Stillness is a Form of Healing: How stillness restores balance and nurtures healing.

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Segment 1 · Episode 4

Stillness is a Form of Healing

How stillness restores balance and nurtures healing.

Stillness is not silence. It is the body speaking, the mind listening, and clarity rising to meet them both.— Dr. Kidi

Reflection

My father’s advice was simple: “If the horse gallops out of control, stay still. Keep riding until it settles, because it will.”

When I was a child, my father tried to teach me to ride horses. My sister Meski loved it and enjoyed every gallop. I was different. Each time I climbed into the saddle, my heart pounded loudly and fast, convinced the horse would take off and I would fall.

I have kept a diary since middle school, and it has become a quiet companion through the seasons of my life. Its pages hold the raw scribbles, restless questions, bursts of drama, and delicate fragments of wonder that once spilled from my younger self. When I return to those entries, I find more than memories. They are mirrors, reflecting who I was and who I am becoming. Each stage of life reveals new meanings, hidden between the lines, as if the words were waiting for me to grow into their truth. My diary is not only a record but also a guide, reminding me that self-understanding unfolds in layers, and that even the smallest notes can hold the wisdom of a lifetime.

In one entry, I hear my father’s words again. He only spoke Amharic, and when he taught me to ride a horse — or to live — his words often rose like poetry.

He would say, “Wust-ishen ya-zhwu.”

It means: Hold your inner being, be still.

Not be quiet.

Not be calm.

Just… be still.

At the time, those words felt impossible.

How could I hold what was inside me when everything in me wanted to scream and resist?

I was small.

The horse was impossibly large.

Every gallop shook my body with fear.

Only now do his words reach deeper than they ever did then.

Only now do I understand.

He was never asking me to shrink, nor to silence myself.

He was showing me that stillness is its own form of strength.

He was saying that in the midst of chaos, the safest way through is to root deeply into yourself, to hold steady, and to trust that every storm, no matter how fierce, will pass.

He was saying that obstacles that block your path and fear that floods your thoughts guide you to stay in the saddle of life.

Only then will the storm move through without sweeping you away.

I never learned to love the ride, but his words still carry me farther than any horse ever could.

“Wust-ishen ya-zhwu.”

Hold your inside. Be still.

From those words I learned that stillness itself can be a form of healing.

Recap: Let the Body Lead

In Let the Body Lead, I shared how the mind, with all its habits, fears, and constant urge to control, often tries to take over. True balance begins when we invite the mind to soften and allow the body’s own wisdom to guide the way.

Stillness is one of the most powerful doorways to letting the body lead.

Healing is not about doing more or pushing harder. It happens when we pause, breathe, listen, and allow ourselves to simply be.

Stillness is not the absence of life.

It is the fertile ground where life restores itself. When we choose to create that space, we can hear the body’s quiet truth. And in that gentle stillness, healing remembers how to move through us.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves: Stillness as Healing

When I speak of stillness, I do not mean silence or retreating from the world. Stillness is not about turning everything off.

It is about becoming present enough to listen. 

Stillness is where reflection and introspection meet. 

Reflection helps us make meaning from what has been.

Introspection helps us notice what is stirring within us now.

Together, they create a space where healing can begin. 

I felt this kind of stillness when I stood barefoot beneath a great bur oak tree in Virginia. A small plaque next to it says it was planted in the 1800s. Imagine that.

This tree has endured centuries of storms, wars, and countless seasons by rooting deeper into its own strength. Its branches spread wide and sweep downward, some reaching the ground to form a circle of belonging.

Beneath its canopy, my world softened.

My body relaxed.

I hugged it.

Time slowed.

Peace rose through me.

I felt its stillness.

It didn't push.

It remained.

And in that remaining it offers peace to anyone who pauses long enough to notice.

The oak is a living reminder that stillness is not only about holding steady but also about returning, reconnecting, and completing the circle of life.

So often we resist stillness.

We convince ourselves that noise is necessary.

That stillness is empty, unproductive, or even dangerous.

So we leave the television humming in the background. We scroll endlessly through glowing screens. We fill every pause with chatter, with tasks, with sound, with substance.

It is customary for me to begin my meetings with a moment of silence, a pause for collective stillness. Almost without fail, I notice the same response. Some fidget in their seats. Others shift, glance around, or look up to see if it is over.

This discomfort is not unusual. Stillness unsettles many of us because our thoughts are quick to rise, nudging us toward action, toward fixing, toward filling the quiet with something. We are conditioned to respond to every impulse of the mind as if it were a command. To sit still, even for a few breaths, can feel like disobedience to that inner urgency.

Yet it is precisely in this resistance that the teaching lies. Stillness does not demand performance. It asks for presence. It allows us to witness our thoughts without being carried away by them. And in that gentle holding, something unexpected happens: rest, clarity, and a healing deeper than words.

