why I’m choosing to be the willow now

Hey lovely soul, 

I went to the gym this morning with a four-day-old headache in tow. I did the leg press and got a few reps in. Tried my hand at the abductor machine—too tired and worn out to push. I got on the treadmill and did a 20-minute inclined walk.  

Thanked myself for doing my best, then walked back home… headache still in tow. 

I had stayed mostly in bed two days in a row, hoping that getting back out might help. But there was no breakthrough, no burst of energy. Just me, breathing, trying, doing the best I could. 

I thought of Robert Jordan’s words in The Fires of Heaven: 

I fear I’ve been the oak these past few months, resisting my body’s request to stop... just for a while...to take pause and allow the wind its place. And now I find myself staving off bouts of physical pain, and I chuckle at this forceful reminder that I must now become the willow. 

Rest and metaphors aside, this quote got me thinking about what it really means to bend. 

To bend is not to break. To bend is to acknowledge that you need help, rest, support—a moment to pause. It’s admitting, even quietly, that you don’t have all the answers. That for now, you might need to loosen your grip on the plan, the timeline, and the version of yourself that always powers through. 

Bending asks us to return to the drawing board, not in shame, but in grace. We surrender because we know we must survive to reach the summit. 

So, I thought to remind you that it’s okay to feel everything on this journey. It’s okay to be tired. To feel overwhelmed. To carry more than you know how to name. Struggle is not failure. Struggle is proof you’re trying. Proof you care. Proof you’re still here. 

It might feel like you’re stuck in a storm. The waves are crashing. The wind is howling. And maybe you’re barely holding on. But the most beautiful thing about storms? They pass. No matter how fierce, no matter the wreckage, they do not last forever. 

And neither will this moment you’re in. This is the face of transition—messy, raw, confusing, painful, playful, joyful, real. 

So, surrender to the journey.  

Let it wash over you.  

Let it carry you where you need to be.  

Surrendering doesn’t mean you are giving up, it means you are choosing to honour your limits, to listen to your body, and to trust the timing of your journey. It means you are conserving your energy for what’s ahead, protecting your peace, and letting go of perfection. You are not abandoning the path; you’re simply allowing yourself to walk it sustainably.  

So even if you’re afraid, take a deep breath, feel the rhythm of your heartbeat. 

That’s your reminder: you are alive. You are here. You are capable of meeting this moment and all those ahead, no matter how hard they feel. The storm might rage, but your beating heart is the anchor within you. Proof of your courage and persistence, proof of your powerful decision to keep breathing even when everything feels impossible. 

In the words of Mary Anne Radmacher: 

So, bend.  

Bend for as long as you need to catch your breath... then return tomorrow.  

And remember, you are not alone, even if it does feel that way.  I’m rooting for you. The universe is, too, and many of its children are, quietly, right alongside you. We are more connected than we know. No struggle exists in isolation. Somewhere, someone is whispering a prayer into the wind, into the soil, into the sky—on your behalf. So, keep taking it one step at a time. Give what you can on the days when it’s too much, and on the days when it isn’t, give what you must—and then a little more, when you have it to give. 

My gym session this morning brought to the surface an age-old struggle of mine: allowing myself to rest, not as something I earn through exhaustion, but as something I deserve simply for being human. Rest isn’t a reward for productivity. It’s a basic need, a part of how I’m wired. I’m still learning this, still working toward a place where I choose to rest before I burn out, before my body has to beg for it. 

So I end this note with my plan: to stop being the oak. 

To bend in the ways I need to.  

To let the willow guide me, for only those who survive get to thrive. 

As always, it’s been an absolute pleasure.  

Catch you in the next note, 

Pearl♡

P.S. I love reading your replies. Thank you for trusting me with your stories. I look forward to more. x