Letting your nervous system rest, to unclench, is not a nice-to-have but critical for letting all parts of you live.

My dog taught me this. When she first came into my life, she was shy, reserved. Did not like close cuddles or contact. Quiet. A good dog on all accounts, but not deeply affectionate.

Within weeks she started to open up. Coming up more often for pets. Licking here and there. Within months, more open to play. Now after a few years, loving a full body cuddle.

It took a while, but she learned she was safe. A whole new part of her personality emerged as her nervous system reset. More playful, sometimes more stubborn. More vocal—howling and whining from time to time, groaning happily with pets. More herself.

We too can live under prolonged stress. A feeling that we're always tight, always clenched. More closed off to people. Hell, I'd be lying if I didn't see it in myself—years of struggling with this or that, financial, personal, or otherwise, leaving me a little more tired and jaded than I'd like to admit. The harshness of life can wear on you, often through no fault of your own.

A friend once said he made a concerted effort to keep himself from turning into a bitter old man. Without that effort, that can be the default.

It underscores how parts of ourselves can atrophy and die away if we don't foster the right conditions for them to thrive. Our more playful and loving selves cannot emerge in full bloom when life is constantly a storm.

Of course there's a balance. Challenge in life is good for us. Rain creates verdant fields, but hurricanes destroy. Prolonged storms create wastelands.

Sometimes we're lucky and the weather around us is beautiful. We live in a sunny paradise, literally or figuratively. But sometimes we're born into a harsher reality—a cold and bitter wilderness. Our challenge, among the chaos we cannot control, is to create a shelter, a place of reprieve as we navigate whatever ecosystem we inherit.

For some of us, that means a vacation at a resort. A meditation retreat. Time with friends. A sabbatical.

But grinding non-stop without rest is a dangerous mistake. I write this partly to share but mostly to remind myself—a rested and relaxed mind is often where the best parts of ourselves can emerge. That loving nature. Those fun and playful bits of ourselves.

The gift we can give ourselves is the commitment to create that shelter. Just like creating shelter for a pet who's been through it. To give them grace and patience as that inner mammal learns it's okay. They're safe to play, to love, to be held.