When I speak of stillness, I am often asked about the difference between silence, quiet, and stillness. This feels like the right moment to explore.

Silence is the absence of sound. It comes from the environment. It can feel peaceful, but it can also feel heavy or lonely. 

Quiet is a softened sound. It is the hush of dawn, the murmur of leaves, the steady breath of someone sleeping beside you. Quiet is gentleness.

Stillness is not about sound at all. It is the mind and the body at ease and the spirit steady in the present moment.

Stillness can live within silence, within quiet, or even in the heart of noise.

I knew it as a child on a horse in the middle of chaos, and I felt it in the oak tree that stood through the American Civil War.

Life is rarely silent, and quiet cannot always be arranged.

But stillness is always available.

It is an inner posture, not an outer condition.

Silence and quiet may invite it, but only we can capture our stillness.

The philosopher René Descartes once wrote, “I think, therefore I am.”

It was his way of finding certainty in the midst of doubt. Thought itself became proof of existence. Yet if thinking proves that we exist, stillness reminds us of how we exist.

Thinking confirms being.

Stillness restores being.

The "I think," shows that awareness cannot be denied.

Stillness shows that awareness can be healed.

Stillness does not erase thought.

It makes space around it.

It shifts the story from “I think, therefore I am” to “I am, therefore I can heal.”

This is why stillness matters.

It is how we can hear the body speak.

It is where buried emotions find breath again.

Where the mind learns from the body.

And where healing becomes possible.

Try This Practice

Science shows that a large number of the messages in our nervous system travel upward from the body to the mind, not the other way around. The vagus nerve, a long wandering channel that runs from the brainstem through the chest and into the belly, carries more than 80 percent of these signals. Most of them are sensory, delivering the body’s story into the brain.

The body speaks before the mind finds words. Emotions live within it, rising as sensations, tension, warmth, or unease. They are signals, quiet messages that ask to be noticed. This is why a gut feeling is not just a metaphor. It is the body’s language, guiding us with wisdom older than thought. When we learn to listen, we discover that intuition is not imagined but embodied, a real and trustworthy compass within.

One way to begin listening to the body is through a simple body scan meditation. This practice is more than a tool for relaxation. It is an act of attention, a turning inward. Each pause, each breath, each moment of awareness opens a doorway into stillness. Within that stillness, the body finds space to speak, sometimes in soft whispers and sometimes in clear revelations. What we encounter is not silence but the language of healing, unfolding gently from within.

So take a moment now for a simple stillness pause.

• Sit comfortably or lie down.

• Close your eyes, or soften your gaze.

• Breathe in gently to a count of four, and breathe out slowly to a count of six.

• Allow the muscles of your face, shoulders, and chest to release.

• Bring gentle awareness to your head, arms, hands, belly, hips, legs, and feet.

• Notice any sensations that arise, meeting them without judgment and with quiet presence.

• When thoughts appear, place them on a cloud and let them drift away across the sky.

• Rest here in stillness, and know you can return whenever you need.

Come back to this practice as often as you need. Each time you return, you offer your body the gift of being heard, and in that listening, you create space for healing.

For a deeper journey, you can experience the full body scan meditation on my YouTube channel @drkidi.

The Mind Likes Noise, the Body Likes Quiet

Take a moment to pause and listen to your inner self. How often have you said "I'm busy," either to someone else or quietly to yourself?

Can you recall the ache of hearing those words from someone you wanted to spend time with? Your body feels the same ache when you rush past it without offering the time to listen

We often wear busyness like a badge of honor, as if it proves our worth or makes our hours matter more. But what does being busy truly mean to you?

For me, it often means I am pouring energy into what I have chosen to prioritize. Yet it also means there may be less time for others, and sometimes less time for myself.

Being busy is not the real issue. The deeper question is what fills our busyness. Too often our days become crowded with tasks that carry us further from our own center.

When we put off moments of stillness because we are busy, when we skip a morning ritual to rush into the day, when we set aside meditation to dive straight into work, or when we sacrifice movement to answer another email, we send a message inward. We tell the body that we are busy for you and everything else comes first.

Our culture of relentless productivity calls for our attention at all times. We become so focused on either being active or deliberately inactive that both can leave us equally occupied. The mind flourishes on noise and can generate it anywhere, regardless of how quiet your environment is. Take a moment to observe your current thoughts that have been interrupting you from reading. Are you replaying a conversation? Worrying about future events? Criticizing yourself for actions taken or not taken? This is the mind creating noise. It builds its identity through ongoing commentary, problem-solving, and rehearsing every possible outcome, convincing you that all this noise is essential for safety. 

Even in silence, the mind remains restless. 

Even in quiet, it continues to produce noise.

The body communicates without words. It recovers in tranquility. The consistent heartbeat, the soft rhythm of your breathing, and the unseen mending within your tissues—all of this occurs in stillness.

