How to Return Inward When it Feels Impossible

THE SHIFT

How to return inward when it feels impossible

In both Greek and Roman thought, the idea of “coming home to oneself” was the path to freedom. The Greeks used the term epistrophē, meaning a “turning back” or “return,” especially in the writings of Plotinus and other Neoplatonists. 

For them, life often dispersed focus outward into the distractions of the body and the world, and wisdom meant turning inward again to recollect one’s true nature. Plato connected this inward harmony with sōphrosynē, or temperance, a balance that allowed one to be at home within.

In Roman philosophy, the Stoics echoed this theme. Seneca often wrote of habitare secum—to “dwell with oneself.” For him, the wise person was not dependent on external pleasures or approval but lived in peace within his own soul. 

Marcus Aurelius, writing in his Meditations, urged himself to “return within” whenever he felt scattered, finding a steady refuge in his own rational nature. 

Though the vocabulary differs, these traditions describe a universal human need: to return, recollect, and rest in oneself. 

Yet for many people, returning inward can feel incredibly uncomfortable or even dangerous. 

For trauma survivors, the body may not feel like a safe home. Silence and self-focus can activate painful memories or overwhelming sensations. 

Even for those without significant trauma histories, sitting quietly with oneself can stir discomfort, restlessness, or self-criticism. These feelings can urge you to move, distract, and flee from the uncomfortable feelings.

What ancient philosophers saw as a straightforward practice often requires a careful, gradual process instead of an immediate shift inward.

When we speak of “coming home to oneself,” it is tempting to imagine that home as a place of order, calm, and balance. The Stoics imagined it as rational clarity; Plato as temperate harmony. 

But if we are honest, much of our inner life is not orderly at all. Within us live the wounded parts, the unruly emotions, the irrational fears, the chaos of memories and sensations that do not neatly resolve. To suggest that only the serene and rational self is “home” is to exile the very places within us that ache most for belonging.

Perhaps true homecoming means turning toward these fragments with compassion rather than banishment. The irrational self that panics at shadows, the wounded child that still longs to be held, the chaotic energy that resists control. These, too, are inhabitants of our inner house. To dwell with oneself is not to silence or eject them, but to widen the threshold so that even these voices have a place to sit by the fire.

It takes an incredible amount of courage to sit with the parts of ourselves we would rather abandon.

You might start slowly, with external grounding, such as naming five things you can see in the room or placing both feet firmly on the floor to feel supported. And just notice. 

Others find it easier to begin with safe bodily awareness, perhaps noticing the breath at the nostrils or the sensation of the hands resting on the lap. What changes, if anything, when you bring this into your conscious awareness?

Movement-based practices such as mindful walking, stretching, or qi gong can also create safety through rhythm and embodiment.

It’s important to consider, that while the Stoics prized self-sufficiency, modern therapy highlights a different truth: sometimes we cannot come home to ourselves alone. 

Safety often emerges first in relationship, through the nervous system’s natural capacity for co-regulation. A gentle hand on the shoulder, shared breathing in the presence of someone trusted, or simply being seen and heard without judgment can restore a sense of grounding that solitary practices may not yet provide. 

In this way, supportive presence becomes a bridge inward. Before the silence of solitude feels safe, we may need the resonance of another nervous system to steady our own, reminding us that “dwelling with oneself” can begin by dwelling safely with another.

No matter what your first step is, as you move through this next week, I invite you to find one small act of turning inward that feels safe enough to try. Take a stance of compassion and curiosity as you stay with yourself. And notice what is like to be available to yourself in this way. 

THE SHIFT

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