There Are Levels to This Game Called Life
Before diving in, I want to be clear- There are levels to this game called life and what those levels look like is unique to each of us. The levels I describe here are unique to me. My hope is that, in reading this, you might find something that resonates with your journey. We all move through life at our own rhythm, yet sometimes another person’s reflection can help us feel seen in our own. You may recognize pieces of yourself in what I share, or your path may look entirely different- nevertheless- both are equally valid.
In the beginning of my healing journey, I began “the work” from a place of desperation. As unfortunate as it was to reach that breaking point, it was also a blessing in disguise because it became the catalyst. Desperation built discipline. It helped me form routines that set self-love, self-care and a desire to understand myself on a deeper level in motion, and from that came something beautiful.
It took a long time, but after years of implementing new tools to counter the anxiety and panic attacks, I could finally feel the benefits of that hard work. In my eyes, it was nothing short of a miracle that I was finally able to breathe again.
Fast forward a few years, and I reached a place where the rigidity of my routine was no longer necessary. I was able to ease up, but I noticed that if I let it slide for too long, I felt the consequences. I realized that I was only “good” mentally and emotionally as long as I did x, y, and z.
That awareness carried two truths. On one hand, I knew myself well enough to understand what my body needed to feel okay. On the other hand, I realized I had only learned to cope. Without my routine, I felt the threat of falling right back to square one.
It felt like a catch-22, damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. The very routine that saved me- also trapped me. And that observation, in itself, became another level of learning. Even something seemingly healthy can turn into an addiction when it’s the only way you know how to survive. And that’s the thing about levels- even when you think you’ve already moved past something, the same lesson often reappears, only with more depth. It’s not repetition, it’s expansion, like the container of your awareness growing wider each time.
From there, the next level seemed to be- deepening the understanding of the art of distress tolerance- feeling my feelings. Sitting with discomfort and anxiety instead of scrambling to soothe it. Not scratching the itch. Not rushing to fix. Just letting myself be with what was happening.
Over time, newer, and more efficient practices and modalities emerged that served me well. My routine began to shift and expand to fit the new narrative of feeling the discomfort. I built what I think of as a tool belt—different practices I could draw from depending on how I was feeling, instead of rigidly clinging to one structure. That flexibility gave me more freedom. I wasn’t chained to a single routine anymore. I could choose what I needed in the moment, and that choice itself felt like healing.
Recently a minor health concern forced me to slow down, and while nurturing that, I noticed how much resistance I still carried toward rest. The fact that I noticed that I still had to force myself to do nothing felt extremely uncomfortable. That realization left me disappointed. I thought- even after years of implementing all these tools and practices (new or old, rigidly or sporadically done) they only seemed to be keeping me afloat, like I’d reached a plateau and had been treading water at this level for a long time. They weren’t propelling me forward the way they once did.
I realized that I had reached a point where I was just going through the motions again. As if I were checking off a to-do list with the intention of making sure I was “good” again. In that moment, an image came to mind.
I saw myself in the gym years ago. The girl with the extreme anxiety and panic attacks doing what she was advised to do and sticking to it from a place of sheer desperation. She was going through the motions. She hadn’t yet connected to each exercise through presence. All she understood was- I must do this to see change…but from a place of do or die. Extreme survival.
I remember eventually reaching a point in my workouts where I understood that it wasn’t about the number of exercises or the reps I did, yet it was about the quality of how it was done. Was it slow, focused, intentional and done technically sound as to not injure? Were all the correct parts of my body being engaged and was my breath in alignment with the movements as to support me and receive the full benefits?
I finally understood. Sure- Doing the movement to do the movement over and over again is beneficial, but it’s just going through the motions. Putting your mind into the muscle and engaging in the quality of the movement is far more beneficial. You could do 5 solid focused reps, and it would be far more beneficial than 15 mindless reps. I realized- it’s all about working smarter not harder.
That insight was the lightbulb moment. The same applies to healing! Yes, our bodies respond to cumulative consistency. That proof can be seen in any form of practice- it delivers results. But our needs change over time. Eventually our bodies stop grading for effort and start responding to whether you are truly present within your practice—not just following a script or checking off tasks. The nervous system isn’t asking for more work; it’s asking for full presence. That discomfort you feel when you’re forced to sit in stillness- that’s the body saying: Stop moving energy outward. Don’t intellectualize. Don’t schedule. Just be with me fully.
Looking back, I can see how easy it would have been to dismiss all those “reps” as silly or unnecessary. But if I hadn’t done them- if I hadn’t shown up, over and over, even when it felt like just going through the motions- I wouldn’t have arrived at this space of awareness. All those early versions of my routine, all the coping strategies, all the small daily practices—they were the groundwork. They trained my nervous system, strengthened my presence, and prepared me to finally engage with the work in a way that matters.
Regardless of the practice, even if it feels like going through the motions, it matters because it reinforces safety and integration. The work is cumulative. Over time, engaging with presence rather than just action trains the nervous system, builds new pathways, and shifts survival motions into true embodiment.
So, this is the level I’m on now- presence over performance, awareness over routine. But if you’ll notice, this particular part of my journey is an ongoing lesson. It has taken years to integrate it let alone “overcome”. It is a practice that has shown up in many different levels even if it isn’t as obvious as it used to be. It’s not about doing more; it’s about feeling more. About listening, embodying, and allowing the nervous system to move through its own rhythm. Every stage mattered. Every repetition, every effort—seen or unseen—built toward this moment of presence and integration.
No matter what level you’re on, it’s all part of the process. Every stage contributes to growth, understanding, and the ability to engage fully with life. The same lessons may circle back again and again, but each return offers a deeper invitation. The work doesn’t reset- it expands. The work is NEVER wasted- it accumulates. That’s how the game is designed. That’s the beauty of this game called life: there are levels, yes, but every level matters.
SHARLENE
