When clarity replaces confusion, ease replaces frustration, and everything aligns effortlessly

Being what’s known as a “subtle kinesthetic person,” I have a heightened sensitivity to physical sensations, body awareness, and the energy of environments or people. This sensitivity often manifests in cycles where my energy and emotions crash.

Sometimes, it looks like an uncontrollable cry.

Other times, it’s a sense of complete paralysis, an inability to form coherent sentences when writing.

And occasionally, it’s a seemingly random failure of technology around me.

Most often, it’s all three, one triggering the next.

I remember experiencing these cycles even as a young kid. A bad practice or a lousy grade could set off a downward spiral that felt all-consuming. Back then, these “episodes,” as I came to think of them, could take weeks to accumulate, erupt, process, and eventually release—until the next wave.

For years, I wondered what was wrong with me.

For years, I tried to power through, to push aside any signs of weakness. But denying what I felt only deepened the self-judgment and shame I carried.

It took years of ruthless and intentional self-work to begin redefining what these cycles meant. Slowly, I learned to release the judgment, to accept this part of me, and eventually, to embrace it fully.

That journey wasn’t easy, but it was transformative. I began to see my sensitivity not as a weakness but as a powerful gift—one that requires nurturing and understanding.

Over time, I developed empowering ways to welcome these moments, to feel them deeply, and to transmute the energy into something meaningful.

So, when the world felt like it was closing in on me the other day and the pit in my stomach grew bigger and heavier—amplified by a long-awaited website and campaign seemingly crashing on the launch day, and a writing project stretching six hours longer than planned, consuming me with the guilt of not spending that time with my kiddos and husband—I paused.

Instead of resisting, I leaned into the discomfort.

I gave myself permission to feel it all.

I cried.

I spoke out loud.

I moved my body.

I let the frustration and overwhelm flow through me.

With my husband there, holding space every step of the way.

Because I’ve learned that these moments, no matter how difficult (and inconvenient), are part of the flow. My flow. They don’t define me—they guide me back to myself.

And so, clarity replaces confusion, ease replaces frustration, and everything aligns effortlessly. Again.

This is the gift of learning to navigate your own rhythm. It’s not about avoiding the crashes—it’s about learning to honor them and trusting that they’re leading you to something greater.

Sara

Mentor. Speaker. Author.

Picture of Sara Oblak

Sara Oblak

Mentor. Speaker. Author.