There are days when you feel yourself spiraling—emotionally hijacked, disconnected from your center, and unsure how to return. This ritual is for those moments. Not to escape them, but to meet them. To ground. To name. To return.

It came to me not through theory, but through necessity. I was overwhelmed, overstimulated, exhausted. After a long stretch of giving—work, parenting, logistics—I had nothing left to give myself. I cried hard. I wrote everything that felt too much. And at some point, something inside me asked: “But what was good today?”

That question softened the spiral. It changed the story. And it brought me back.

When to Use This

Use this ritual when:

• You feel emotionally overwhelmed and can’t access clarity

• You’re about to say or do something reactive, and you want to disrupt the pattern

• You feel your day slipping into disconnection, resentment, or fog

• You’ve lost touch with your rituals, and your inner compass is off

• You’re caught between responsibility and resistance and don’t know how to process it

This is for anyone who values their inner life but doesn’t always have time for full reflection. This is soul maintenance. And it takes ten minutes.

Why It Matters

Because emotions are messengers. When they’re ignored, they grow louder.
Because spiraling doesn’t mean you’ve failed—it means something deeper needs tending.
Because stopping to reflect is not a luxury, it’s a necessity. Especially when life is full.

The 4Ps Reflection Practice

Total time: 10 minutes
No prep. No perfection. Just honesty.

1. Purge (3 minutes)

Grab a pen or open a document. Set a timer.
Let it pour out—the thoughts you’re afraid to say aloud. The complaints. The sadness. The rage.
No edits. No judgment. Let the nervous system release.

Why it works:
Psychologist James Pennebaker’s work on expressive writing shows that unfiltered writing reduces stress and helps the brain process emotional experience. Naming it quiets the mind.

2. Pause (1 minute)

Step away. Drink water. Stretch.
Do something physical—simple, grounding.
Let your breath return. Let the body recalibrate.

Why it works:
Pausing even briefly engages the brain’s default mode network, which allows subconscious integration. It helps you move from reaction to reflection.

3. Pose the Question (3 minutes)

Come back and ask one question:

Ok, we wrote the bad stuff. But what was good today?

List what softened you. Who surprised you. What beauty you forgot to name.
These don’t negate the hard moments—they live beside them.

Why it works:
This is cognitive reframing. Neuroscience and positive psychology confirm that asking questions rooted in gratitude and meaning strengthens emotional flexibility and long-term resilience.

4. Perspective (3 minutes)

Now write again. Not as erasure—but integration.
Retell the story, this time from the version of you who has access to wisdom.
Not falsely positive. Just whole.

Why it works:
This is narrative therapy. When you shift the frame of your story with intention, your brain builds new pathways. You begin to recognize choice, power, and coherence in your experience.

A Real Example (The One That Birthed This Practice)

The Purge:
I wrote about how I was tired of giving my time away. I was annoyed that since 7 am to 10 pm I tended to work and children and all my family woke up earlier than usual and this interfered with my morning meditation and yoga practice. How I hated feeling emotionally unavailable to my children. How I doubted if I was meant for this life when my soul craved quiet, creation, and solitude. I let myself say it all, without apology.

The Pause:
I walked a loop around my space. Drank cold water. Came back quieter, but still annoyed, and emotionally overwhelmed.

The Posing of the Question:
What was good today?
My spouse told me I did a good job. My kids were calm. We shared a beautiful show. The air smelled like rain. I didn’t explode—I just felt deeply. And I didn’t numb that feeling. I talked about how I felt constructively with my spouse throughout the day. That mattered.

The Perspective:

Today, I felt overwhelmed—like the whole rhythm of my soul was off.

I didn’t get my usual quiet time in the morning, and instead of beginning with my grounding rituals, I jumped straight into the dishes. That alone set everything lopsided. I have this rule for myself: no chores before 7am. My mornings are meant for the soul, not for scrubbing. But the kitchen felt chaotic, and I let that dictate my energy.

It’s wild how that small decision—to handle the external mess before the internal stillness—can ripple through the whole day.

Tomorrow, I’ll do it differently. I’ll start with my coffee, curl up, and meditate first.

Despite all the emotional waves, Ray was more understanding today than ever. He said “good job” to me multiple times, and I held onto that like a lifeline. I think my soul was scared today. Scared I’d abandon it again. It threw a tantrum—not unlike a toddler—because I skipped my morning ritual. It panicked. It screamed: Are we going back to the old ways? Are we going to be lost in responsibility again, with no space for us?

Only after the kids went to bed, and I gave myself this ritual space to reflect and release, did the panic begin to soften. Earlier, I felt like a caged wolf. I was desperate to be outside, to write, to breathe in the wildness that always brings me back to myself. I realize now—those were always the moments I felt most free, even as a child.

And here’s what I’m grateful for: I’ve built tools now. Systems. Language. So even when I spiral, it doesn’t lead to arguments. My kids don’t feel the ripple of my overwhelm. I can name what’s happening, take responsibility without blame, and communicate what I need.

If I really asked Ray for Pilates time, I know he’d say yes. I just haven’t fully claimed that space yet.

But this ritual—tonight—it gave me peace. It reminded me that I’m still here. That I know the way back.

What the Research Confirms

This isn’t just emotional. It’s neurological:

• Emotional release (Pennebaker) calms the amygdala, the fear center of the brain.

• Gratitude and reframing (Seligman, Fredrickson) improve clarity, resilience, and mood.

• Intentional rewriting (White, Doidge) rewires the brain’s response to stress through narrative identity and neuroplasticity.

Put simply: when you take ten minutes to reflect in this way, you shift your brain, not just your mood.