Your Weekly Spark: Resting in the Middle of Momentum

Yesterday opened something up for me.

I’m still not feeling quite like myself. I’m in a recovery season. I’m five days post-antibiotics for a pretty bad sinus infection. It’s allergy season where I am, and that’s stirring up my asthma. I’m feeling caregiving burnout, with a bit of guilt to go along with it. And the energy of all that’s happening in the world has been affecting me for a while.

Needless to say, I am exhausted.

Even through that fog, yesterday I had a powerful training day inside my LEAP session, part of a high-level coaching program I’m involved in. I learned a couple of new AI tools to use in my new business project, and it was literally mind-blowing.

Say what you want about AI, but my recommendation is this: embrace the fact that it’s not going away, and figure out how to use it in a way that enhances your work, your life, and your future.

But I digress.

Yesterday felt exciting in that deep, meaningful way that happens when something clicks. When a vision that has been living inside you starts taking shape in a new and tangible form. When you can suddenly see what might actually be possible.

And today? I’m wiped out. Not metaphorically. Literally. I’m feeling the kind of tired that settles into your bones. The kind that makes even a simple task feel heavier than it should. The kind that reminds you, very clearly, that your body is still keeping score, even when your spirit is lighting up with possibility.

There is something quite humbling about that.

We don’t talk enough about the tension between momentum and limitation. About what it feels like to have your mind buzzing with ideas, your heart pulled toward what’s next, and your body saying, Not so fast.
My nature is to resist. To push through. To keep going. To tell myself this is not the time to slow down. But the truth is, my body is calling the shots.

That’s why I’m sitting in a chair with a cup of tea, not doing much of anything today. I am humbled by the fact that I can’t override what my body is asking for. I have no choice but to slow down and honor it.

Maybe the real work is not just in creating momentum, but in learning how to hold it gently. Maybe the lesson is not to override myself the moment I feel a spark, but to trust that what is meant to grow does not disappear just because I rest. That can be hard to remember, especially for those of us who are used to pushing through. Especially when we’re excited. Especially when we can feel the energy of something new beginning to come alive.

Healing has its own timeline. So does integration.

I’m learning that sometimes a breakthrough day is followed by a day in bed. I’m noticing that sometimes clarity arrives before stamina does. I’m accepting the fact that sometimes life gives you a glimpse of what’s next, and then asks you to pause long enough to absorb it.

Not because you’re failing. Not because you’re off track. But because your body is asking for care at the same time your future is asking for courage and action.

Both matter.

Today, my only real job is self-care first. Later this afternoon, I’m taking my dad to a doctor’s appointment. If I have it in me, I may drive a few minutes farther to the beach and catch the sunset. And if I don’t, I’ll come home and rest.

Maybe that is enough. Maybe that is more than enough. Maybe resting in the middle of momentum is its own kind of wisdom. Maybe this is what it looks like to honor the season I’m actually in, instead of forcing myself into the one I wish I were in.

So this week, I’m not writing from a place of polished certainty. I’m writing from the middle. From the place where inspiration and exhaustion coexist. From the place where something new is clearly emerging, but my body is still asking me to move much more slowly than I want to.

And maybe that’s the invitation for all of us:
To stop believing that slowing down erases momentum.
To stop being afraid that rest will somehow lose the idea or dull the inspiration.
To trust that sometimes the best thing we can do is pause without judging ourselves or trying to squeeze in just one more thing.

What if rest is not interrupting the path?
What if, sometimes, it is the path?

Here’s a simple but powerful technique I use when I need to slow down and come back to the present moment. I’ve been using it a lot lately to help me get out of my head and give my body what it needs: 
trishajacobson.kit.com/f8b2368757

If you’d like to explore more reflections like this, you can browse the A Matter of Magic blog here.

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