I’ve been mountain biking and hiking almost every day since I got to the mountains. And somewhere in the middle of all that beauty, I noticed something uncomfortable: a real fear of missing out on rest days. Like resting meant losing a day of this incredible place I get to be in.
But some days, my body was genuinely tired. Big hikes, big rides — and a part of me kept insisting I should be doing more, getting outside, not wasting the day. When I actually tuned in, though, the answer was different: we need to recover today.
One day, that pull to keep going won anyway. The weather was beautiful, so I rode. And about an hour after I finished, I was completely depleted. There had been a part of me that knew, even before I got on the bike. But the momentum of “you should” was stronger than the quiet voice underneath it.
Trusting the Quiet Voice Within
This is exactly what I’ve been teaching all month, and exactly what I needed to practice myself: trust doesn’t usually announce itself loudly. It’s subtle. It lives in small, easy-to-miss cues, and it only gets clearer the more consistently we listen and actually respond to what we hear. Ignore it once, and it gets a little quieter. Listen, even in a small thing, and the body starts trusting that it’s safe to speak up next time.
In this week’s live class, I built an entire practice around this — instead of one instruction, I offered choices at almost every turn, and asked people to check in with their bodies rather than default to whatever looked “right.” Seated or lying down. Slow breath or energizing breath. One student shared afterward that partway through, she caught herself waiting to be scolded for choosing something different than what was “expected” — and then realized how funny, and how telling, that reflex was. Another mentioned how rare it felt to have both fast and slow available in the same class, since most practices ask you to pick one pace and stay there the whole time.
Choice as a Practice of Trust
That’s the real work this month. Not one big leap into trusting yourself completely, but small, repeated choices — a breath, a pose, a decision about whether to ride the bike or rest — each one either building the relationship with your own body, or quietly eroding it.
I’m still practicing this myself, clearly. But I think that’s exactly the point. Trust isn’t something you master once. It’s something you keep choosing, in small moments, especially the ones where the pull to override yourself is strongest.
Practice Trust With Me
If you’d like to practice this with me, this week’s live class — built entirely around choice — is available now in The Practice under live replays called Choice as a Practice of Trust.
