Numbing

is it really worth it?

Last night I had a drink before I went to bed. Most nights, I don’t. Most nights I come up to bed, tuck myself in, kick off my socks, adjust my pillows, maybe play a few minutes of Block Blast, have a brief social media scroll, and eventually pick up my book to read a half dozen pages or so. Then, I reach over towards my nightstand to plug in my phone, I put down my book, turn the knob on my bedside lamp — click — lay my head down on my pillow, squirm and nestle my body into that most perfect sleeping position and ahhhhhleluiah, it’s quiet, it’s dark, it’s calm and it’s oh so peaceful. It feels as if the weight of the day, both physically and mentally is lifted. Nothing left to carry. Nothing left to clean. No more tasks to complete No one else to care for. Just rest. Just stillness. Just the gentle permission to be done!

This is my favorite part of my day.

Immediately my brain goes to gratitude. Immediately. I thank God for this and that and the other thing — my home, where I live and all the beauty that surrounds me, my family, my friends, the opportunities placed before me, my physical capabilities and mental capacities. I think about the small moments of grace I experienced that day — random conversations with super cool strangers, finding four-leaf clovers, being the reason someone smiled, things like that. Next come the requests: I ask God, please, continue to bless this and that and the other thing. I pray for my future, my present, and my past. I pray for my children, my friends, my family, and random people who just happen to come to mind. I figure they wouldn’t be popping in during prayer time if they didn’t need a prayer, right? I pray for my community and then go on to extend my prayers outward still, onto the world.

I feel connected.
I feel at peace.
I feel content.
I take a deep breath in and a long satisfying exhale. Amen.

Every day is different — some days are easy, and some are downright difficult. Some are exciting, and some are drab. Some are completely exhausting, while others are pleasantly relaxing. Day to day, hour to hour, the cycle continues, ever changing — up and down, ebb and flow, high and low. Yet in my bed, with my pillow, cozied under my warm, clean sheets and burrowed beneath my blankets, there remains one constant. A conclusion. A settling of sorts. A quiet gathering of everything the day held — the good, the hard, the ordinary — all coming together in a peaceful gathering to acknowledge what went right, forgive what felt wrong, and simply surrender to the entirety of, well, it all.

Gosh, it just feels good.

But last night, I had a drink before bed.

Last night, I climbed into bed, played Block Blast and scrolled aimlessly, but I didn’t pick up my book. I didn’t want to. It felt cumbersome. I felt sad, or something.

I reach over towards my nightstand to plug in my phone, turned the knob on my bedside lamp — click — lay my head down on my pillow, and thought to myself, What is this feeling? This yearning. What do I want? What do I need?

However strange this may sound, the thought of being buried in the dirt came to mind — but not in a death-and-dying way, more in a grounding way. I yearned for the Hilltop. For sitting in the grass with my fingertips pressed into the soil. For kicking off my shoes, pulling off my socks, and feeling the earth under my bare feet. For just being present under the sunny sun, disconnected from technology, from to-do’s, from everything and everyone — yet with hands and feet plugged in, reconnecting to everything and everyone.

I thought about swimming in the ocean on a hot summer day. Lying back to float atop the water’s surface. Feeling my body’s buoyancy with each inhale and descent with each exhale. Closing my eyes to feel the warm sun on my wet face. Licking my lips to taste the salt water. Just being present under the sunny sun, disconnected from technology, from to-do’s, from everything and everyone — yet with my body completely submerged, reconnecting to everything and everyone.

I thought about being hugged long and firm by a warm body and just staying there, in that hug, in that warmth, without the ever-present pull to DO WHAT’S NEXT lingering in my mind. Just being present in embrace, disconnected from technology, from to-do’s, from everything and everyone else — yet embodied by another body, reconnecting still, to everything and everyone.

I thought about the feeling again. What exactly was it, after all? It wasn’t sadness. No, that wasn’t it. It was disconnect. I was disconnected. And the yearning — well, I was yearning for connection.

I tried to pray, but it didn’t feel the same. It too felt cumbersome, forced instead of free-flowing. It was as though the spiritual side of me was dulled, drugged — incapable of meaningful conversation or connection. The words came, but there was no feeling behind them, like a song with no sound. Instead, I just wanted to fall asleep. I just wanted to forgo the ritual, the settling of sorts, and skip right to the sleep.

There’s a reason some traditions describe alcohol as “eating the spirit” — because it does! Not literally, but kind of, because it quite literally dulls the part of you with the greatest capacity for connection — your spirit. It would be nice if you could pick and choose, if you could say, okay, numb this, but spare this. But you can’t. The poison penetrates every pore and plugs every portal — numbing, clogging, and disconnecting.

