Summer, the Grind, and the Gift of Breakthrough

For some, summertime means a break from the grind—vacations, outdoor adventures, hot lazy days. Here in Maine, we’re constantly reminded of our “Vacationland” identity.

But for me, summer has always been a tricky season. A break in routine often feels more like disruption. Instead of rest, I dive into passion projects I’ve set aside during the school year—projects that are really just another form of work. Add in the draining heat, and I often find myself longing for the quiet darkness of winter, when my introvert side can thrive.

By August, I’m usually panicking about all the things I didn’t get done, alongside everything I need to prepare for the semester. This summer was no different—except that the new AC took the edge off the heat.

But then the grind came to a screeching halt.

Working too hard, pushing too hard, I broke down—and in that breakdown found a breakthrough. The lesson was one I’ve had to spiral back to again and again: I need to take breaks, and I need to give myself a break (literally and figuratively) more often.

You may remember my July blog, “On Softening, Striving, and Coming Back to the Why.” Writing that was just the beginning. The real work—the hard work—was what came after.

Because the truth is: I don’t have a problem with working hard. I love my work. But I do have a problem with pushing too hard. And I do have a problem with being far too hard on myself.

Despite my best intentions, my old patterns as a recovering overachiever and perfectionist slip back in. Sometimes I don’t notice until I’m already in the thick of them. Sometimes I notice, but I keep going anyway.

This is part of how our brains work. This summer, I learned more about the default mode network (DMN) through a yoga training. The DMN is what helps us brush our teeth, do our chores, and move through daily life without relearning tasks every day. It conserves energy so we can focus on bigger things.

But the DMN also reinforces old patterns—thoughts, beliefs, and behaviors that no longer serve us. It’s the negative voice that says you’re not enough (or, in my case, that I’m too much). It’s the reason we repeat habits long past their usefulness, or why we re-watch shows even though we know how they end. Under stress or trauma, the DMN gets even louder.

So when I was pushing too hard, burning out, and berating myself for not being “enough,” my brain doubled down. Push harder. Keep going. Ignore the alarm bells. Stay stuck in the loop.

And I pushed myself straight into a hole.

The good news is: I didn’t stay there. Thanks to compassionate friends, coworkers, and finally making myself find a new therapist, I had the support I needed to climb back out. With that support, I found clarity—about myself, about my patterns, about what I actually need.

That doesn’t mean the process is over. Even with new insights, I slipped. An old injury flared. Covid knocked me down again. The cycle is still here—but now, I’m meeting it with more presence and more compassion.

I am aiming to find presence when the pressure builds.

To find flow when the stuckness sets in.

To work from inspiration instead of desperation.

This is the spirit of healing we embrace at Spiral Studio: the practice of coming back to ourselves again and again. (Not coincidentally, this is also the work of meditation.)

We come back to center so that we can keep doing the work that matters most. That’s why I spiral inward—to move, breathe, and remember that my work is a gift to myself as much as it is to those I serve.

I connect to myself. I connect to others. I connect to big ideas.

And from that place of connection, I can transform.

To spiral in. To spiral out.

​Always upward, always rooted in courage and love.