Unlearning Calm
Why Stillness Isn’t Always Peace
Have you ever felt like you were doing peace right—quiet, calm, unbothered—on the outside, but inside your thoughts were spinning, your stomach was tight, and your jaw was one unrelenting clench?
Yeah. Same.
We’ve been trained—spiritually, socially, and often unconsciously—to associate stillness with virtue. Calm with goodness. Emptiness with achievement.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth:
Stillness is not always peace.
Sometimes it’s shutdown. Sometimes it’s dissociation. Sometimes it’s the exhausted collapse that comes after you’ve been holding too much for too long.
The Cult of Calm
Enter: toxic positivity.
Toxic positivity is the compulsive need to be cheerful, even when something is wrong.
It’s the voice that says:
Everything happens for a reason!
Just stay high vibe!
Don’t be negative!
Under the guise of optimism, it actually shames real emotional experience—especially grief, anger, sadness, jealousy, disappointment, or fear.
In our nervous systems, this shows up as performative calm:
You smile, but your chest is tight.
You nod, but your throat aches with unsaid truth.
You "hold it together," but feel brittle, dry, and empty inside.
This isn’t peace. This is emotional constipation.
What True Peace Actually Feels Like
Real peace has nothing to prove. It doesn’t deny pain, it includes it. It comes from integration, not suppression.
True peace in the body feels like:
A slow exhale that actually lands.
Shoulders softening without you needing to think about it.
The absence of needing to brace or mask.
The permission to cry, laugh, scream, or be still—and all of it being welcome.
This kind of peace is learned, then chosen, not performed.
It’s a state of relationship with yourself, not a product of perfection.
The Feminine Archetype of Stillness
The Dark Mother
If we want to reclaim true peace, we need to remember the wisdom of the Dark Feminine.
Archetypes like Hecate, The Crone, or even Sedna don’t reject intensity—they hold it.
They teach us that stillness isn’t about silencing what’s real—it’s about making space for it.
True stillness says:
You can fall apart here.
Nothing in you is too much.
Let it come. Let it pass.
This is the womb-space. The void. The fertile darkness from which renewal comes.
It’s not polished or Instagrammable. But it’s real. And holy.
Still or Stuck?
Let’s do A Nervous System Check-In
When you’re feeling calm, ask yourself:
Is my breath deep and natural, or shallow and held?
Am I choosing stillness, or freezing into it?
Do I feel relaxed in my body, or just not reacting?
If someone asked how I really feel, would I have words?
If you realise you're stuck in freeze, try this gentle reset:
Shake out your arms, legs, or hips.
Hum or sigh audibly (it stimulates your vagus nerve).
Place a hand over your heart and another on your belly.
Whisper: It’s safe to feel. I don’t need to hold it all.
Journal Prompts
CComplete the sentence: Calm, to me, used to mean…
What does genuine peace feel like in my body?
Where in my life am I “performing” calm or spiritual maturity?
What emotions am I afraid will erupt if I stop holding it all together?
What might happen if I let stillness be a soft space, not a suppression?
Let’s unlearn the calm that chokes and reclaim the peace that liberates.
You don’t need to stay ‘high vibe’. You just need to stay real.
And when the world feels too loud, too much, too raw… don’t shrink.
Sink deeper.
Wider.
Truer.
Because stillness isn’t something to achieve—
It’s something we return to, when we finally stop pretending.