Leaving Yourself Without Realizing It

This week I’ve been noticing how often I leave.

Not in big, dramatic ways.

In small ones.

I was working on finances—

something that already feels a little charged for me—

and suddenly I found myself on my phone,

shopping for things I don’t need.

I didn’t notice it while it was happening.

I noticed after.

That’s usually how it happens for me.

I don’t realize I’ve left until I’m already gone.

Instead of beating myself up,

I gave myself a little grace.

Money is triggering for me.

Of course, I would want to get out of that feeling.

So I deleted the shopping apps on my phone.

And then…

I found myself doing it again.

This time on my laptop.

Scrolling.

Looking.

Not really here.

I caught it a little sooner.

Closed the tab.

Got up.

Went for a walk.

Later, I was thinking:

Is this how I want to spend my time?

Does this actually bring any enjoyment…

or just does it add to the stress I’m already feeling?

I’ve only just started practicing this kind of noticing.

There’s no pre-thought.

I don’t catch it before it happens.

I realize after I’ve already gone.

It reminds me of meditation.

Noticing when I’ve drifted into thinking…

and gently bringing myself back to my breath.

I used to be so critical of that.

Now, I just come back.

Maybe it’s the same thing here.

I read something recently about boredom—

how we don’t really let ourselves be bored anymore.

But our system needs it.

So what do I do?

I go on Amazon.

Think a puzzle might be a good idea.

I closed the tab.

And instead, I looked at a pile of papers I had been avoiding.

Sometimes we’re not just leaving the feeling—

we’re leaving what we don’t want to deal with.

Maybe you have your version of that too.

What’s different now isn’t that I don’t leave.

It’s how I respond when I notice.

My language is different.

“Wow… that’s interesting.”

“That conversation just triggered my comfort response.”

“Interesting… what else might help here?”

Another moment this week—

I realized after a conversation

that the other person never asked anything about me.

My life.

How I was doing.

It hit something deeper.

That old feeling—

not being seen

not mattering

Instead of stuffing that down or

reaching for something to numb it…

I noticed it.

I acknowledged that part of me.

And I took care of her.

Before, I would have used food to cover that.

Now, I’m learning to meet it with compassion.

I still leave.

A lot more than I want to admit.

But now, I notice.

And I come back.

Maybe the practice isn’t catching it before it happens.

Maybe it’s just noticing…

and coming back.

Messy. Bumpy. Possible. — Leigh