In 2025, I could feel my anxiety increasing. And like that proverbial frog in a pot of water getting hotter, as the year went on it became harder to quit patterns that were actively making things worse.
On one hand, I could say my anxiety was about everything happening here in the US, and that would be true.
But on the other, it was about how much I was consuming—information, news, stuff—all of which had in common one thing: scrolling on my phone.
Basically, I was at the mercy of an algorithm deciding what I saw, when I saw it, and how long I looked. And most mornings found me reaching for my phone before I even got out of bed.
Some days my head would feel like a kite in the storm before I'd even had a sip of water, stretched, or said good morning to Jeffrey or Bertie. (Yes, I say good morning to my dog).
What do I need?
It's a powerful question to get still with. And I needed help getting still.
Finally, in that liminal space between Christmas and New Year's, I got the help I was craving when Jeffrey and I decided not to go anywhere but to have a wee Christmas at home where we could enjoy our new and not-at-all-device-friendly sauna.
At night I invited my dreams, and in the sauna, my daydreams to guide me to what I needed.
The answer came in a word, which in retrospect, was incredibly obvious:
Analog
Not a big deal, you might think. But actually, it feels amazingly small and big at once.
Today, several weeks into January, I wake up and instead of reaching for my phone, I stretch in bed then come downstairs where I light an analog candle, open an old-fashioned analog spiral notebook, and write longhand with my analog pen. All before opening any app on my phone.
I am reclaiming time. And my own body's rhythm is setting the pace at which my creature-self moves and thinks and feels. (Not the pace the algorithm or news cycle dictates.)
As I scroll less, I see more—both right around me physically, and—ironically?—also online. (I do need the online world, including many apps, to run my business). When my capacity is not overwhelmed, I can actually recognize an article of interest (on Substack, say), and then have the bandwidth to take it in and engage on purpose, rather than hopping from this to that to the other in a possessed kind of dopamine haze.
As I write this, a phrase from a Leonard Cohen song flits across my mind. When I pause typing and look out into the middle distance, his gravelly deep voice pipes into my mind's ear:
"… getting lost in that hopeless little screen…"
I let the song play out until I find the title line: Democracy Is Coming to the USA
The irony is not lost on me. Here we are in 2026, a time when democracy in the USA is gasping for air.
Leonard Cohen, I think wryly, you picked a good time to peace out. (He died the day before our current president was elected the first time).
Body wisdom as ally
What analog is reminding me—in real time!—is that my body's rhythm is wise.
And that my body itself is a place to come home to when I need a safe home base.
When I write by hand, I slow down and my thoughts can catch up to themselves.
It's also easier, in analog space, to notice: I'm here. In my body. I'm safe or safe enough, right now, to be present.
Two things can be true at once
Very recently in Minneapolis, a woman who had just said, "Dude, I'm not mad at you," was murdered in the light of day by a masked man in uniform.
That happened.
As I write, a group of Buddhist monks and their dog, Aloka, are also walking for peace from Fort Worth, Texas, to Washington, DC.
That's happening too.
When my nervous system is regulated, I can hold both: I don't have to pretend away the danger, nor do I have to get so paralyzed in it that I lose capacity to also see help, to respond, and to stay present.
My analog mornings are not about escaping what's hard. They're about:
- staying regulated enough to be able to keep showing up for what matters.
- remembering that my body has its own timing, wisdom, and way of knowing what I need.
These days what I need is simple. It includes: a match to light a candle, a pen, a notebook. From there words and ideas can flow at the speed of my actual creature self.
What about you?
What helps you find your body's rhythm? What helps you step out of the feed of the algorithm?
I'd love to hear. Seriously, you inspire me. Just hit reply and tell me one thing that helps. 💌
Until next time,
xoHeidi
PS Speaking of analog…
On Sunday, February 1st, I'm hosting a Winter Rest & Restore Retreat.
If your nervous system could use some tending in community, a safe space to slow down and connect (with yourself and a small group of friendly women), I'd LOVE to have you there:
PPS Do you look forward to seeing The Awarewithall in your inbox? Share it by forwarding today's issue to a friend. (Thank you! 😘)
(This piece was edited with AI collaboration.)