Being Here – Day 61
Being Here – Poem Day 61
Day 61 — When I move between giving and needing distance
Across the last few days we explored two ends of the caregiving spectrum.
First, the urgency to help —
stepping in quickly, carrying more than your share.
Then the opposite experience —
exhaustion, compassion fatigue, the sense of having nothing left to give.
Today’s poem works with something many people recognise:
movement between the two.
There can be periods of strong care —
energy, attentiveness, generosity.
Then something shifts.
Distance becomes necessary.
Quiet replaces urgency.
From the outside this can look inconsistent.
From the inside it may simply reflect how energy moves.
Today’s poem does not ask for balance.
It does not push generosity to return.
It does not suggest holding back.
Instead, it allows care to move.
Giving and distance can both exist
without either cancelling the other.
Nothing needs to be stabilised while listening.
The sequence carries itself.
Pause.
If anything lingers or feels activating after listening, you might try one small thing — only if it feels helpful.
Let one breath finish fully before the next begins.
Nothing else is required.
Warmly,
Per
Poem 61 – When I move between giving and pulling back
There is space here for care to come and go. Nothing needs to settle into one role.
The body is already supported, able to lean outward and to return to itself without losing its ground.
Awareness widens to include the movement — the impulse to offer, the need to pause, both held without judgement.
Muscles adjust gently, not bracing to help, not collapsing to rest, responding as capacity shifts.
Breath continues freely, moving through giving and through withdrawal, without choosing sides.
Warmth flows and gathers, sometimes extending, sometimes staying close, remaining present throughout.
The chest does not have to decide how available to be. It can stay responsive, meeting each moment as it arrives.
The urge to help is allowed without becoming obligation. The urge to step back is allowed without becoming absence.
The body learns that care does not disappear when it rests, and does not lose itself when it moves outward.
There is a sense of staying intact through offering and retreat, inside the same steady outline.
This moment does not ask you to commit to giving or to withdraw completely.
You remain here, inside a body that can care and pause, respond and recover, without losing its heart.
For now, that is enough.
