When a Holiday Wrecks Your Rhythm

Tuesday came in like a Monday, and everything felt just a little off.

It wasn’t anything big—no crisis, no drama. Just a quiet, internal shift. A subtle discomfort I couldn’t quite name. I’d let myself sleep in on the Monday holiday (a decadent 30 minutes), sipped my coffee slowly while playing my favorite New York Times puzzles, and promised myself I’d get to my Peloton ride “later.” But later never came.

By Tuesday morning, I was back at it—6:00 am alarm, dogs walked, workout done. But something still felt off. Like I’d missed a step, and now I was stumbling through the next number.

That’s when I started to really think about it.

I’ve always been a creature of habit. I thrive on routine. Monday and Wednesday? Peloton. Tuesday and Thursday? Weights. Friday? Yoga and maybe afternoon pickleball. It’s my rhythm. My structure.

So why did one small disruption—a skipped ride, a slow morning—feel so unsettling?

The answer hit me somewhere between my mental tug-of-war over Tuesday's workout and a podcast episode I had playing in the background. Cathy Heller, author of Abundant Ever After, was talking about receiving—something I’ve heard her talk about many times before—but this time it landed differently. It wasn’t just about understanding the idea of “receiving.” It was about trusting the energy I have in me and that my authentic self is all I need to succeed.

And suddenly, I saw the deeper lesson in this small disruption.

This wasn’t about missing a workout. It was about the stories I tell myself when I do. The inner critic that whispers that slipping once means slipping for good. The pressure to stick to the plan exactly or risk unraveling. The illusion of control.

But here’s what’s real: I am not one skipped workout. I am not one late start. I am not the stories my mind tries to spin when things don’t go perfectly. I am the sum of my consistent effort. I am the pattern, not the blip.

And I realize—I’m not alone in this.

Whether someone is trying to quit smoking, eat better, start a business, or show up more consistently for themselves, the fear of slipping can be paralyzing. We beat ourselves up over the one time we didn't, instead of giving ourselves credit for all the times we did.

Our minds are brilliant, complex, and sometimes a little mischievous. They can help us solve big problems and then convince us to worry about tiny ones. They can generate genius ideas and then make us second-guess them before we act.

But I’m learning—slowly and imperfectly—that real transformation comes when we make peace with the blips. When we see them as part of the process, not proof that

we’re failing.

And maybe, just maybe, this is what it feels like to finally be ready to receive—to believe that what we want is already on its way, and that we don’t have to control every variable to be worthy of it.

So here I am, slightly off-kilter, but still moving. Still showing up. Still learning.

And maybe that's the real rhythm that matters.