots?

What if I changed my style of ongoing busyness, often with no real finished projects or results, to a balanced, steady approach offering many possibilities?

So I envisioned a large stove with multiple burners covered with different pots in varying degrees of simmering.

This analogy showed a balanced beginning, middle, and end. It demonstrated a gentle way of creating something and then being able to savor it at the end.

                                                                                       Photo by Kevin McCutcheon on Unsplash

Then I thought of those frantic spinning plates. That image was all about a pointless activity with ongoing stressful attention, activity, and energy focused on preventing the plates from crashing at any moment.

No stopping, no relishing, no reflection, and really no true purpose.

What Actually Helped 

Through meditation and yoga practices, I discovered the power of quieting the mental noise, finding stillness, and resetting my perspective. This became a lifeline. It did not solve everything, but it gave me a way to breathe through the chaos.

A single mindful breath became my anchor, calming my nervous system and reminding me to stay present, no matter how overwhelming life felt. Every breath I took was a testament to the possibility of change.

To stay grounded amidst the chaos, I focused on the present moment, relying on my senses to anchor myself rather than letting anxiety consume me.

Even in life's storms, there were moments of light—a kind word, a peaceful morning, or the chance to rest. Holding onto these fleeting moments kept me grounded.

When my worries and anxieties become overwhelming, I return to my breath. Through meditation, I ask myself, "What is truly going on here?"

These lifelines weren't about perfection or rigid routines; they were about creating space for calm amidst the chaos.

The Reality: I'm Still Learning 

I've swung the pendulum from calm to chaos, leaving myself little time and space to find a balance between holding myself back and pushing myself.

While I know the choice was ultimately positive for me, I've struggled a bit in the execution. Even meeting the minimum might be challenging. Sometimes that means asking for help. Sometimes it means saying no. Think of it as saying yes to your happiness.

I also observed when I handled situations gracefully, resolved disputes, and calmed myself down. It wasn't about beating myself up over my mistakes or congratulating myself for doing well. It was simply about looking at myself more clearly and learning from my experiences. By doing this, I'm learning to navigate life's obstacles more gracefully.

Finding Your Own Balance 

Balance isn't a destination I've reached. It's not something I've figured out. But I'm learning to check in with myself more often. To notice when I'm spinning plates again. To come back to the breath, to the simmering pots, to the question: What's truly going on here?

If you feel pulled in any direction and uneasy about it, it's helpful to check in with yourself to see if you feel balanced or stretched thin.

So I ask you: What does balance mean to you? Not the Instagram version, not the self-help book definition—YOUR balance. How do you find it? And when you lose it (because we all do), how do you find your way back?

Falling and Finding Balance

Have you ever felt the need for balance in your life, but struggled to achieve it?

Does it feel impossible? Do you wonder if balance is even possible?

Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash

Walking into the yoga studio, I instinctively stretched my mat against the wall, creating a safety net in case of a fall. Near the beginning of class, my instructor offered a metaphor that stuck with me. 

We all have areas of our life that need attention. Start applying that attention here and now. As she guided us halfway into a pose, she concluded, If you require strength, then push yourself harder; or if it is too much, ease up. If you require peace, then take a deep breath.

As if on cue, I toppled over, and the wall didn’t catch me. This stark reminder underscored my need for balance. This lack of balance stretched far beyond my physical abilities; it poured over into my personal and professional life. I had questions to answer, decisions to make, and people to talk to. It seeped into every action I attempted despite being physically grounded; I was still at risk of losing balance.

I recognized that I developed an all-or-nothing mentality, either having a packed calendar or letting everything go and spending long days doing nothing. I was either overconfident or completely unsure of myself. This perpetual imbalance left me apprehensive, unsure of myself. 

I took a step back, evaluated my role in life, and found my center amidst life’s surprises. The best way to strike a balance is to roll with the punches and go with the flow. Life’s unpredictability presents opportunities to meet them with acceptance and grace. 

Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

In my journey to inner balance, I made three fundamental changes:

1. Stop being overly busy. I wanted people to perceive me as busy. I spent countless hours engrossed in volunteer organizations, pushed through illnesses until my body forced me to stop, and worked tirelessly from one obligation to the next.

I had a sudden realization that I needed to slow down. I had to start questioning why I was keeping myself so busy. I’m learning to embrace downtime as an opportunity for self-development.

2. Recognize external pressure. I was constantly anxious and had thoughts about things I should have or could have done, unsure of what to expect from myself. There were things I had thought I wanted, but when faced with the opportunity to act, I felt more obligated than interested. It is a constant struggle.