This is not new news. We all “know” this to be true, but there is a big difference between being told vs. experiencing, between thinking vs. feeling, between seeing vs. acknowledging and between knowing vs. understanding. The other night, I experienced, I felt, I acknowledged, and I began to understand.

The next day, as this new “understanding” began to deepen, I thought of all the other ways we numb — with drugs, with screens, with work and distraction, with noise and busyness, with anything and everything that prevents us from connecting — to our feelings, to our spirit, to ourselves, to others, to Mother Nature, and to Source. Babies, toddlers, teenagers, adults, the elderly — we’re all being taught, encouraged almost, to numb. And listen, I’m not trying to be all “conspiracy theory” here; I’m being honest. I’m taking actual evidence and yes, perhaps I’m elaborating on it, but I think I’m onto something.

Think about it. Think about the degree of disconnect that currently surrounds us. Yet, we are all connected. We are! There is an invisible web of energy that connects each and every one of us, and yes, this means that to some degree or another, we all influence one another’s energy. And yes, we all, to some degree or another, feel the highs, the lows, the woo-hoo’s and woes of the world. And most certainly, yes — this means that right now, February of 2026, we are feeling it all big time.

But is that because the problems have escalated? Maybe. Possibly. Partially, perhaps. Or could it also have something to do with the fact that we are no longer digesting our feelings? We are no longer giving ourselves the time or space required to feel, ponder, grieve, relieve, and ultimately rest, digest, and reconnect. Instead, we are drinking, we are taking meds, we are constantly being distracted. We are nonstop numbing, and maybe — just maybe — we are ultimately contributing to a global dis-ease through our own personal disconnect.

We may all be connected. We all may need each other to some degree or another. We are an interdependent species, but you can’t be there for anyone until you can be there for yourself first.

So, what’s the answer? Heck if I know. Numbing agents are powerful! We all “know” this to be true, but, once again, there is a big difference between knowing and understanding, and even still, between wanting and doing. Do you want to stop? Are you willing to? No, not on my accord. If you decide to stop it’s going to be because you personally begin to experience the value of stopping. It’s going to be because you discover it for yourself, in yourself. Through your OWN experience. Through your own SELF-DISCOVERY. Do you know what the opposite of self discovery is - self avoidance, self neglect, self denial, self suppression, self destruction… uggh, that’s depressing. What’s more depressing is that you’re kind of traveling solo here. Yeah, you may have friends who encourage you to stop self-destructing, but surrounding those friends is an entire society that normalizes your behavior.

So, I don’t know what you do. That’s up to you. For now, though, in this moment, just stay with me here for a bit longer and read on — because I’m about to throw some analogies from nature at you, and analogies from nature offer us some of the most concrete, unaltered, unadulterated lessons possible:

Consider the snake. The snake cannot peel off its old skin gently or prematurely. Poor little reptile doesn’t even have arms or legs. So, before shedding, everything becomes tight, uncomfortable, and cloudy — even its vision dims. In order to find relief, the snake must rub against sticks and stone. It must push through friction and pressure until the old layer finally splits. Ouch!

Now consider the butterfly. Poor little insect gets wrapped up in a cocoon for weeks. Does it even understand what’s happening? One moment it’s crunching and munching to its heart’s content, the next moment it’s taking a little break to just “hang out,” and all of a sudden it’s wrapped up, mummified, completely constricted. Can you imagine that kind of pressure? Honestly, have you ever actually seen one hatch? Because if you have — holy hell — I bet you’ve wondered the same thing I have: how the heck did something that big, bold and beautiful ever fit inside something that small.

So you see, freedom and growth, they don’t come from escaping discomfort. They come from pushing through it. And numbing, yeah, it may dull the discomfort, but it never stops there. It also dulls your ability to connect, and without connection, you’re left feeling — well — disconnected (duh), discontent, and longing for something you can’t quite name.

Worth mentioning — when I write it comes from my intuition, some insight, and an attempt to make sense of certain emotions, experiences, and moments. I’m not necessarily trying to teach or preach; I’m trying to process, to connect dots, and ultimately to understand the inner workings of why we are who we are and why we do what we do. When words are sometimes difficult for me to express in the moment, writing gives my brain the space and time it needs to fully feel, analyze, and reflect. It allows thoughts to unfold deeper, with more precision and less pressure, more depth and less distraction.

Regardless, it’s all theory. If it resonates with you, great, if not, no biggie. I write for me and I share because I’m pulled to. I sure as hell can’t heal the world, but maybe, just maybe I can help to make it a better place. We all can, but, it starts with you. We may all be connected. We all may need each other to some degree or another because we are an interdependent species, but you can’t be there for anyone until you can be there for yourself first

.