Rooted, Not Restless: Replacing Consumption with Stillness

I didn’t realize how much I was consuming just to cope. Not always in extreme ways, but in the subtle daily choices: shopping when I didn’t truly need anything, eating out when I wasn’t actually hungry, taking a THC edible just because, or pouring a glass of tequila at the end of a long day.

These were all just ways of escaping myself. Ways to avoid silence. Ways to avoid the discomfort of being still.

At the end of last year I started replacing those patterns with meditation. If I have two hours free in my day, I meditate. If I have one hour, I meditate. If I have fifteen minutes, I chose stillness. And something profound has shifted.

I go to bed earlier, not because I’m exhausted, but because I now crave that moment of lying in bed with no distractions—just me, my breath, and the soft unwinding of my nervous system. That time before sleep is now its own form of meditation. A nightly offering to my body and my spirit.

The result?

I feel grounded like a tree. Centered. Rooted. No longer flitting from one urge to another like a feather caught in the wind. I’m not easily thrown by traffic, delays, or the overstimulation of modern life. I breathe through it. I stay soft. I stay steady.

I’ve even had meditative experiences where my body felt like a soft swirling current under my skin—gentle, fluid, and alive. That sensation lasted for over twelve hours. It was comforting and peaceful, like being held from the inside out. A deep calm that feels much richer than consuming.

My stress levels are undeniably lower. My energy feels clearer. I operate at a higher vibration—more patient, more kind, and far more in tune with myself and others. I feel like I’m finally inhabiting my body fully, not rushing ahead or floating outside of it.

And surprisingly, I’m saving money. When I stopped reaching for shopping bags, tequila pours, or dispensary runs to fill the void, I realized the void was never empty. It was just asking to be heard. Now, instead of filling it with stuff or substances, I fill it with presence.

This isn’t about being perfect or rigid. It’s about choosing depth over distraction. About remembering that peace isn’t something we buy—it’s something we allow. And the more I allow stillness, the more beauty I see in everything.

Rooted, not restless. That’s the gift meditation gave me. And I can’t imagine living any other way.