Why is it so difficult to say no? The emotional turmoil I felt while contemplating declining a request used to propel me around town, home, and work for the people I loved in an instant.

I recall a day when I was on the brink of complete overwhelm due to the responsibilities of being a sister, daughter, friend, and employer. Just as I was about to hang up the phone with a potential new opportunity, I felt a surge of energy. I had hastily agreed to a project that I knew was ill-advised.

However, something felt off. “Why did I do this?” I wondered.

Reality hit me when one of my kittens fell to the floor with a thud. I snapped out of it and started laughing; cats are so playful. I’m learning to listen to my intuition and assert control over my actions. Maintaining balance involves continuing in the face of pressure and learning when to let it go.

3. Stop rushing. The more I tried to control it, the more I felt out of alignment. I burned out trying to make things happen. When something went wrong, I blamed myself for not anticipating it. I couldn’t relax because I was always tightening the reins, trying to steer the unknown.

I couldn’t focus, meditate, or even enjoy the ocean, something that once brought me pure joy. Instead of peace, I felt stuck and overwhelmed. My mind replayed every decision I’d made over the past few years like a courtroom drama: “If only you’d done this,” “You should have seen that coming,” “You’ve ruined your shot.”

I remind myself that there’s time to learn. I create deadlines where there isn’t one. For most of my life, I was obsessed with getting everything right. I planned, controlled, and anticipated every outcome to avoid being caught off guard. I saw life as a puzzle: if I made the right moves in the right order, I’d achieve peace, success, and love.

But life doesn’t work that way. That’s when it hit me: nature doesn’t force anything. A wave doesn’t strive to be taller, and a tree doesn’t try to grow faster. They exist in a kind of trust, a natural cooperation with life. And somehow, despite all that ease, they thrive.

What if I’m the one disrupting my own flow by trying to control everything?

I’m still learning. I still fall, literally and metaphorically. Some days I catch myself rushing, accepting every opportunity, wearing busyness like a badge of honor. But more and more, I’m able to pause. To breathe. To trust the flow instead of fighting it.

I’m still learning to move at my own pace. To recognize when pressure is external. To let downtime be restful instead of another task. Some days are easier than others. But now when I fall, in yoga or in life, I don’t blame myself for not having a wall there. I just get back up and find my balance again.

“Within us lies a sanctuary to which we can retreat at any time and be ourselves.”  ~Hermann Hesse

What helps you find your center when life knocks you off balance?

The Story You Tell Yourself

 "It isn't what happens to us that causes us to suffer; it's what we say to ourselves about what happens." Pema Chödrön

I keep coming back to this quote. Not because it's profound in an abstract way, but because it's uncomfortably true in a practical way.

I kept coming back to this quote last month when I caught myself replaying a difficult conversation over and over, each time making myself the villain in my own story.

What you say to yourself is what directs and creates the movie that plays in your mind.
Think about it. You can direct and play whatever type of movie you want; action, comedy, romance, horror, adventure, thriller. The genre is up to you. The soundtrack. The lens through which you view each scene.

But here's the catch: You don't get to choose how the events in your movie unfold.

You can't control the plot twists. You can't rewrite the difficult scenes or fast-forward through the painful ones. Life delivers the events. You're not the screenwriter.
So if you can't control how the events unfold, how can you control how the movie plays out.
Here's food for thought. The same event can be framed as:

• A tragic ending or the beginning of a comeback story

• A failure or a lesson learned

• Evidence of your inadequacy or proof of your courage to try

The facts are the same. The story you tell yourself about those facts? That's where your power lives.

And if you've been unconsciously directing a horror film or a tragedy about your own life, you have the power to change the lens. I realized I'd been directing an action/drama/disaster movie about my life; every small mistake became evidence if inevitable  failure, every setback the beginning of collapse. The soundtrack in my head had layers of doom and gloom. 

It's about asking yourself:

• What story am I telling myself about this?

• Is this the only way to interpret what happened?

• If my best friend experienced this, what would I tell them?

• What would a compassionate narrator say about this character's journey?

The events stay the same. But the meaning you make, the soundtrack you choose, the way you frame the main character's response; that's yours to shape. 

 

Photo by Tom Shakir on Unsplash

Questions for You

What movie have you been directing in your mind? Is it one you'd want to watch?

When something difficult happens, what's your go-to narrative? Do you cast yourself as the victim, the hero, the fool, the survivor?

For years, I cast myself as the person who always gets it wrong. My go to narrative was the fool who should have known better.

And here's the real question: If you could redirect just one scene from your recent life, what story would you tell about it instead?

Not to erase what happened, but to change how you're letting it define you.
You are the director. The camera is already rolling. What kind of movie are you making?