Stillness is always available.

Stillness restores awareness.

Stillness  is not an outer condition but an inner posture.

Silence and quiet may invite it.

But only you can become it.

Understanding this is the beginning of healing. I am here to share tools that invite you into stillness, where you can listen to your body’s needs and support its natural restoration. Give yourself permission to pause, and allow the body to speak.

How Do We Get to Stillness? 

Stillness is not something you do. It is something you become.

The body is always speaking, but often it speaks under silent pressure. You may not see the strain, but you feel it. You feel it in the tightness of your chest, the restlessness in your hands, the urge to reach for something that promises quick relief.

As I was writing this piece at my neighborhood coffee shop, I noticed a young man just outside the window. He lifted a lighter-shaped device to his mouth—a vape.

He drew in slowly, then released a mist that rose like incense. I knew it was only vapor, droplets suspended in air rather than true smoke, yet the sight entranced me. The pale cloud unfurled from his lips, delicate and mesmerizing, and I found myself held captive by its drift.

To him, it was a pause, a way to catch his breath.

To me, it was something else.

My doctor’s mind could not help but think about the possibility of formaldehyde in the vape. In medical school, we used formaldehyde to preserve cadavers. I now imagined the vapor sliding down his throat, coating the passages, the lungs expanding with each inhale, believing it was air, but instead taking in hostile particles. Blood cells struggling through the hazy cloud, their flow of clean oxygen blocked. Chemicals crossing into the bloodstream, gleefully entering vessels. The heart protesting, beating harder, not knowing what had struck it. Nicotine, assuming it was nicotine, rushing to the brain making neurons fire chaotically. Cells coming under heavy stress, defenses weakening against invisible invaders. The throat contracted to push the vapor back out. The brain clouded, the lungs heavy, the heart strained, DNA quietly damaged. 

To me, it was the body in chaos.

The body under attack.

The body crying for help.

Yet the young man looked calm, even at peace. The vape was giving him small surges of dopamine, the neurotransmitter of pleasure.

I pictured wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm, the soft hiss of air filling it, the dial edging upward capturing the deep tension. I imagined the numbers rising, his pulse quickening, his body quietly carrying a burden it could not name. This was not a safe space for the body. Stillness was absent, and without stillness, the body's repair is slowed and at times stopped. He was experiencing phantom stillness, in the midst of inner noise and chaos, he could not hear the tender whisper of his own heart: Please stop. You are hurting me. Please stop.

I share this story because it came to me as I was writing, and it reflects many of the temporary comforts we reach for in an attempt to create phantom stillness when the mind longs for ease.

Stillness arises when we turn toward the body and ask what it needs. So the next time you feel the urge to reach for something the body did not ask for, pause, reset, and redirect to a choice that restores rather than depletes.

Remember from The Body Remembers that most emotional responses in the body last only about 90 seconds. By pausing for just a minute and a half, we can give stillness a chance. Within 3 to 5 minutes, the nervous system often finds its way back to balance. So, let's practice being still.

1. Pause for one quiet second. Let your body settle before you respond.

2. Close your eyes. If closing your eyes is not possible, soften your gaze and focus on something in front of you.

3. Count your breath for 90 seconds. Breathe in a slower rhythm, inhaling for 4 counts and exhaling for 6. This gives you about 9 deep breaths to calm your nervous system. Sit in silence for 5 minutes.

4. Create space. Open your eyes and calmly move away from what is enticing you. If you need to distance yourself from your thoughts, visualize placing the thought on a cloud and watch it float away each time it appears. Allow your body time to reset without stress.

5. Choose differently. Do the opposite of what your mind is telling you. Choose what your body is asking for instead.

Repeat this practice to gently train your mind to be still and to listen to your body. In this listening, you will discover why stillness is not only rest, but a form of healing.

Common Myths of Stillness and the Truth the Body Knows

Myth: Stillness is laziness.

Truth: Stillness is repair in progress.

Myth: If I stop, I will fall behind.

Truth: If you stop and reset, you will be further ahead.

Myth: Stillness is empty.

Truth: Stillness is filled with presence, clarity, and healing.

Myth: Healing happens only through doing.

Truth: Healing unfolds when we allow space for stillness.

The Dr. Kidi Reset for Stillness

Stillness is not something to postpone until the day is done. It is a place we can return to again and again, woven into the rhythm of our hours. This reset is a gentle invitation to pause in the morning, at midday, in the evening, or any time of the day, letting stillness flow through the fabric of your life. Each pause softens the noise, opens space for breath, and allows you to hear the quiet wisdom of your body.

Morning Reset

• Pause: Before reaching for your phone or starting the day, sit up and pause for one quiet second. Let your body settle.

• Close: Gently close your eyes, or soften your gaze toward an object or space.

