“Some things cannot be spoken or discovered until we have been stuck, incapacitated, or blown off course for a while. Plain sailing is pleasant, but you are not going to explore many unknown realms that way. We articulate the truth of a situation by carrying the whole experience in the voice and allowing the process to blossom of its own accord. Out of the cross-grain of experience appears a voice that not only sums up the process we have gone through, but allows the soul to recognize in its timbre, the color, texture, and complicated entanglements of being alive.”

-*David Whyte*

When I feel stuck, the air thickens and the space around me suffocates—sensations that feel like a signal. Humans are listening beings, receiving signals not simply with our ears but with our entire selves. Listening to these signals often tells me I need to make space or that my current perception longs for more openness. I then look for how I might be gripping too tightly or leaving no room for nuance—denying multiple paths of possibility.

The experience of stuckness makes me think of when I work with people in sound therapy: often the process helps move stuck or stagnant energy, emotions, or unwanted patterns in the mind and body. People are often surprised and delighted by the unexpected levity and creative insight that comes after moving the stuckness through their system. From a physics perspective, this happens because sound moves. Research shows that sound not only moves within our physical body and cells, but also moves in the spaces of our brain where we store perceptions, memories, and emotions.

Sound, by nature, is never static.

Sound is a tool that transforms space.

Through listening deeply we find momentum. From an energetic perspective, the momentum we may find comes not only from the sound itself, but from the openness and posture of the listener. By allowing space, levity, and curiosity, wonder can then flow. Perhaps instead of pushing, punishing, or doubting, we might allow receptivity and care. Perhaps our minds just need a rest.

Regardless of why we’re feeling stuck, it is not something we fall or fail into—rather, it is a signal telling us that something is ready to grow or emerge. But allowing for this signal to communicate something new to us without perceiving it as a threat, can be a challenge. Due to how life is always changing, we'll inevitably have to find our footing again and again—but even the stumbling has its place. David Whyte captures this reality beautifully: “We articulate the truth of a situation by carrying the whole experience in the voice and allowing the process to blossom of its own accord.”

Perhaps we might find comfort in the idea that stumbling, too, is a function of momentum—and yet we still try to avoid stumbling at all costs. I run my hands through the fabric of my clothes before sitting to avoid wrinkles, though creases are inevitable. I try to solve a problem that has not yet presented itself so I can feel a sense of preparedness. Snuffing out any wonder, surprise, or need to trust myself, I’m then more pained by the dullness of a moment because I have stopped myself from meeting the moment as it actually is, stifling its vitality and aliveness. My zone of comfort gives me a sense of safety—yet paradoxically, the peace provided from stillness comes only from grounding into whatever a moment is actually asking for.

Sometimes a moment asks for creation, and other times reflection. Sometimes vibrant production, and other times a quiet and honoring dormancy. It’s in this paradox—the acceptance of life being painful, stunning, and just okay—that I find “stuck” is a construct of non-dimensional perception. Dualistic thinking forgets that nature is indeed cyclical, that every stage is colored with a different hue—that there is often a surprising third or fourth path just beyond the most salient options.

It’s easy to convince ourselves that complexity slows us down, yet I know no one who does not want to turn their pain into poetry or their conflicts into understanding, their confusion into compassion. In living out our complexity, we often face challenging moments of static. As we learn to become more ourselves and continue creating, we slowly begin to realize we don’t have to pathologize or punish ourselves in these encounters with the liminal. Nor do we need to be frozen by our emotions in this state. We can keep creating—engaging this sticky part as a catalyst that reveals possibility. Rather than determining stuckness as bad or delightful, we can simply explore its messages. We are sensing beings, after all.

What does it feel like to wholeheartedly lean into the wonder of unknowing? What does it feel like, allowing ourselves to create within the complexities and paradoxes? What if “stuck” is a signal to feel something new, to experience something fresh? What if static begins to color a pathway we haven't been able to imagine yet?

Pulse + Pause

Think of a time you felt stuck or blocked. What did you do—or not do—to move through it? What did you learn?

How might you allow yourself to be more whole today—holding the paradoxes and complexities of your existence? How might this allowing give you access to a deeper knowing of your wholeness?

Sound and Static: On Feeling Stuck // Pt. 2

Pulse + Pause

A blessing:

Sound and Static: On Feeling Stuck // Pt. 2

Pulse + Pause

A blessing:

Attention Inventory

Sound and Static: On Feeling Stuck // Pt. 1