Let me be clear up front: most days I don’t feel grounded. Most days I feel like a brain floating six inches outside of my own face, trying to remember how to answer a text without spiraling. I’ve tried all the stuff you’re supposed to try. But sometimes the “good advice” feels like putting a sticker over a cracked windshield. I needed stranger tools.
Things that didn’t scream self-improvement. Things that made me feel something, even if it was just the weirdness of trying. So here’s what I found. Not a list of tips. Not a plan. Just seven things that genuinely shifted something in me. Sometimes for five minutes. Sometimes for longer. Use what works. Ignore the rest.
Sitting in trees (badly, awkwardly, immediately)
I didn’t go for a hike. I wasn’t looking for inner peace. I was having a full-on mental crash in a parking lot and saw a tree behind a gas station. I climbed it. Poorly. Got bark in my shoe. And for some reason, that awkward, itchy, utterly non-curated moment reset something. It wasn’t “healing.” But it was quieter inside my body after that.
Later I learned there’s actual science behind a sudden nature immersion session, but I don’t need research to tell me what happened. I came down from that tree breathing easier. That’s it.
Dancing like you’re possessed but bored
There’s this playlist I made called “move or explode” and sometimes I put it on, close my blinds, and flop around like a haunted marionette. It’s not dance. It’s something between an exorcism and a tantrum.
And weirdly, it helps. Especially when I don’t try to “do it right.” I found out that’s a real thing, an expressive movement‑based practice. Apparently your body has stuff to say, and if you let it say it without demanding a story, your brain chills out a little. Mine does, anyway.
Something that helps without the high
I’ve never been into getting high. I like clarity. But I also like not feeling like I’m vibrating out of my own skin. A friend mentioned a plant-based product that helps with tension and mood, but doesn’t mess with your head; no buzz, no distortion.
I tried it, didn’t expect much, and felt… soft. Less jangly. Like I had more room between thoughts. If you’re curious, click here. Not every tool has to shout. Some of the best ones just sit quietly in the background and let you feel safe for a minute.
Micro-awe (like… really micro)
I used to think “awe” had to be big. Sunsets. Grand Canyons. But then I watched a squirrel fold a leaf like origami, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was tiny. But it made me feel like part of a larger, weirder, wilder thing.
Since then, I’ve started collecting micro-awe moments. Light through curtains. The sound of ice cracking. A cat blinking slowly. Turns out this isn’t just some soft spiritual fluff – even a deliberate moment of awe in nature can rewire your head a bit. You remember you’re not the center of everything. Which can be a relief.
Making things on purpose that suck on purpose
One night I ripped a cereal box in half and made a sculpture called “Overwhelmed Lizard.” It was dumb. It was glorious. I used to be afraid of doing creative things badly. Now I do them spectacularly badly on purpose.
There’s a kind of freedom in it. The permission to make something with your hands that isn’t for anyone. Not even your “inner child.” Just for the moment. I learned later that freeform artistic creation as therapy is a real thing.
But honestly? Even if it weren’t, I’d still be here with my glue stick and a pile of paper scraps, making weird cardboard emotions.
Letting screens help instead of steal
Look, I’m not gonna pretend I’ve “quit my phone.” But I did change what I use it for late at night when my brain won’t stop looping. I started watching these insanely slow, long nature videos – no music, no narrator, just rain on moss. Glaciers. Birds.
At first it felt cheesy. But then… something shifted. I stopped scrolling. I started breathing differently. It turns out immersive digital nature experience can actually help your nervous system re-regulate. Like, screens aren’t the devil. Sometimes they’re just misused tools. Now they’re my background noise for sleep. And it works.
Moving in a circle with strangers and not saying a word
There’s this dance thing I found on a Sunday morning by accident. No choreography, no small talk. Just people moving in a circle to whatever music came on.
I stayed on the edge for the first ten minutes. Then I started swaying. Then I cried. Nobody asked why. Nobody touched me. But something inside unclenched. Being seen while moving – not performing, just existing – was… I don’t know. It helped.
There’s science on this too — group movement ritual for resilience. But even without it? I’d go back. Probably next week.
I don’t know what’ll work for you. I barely know what works for me. But I know this: if you’ve tried all the polished, perfect, step-by-step things and still feel frayed, it doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It might mean you need weirder tools. Softer ones. Smaller ones. The kind that don’t demand change – just offer space. Sometimes feeling better starts with just feeling different for five minutes. That’s enough. That’s a beginning.
Image via Pexels