The Day I Let Go of Needing to Be Calm

I used to think calm was the proof

There is a particular kind of moment when you catch yourself reacting before you want to.

A sharp tone.
A tight jaw.
A rush of frustration.
A feeling that rises faster than you can soften it.

And then, almost immediately, the second feeling arrives:

I should be calmer than this.

What is this feeling telling me?

For a long time, I thought calm was the proof that I was doing well.

If I felt angry, I thought I was failing.
If I felt frustrated, I thought I had lost my way.
If I felt impatient, overwhelmed or reactive, I assumed I needed to fix myself.

Calm became the thing I thought I should always be moving towards.

And of course, calm can be beautiful.

A calm breath.
A calm room.
A calm response.
A calm moment before speaking.

These can all support us. They can help us feel steady and safe. They can give us the space to listen more clearly.

But over time, I began to realise something important. That calm was not my goal.

When calm becomes another pressure

Sometimes the pressure to be calm becomes its own kind of tension.

Another standard to meet.
Another way of measuring whether we are “doing it right.”
Another quiet message that some feelings are acceptable, and others need to be hidden.

Maybe you have felt this too.

The pressure to stay composed.
The pressure to be the calm adult.
The pressure to respond gently, even when something inside you feels anything but gentle.

And then what happens when anger, frustration, sadness or worry are genuinely present?

If calm becomes the only acceptable state, we can start to push those feelings away. Or we can feel ashamed for having them at all.  We’ve been there and it doesn’t get easier, right?

Feelings are information

Anger has a place.
Sadness has a place.
Frustration has a place.
Restlessness has a place.
Even irritation can carry information.

Our feelings are often expressions of our inner world meeting our outer environment. They can tell us something about our needs, limits, hopes, fears, tiredness and care.

Sometimes anger says, something feels unfair.
Sometimes frustration says, I need support.
Sometimes sadness says, something mattered to me.
Sometimes worry says, I am trying to protect myself.

This does not mean every feeling should take over. It means we can listen.

When we build in that pause, just long-enough, we can begin to ask: what is this feeling trying to show me?

Why I use “balance” more than “calm”

This is why I find myself using the word balance more than calm now.

Balance feels more honest.

Balance allows for the whole inner world. It recognises that feelings move through us in different strengths, at different times, for different reasons.

A balanced mind is not an empty mind.
A balanced body is not a body without feeling.
A balanced response is not always quiet or soft.

Sometimes balance means taking a breath before speaking.
Sometimes it means moving your body to release tension.
Sometimes it means naming that something hurt.
Sometimes it means stepping away.
Sometimes it means returning to a conversation when you are more ready.

Balance gives us somewhere to return to without asking us to erase what we feel.

What this means for children

For children, this distinction matters deeply.

If children learn that calm is always the goal, they may begin to think strong feelings are wrong. They may learn to look settled on the outside, even when they are not settled inside.

Balance offers something more compassionate.

Balance helps children understand that feelings are part of being human. They can be noticed, listened to, moved through and supported. Child Mind Institute also notes that learning to notice, label and express feelings can help children feel more in control.

A child can begin to ask:

What is this feeling telling me?
What does my body need?
Do I need to breathe, move, rest, speak, ask for help, or have space?
What would help me return to myself?

That last question feels important.

Because the pause is where the check-in begins.

Over time, there are many ways to cultivate that pause: through breath awareness, mindful movement, nature connection, the intention behind our words, and the practice of finding balance within. Each one can help us notice what is happening inside, before we respond.

This is part of the thinking behind The MIND Model — a gentle framework that brings together mindful movement, inner reflection, nature connection and deep breath to support children’s self-awareness and wellbeing.

Mindful Moment: Try this!

This simple mindful movement practice brings together breath, nature and movement to help children get out of their seats, notice their bodies and move through a strong feeling.

Take a slow breath in through the nose.

Open the mouth wide, stretch the tongue out, and breathe out with a soft:

haaa.

Then take three slow lion steps.

Feel your feet on the ground.
Let your hands become lion paws.
Notice your strength.

Pause and ask: What do I notice now?

.

Then invite children to change direction and move slowly around the space. When they pass another lion, they can share one thing they noticed:

I noticed my breath.
I noticed my feet.
I noticed I feel a little different.

Sometimes one breath, one movement and one small pause can help us meet the moment with a little more balance.

For more simple movement and nature-based practices that help children pause, reset and return to themselves, explore MindFresh Moments — our wellbeing training for anyone who works with children.