Centering isn’t about regulation—it’s about orienting to a felt sense of self.
This has been sitting with me for a while.
So often, centering is taught as something we do to ourselves: slow down, calm down, settle. There’s an implied destination—some baseline we’re supposed to return to before we’re considered okay, present, or ready.
But for many people, that version of centering doesn’t feel supportive. It can feel like pressure. Or failure. Or another quiet message that says, come back when you’re calmer.
What if centering isn’t about getting anywhere? What if it’s about returning to what’s present instead?
Noticing the chair supporting you.
Feeling your feet on the floor.
Sensing tension or movement in a muscle.
Noticing that you are here, in this moment.
For some, especially those whose early experiences felt chaotic, connecting with a sense of self can feel difficult—or impossible at times.
This doesn’t require that. It doesn’t ask for identity, clarity, or control. It simply notices what is already here.
This kind of centering doesn’t require calm. It doesn’t require stillness. And it doesn’t disappear just because you’re activated.
You can be centered and anxious.
Centered and moving.
Centered and not knowing what comes next.
Because centering, in this way, isn’t about making yourself behave better. It’s about noticing what is happening in our body.
When we return to what’s present, centering becomes a kind of relationship: with ourselves, with our bodies, and with what we’re experiencing in the moment.
Over time, these small moments of noticing begin to shift how we respond to stress. We start to see that we don’t have to do everything at once. That we can move through activation without losing ourselves. That support—sometimes subtle—is within us.
This is why telling someone to “just center” often misses the mark. Without returning to what’s present, centering becomes another performance. With it, centering becomes relational.
It changes how we meet ourselves in moments of stress. It softens our response to activation. It creates room for choice—not by overriding what we feel, but by staying with what is happening in our body.
Centering isn’t something you achieve and keep. It’s a practice of coming back to yourself, sometimes briefly, sometimes imperfectly.
Centering isn’t control.
It’s connection.
And connection, over time, is what helps us come back to ourselves—even in the middle of hard things.
Wishing you wellness,
Keri Sawyer
Stepping into Wellness 