• Count: Take 9 deep breaths. Inhale for 4, exhale for 6. Let your body wake in calm.

• Create : Step outside, stretch, or open a window for fresh air. Change your space to signal a new beginning.

• Choose: Set one small intention that honors your body, such as drinking water before coffee or taking a ten minuit walk before you start your work.

  
  

Midday Reset

• Pause: Before your next task or meal, stop for one quiet second.

• Close: Rest your eyes or soften your gaze away from what you are doing.

• Count: Breathe naturally for 90 seconds, letting your nervous system unwind.

• Create: Step away from your task, take a short walk, or simply stand and stretch for 5 minutes.

• Choose: Do the opposite of rushing. Eat slowly without scrolling, walk more gently, or listen to what your body is asking for.

  
  

Evening Reset

• Pause: When you get home, or finish work at home, sit in stillness for one second.

• Close: Close your eyes and let the day soften around you.

• Count: Breathe deeply for 90 seconds, lengthening each exhale.

• Create: Change your space — dim the lights, tidy the room, or step outside to look at the sky.

• Choose: Choose one thing that restores your body. Read, write in your journal, or meditate.

Each reset takes only a few minutes, yet each one reminds you that stillness is always available. You do not have to wait until exhaustion forces you to stop. Stillness can hold you morning, noon, and night, and your body is worth this care.

How to Measure Progress

Progress in stillness does not look like perfection.

Stillness is not about emptying the mind but about creating conditions for the body to repair. Research shows that stillness supports the recovery of the nervous system and reduces stress and anxiety.

Stillness is not passive. It is repair in motion. Progress is felt in the quiet shifts that begin to unfold.

Your aches and pains may ease.

You may find yourself pausing before you react.

Your breath may deepen, your shoulders may soften more quickly.

You may notice you can return to calm with greater ease after being unsettled.

These gentle changes are living proof that healing is happening.

Stillness does not arrive with fireworks. It comes quietly, like the body unclenching, like the mind releasing its grip.

That softness is progress.

Hope

Life has a quiet way of placing before us what we most need, even when we are not searching. Perhaps it was coincidence that I turned to the page of my father’s words, that I paused before the oak tree, that I was briefly captivated by the pale cloud drifting from a young man’s breath. Or perhaps it was something more.

Stillness is not a prize earned after striving. It is a companion that waits patiently for our return. The oak tree reminds me that endurance comes not from resisting, but from sinking into strength that runs deep. My father’s words remind me that stillness carries wisdom, and the drifting cloud reminds me of the preciousness of breath.

Hope is found in such gentle reminders. It is the quiet knowing that no matter how much noise surrounds us, stillness is always within reach.

Stillness is a form of healing.

Dr. Kidi's Healing Space

A moment of stillness: Reset with a body scan meditation

Meditation is more than a pause in the day. 

It is a scientifically supported practice that reshapes the brain and body to heal. For example, research shows that mindfulness practices can support wound healing by calming inflammation and allowing the body’s repair systems to work with greater ease. Other studies reveal that mindfulness programs help people living with chronic pain by reducing fear, softening resistance, and creating lasting improvements in well-being and quality of life. 

Even the brain itself reflects these changes. Imaging studies show shifts in the amygdala and hippocampus, regions tied to memory and emotional balance, after as little as a single meditation session. 

This is living proof that meditation is not just quiet time but a healing tool that shapes body, mind, and spirit. With steady commitment, it becomes medicine, guiding us toward clarity, resilience, and renewal.

With this in heart, I welcome you into stillness. Meditation asks only for your presence. There is no cost and no journey outside yourself. All that is needed is your time and your willingness to be still. Your body and your mind are deserving of this offering.

It is natural for thoughts to appear as you sit in quiet. When they come, place each thought gently on a cloud and let it drift away across the sky. Then softly return to your breath, or to the place in your body where your attention rests. Each return is the practice itself. Be gentle with yourself, and trust that every pause carries you closer to stillness. Within that stillness, healing quietly unfolds.

Journal Invitation

Take a quiet moment with your journal. Write by hand. Let your pen rest in your hand and allow your breath to settle. Let your words slow you down.

Reflect on these questions:

• Where in my life do I resist stillness?

• What happens in my body when I pause long enough to listen?

  
  

Write without judgment. Let the words flow, even if they come slowly. Trust what rises onto the page.

Stillness does not ask for perfection. It asks only for your presence.

Healing Words to Repeat

Repeat your mantra gently with each breath, letting it guide you back to presence.

In stillness, I return. In stillness, I heal.

Call to Connection

I would love to hear how this practice moved through you.

What challenges did you face as you tried to be still?

Share your reflections in the comments on the blog so we can continue the conversation. If you share on social media, tag me on Instagram @drkidi.healing  so we can stay connected and walk this path together.

Until next time, trust the stillness. Keep listening. Healing knows the way.