Returning to What Matters
Where Consistency and Balance becomes kindness
Cao135/Pixabay.com
As a child, I didn’t know the word consistency…but I lived it.
I depended on it.
Waking at a certain time for school.
Sleeping in on weekends.
Meals at the same time each day.
Knowing when I could go out and play…and when I needed to be home.
Consistency meant safety.
As a mother, consistency became something more.
Raising four boys was a true test of balancing structure and flexibility.
At mealtime, I used plastic yellow plates with three separate sections for food. One time, when I filled only two sections of the plate, the boys panicked.
“Why are we only having two things, Mom? Did we run out of food?”
I reassured them we hadn’t, but they insisted:
“Can we please have one more thing?”
To them, consistency brought comfort.
Soup was another story.
Usually, I only served soup when the kids were sick. But, one cold afternoon, when I made chicken noodle soup for lunch, the twins—six years old at the time, stood staring at their bowls.
“Are you sick?” one asked the other.
“No! Are you?”
“No!”
Then, in unison:
“Mom…are we sick?”
“No, boys…you’re perfectly healthy.”
“Then why are we having soup?”
That’s when I realized some forms of consistency needed a little softening.
As the years went on, life became less structured.
As a single parent raising my two younger boys, consistency was harder to hold onto. Long days, late nights, and growing teenagers made life feel unpredictable.
When they came home from school, they’d head straight for the refrigerator—hungry and exhausted, grabbing whatever they could find before even asking what was for dinner.
Balance, at that stage, wasn’t something I mastered, at all!
It was something I moved through…one day at a time.
And then, one day…
The house was quiet.
After the last goodbye, the last hug, and the last child left for college, I walked into my home and felt something unfamiliar.
Stillness.
I opened the refrigerator, and there was food.
I peeked into the bathroom…no dirty clothes on the floor.
I stood there, almost wondering if I had walked into somebody else’s home.
That’s when I felt something gently return.
Consistency and balance.
Not as rules, nor as something I had to manage.
But as quiet energies, walking beside me.
Now, in this seasoned time of my life, those words feel different.
Consistency no longer means doing more. It feels like returning, again and again…to what matters.
And balance?
It no longer means equal parts of everything.
It means honoring both: the part of me that creates, and the part of me that simply lives.
Last year, I fell while my husband was out of town.
At first, I couldn’t get up. My arms felt weak. I wasn’t afraid, but for a moment, I had to pause and think. But eventually, I made it up.
Later, I realized that fall was a gift.
It showed me something essential:
My body needed more support.
So, I began strength training, with bands, weights, planks, and push-ups.
Slowly, consistently, I built the strength I needed.
Now, I know, if I fall again, I can lift myself up.
Consistency, at this stage of life, feels like self-care.
And balance feels like kindness.
To my body, my mind, and my spirit.
There was a time when I lived differently.
I moved through life taking care of everyone else, children, friends, coworkers, and rarely stopping to care for myself.
Somewhere along the way, a quiet voice followed me: “You know, you’re not enough.” It showed up everywhere — in my thoughts, my actions, and when I rest.
Now, when that voice returns, and it does from time to time, I don’t fight it. I simply notice it.
“Ah…you again.”
“Well, you can walk with me…but you don’t get to lead.”
And then, gently, I return to what’s in front of me.
As I sit here now, writing these words, I feel something I once longed for:
Peace.
Consistency and balance are no longer something I chase; they are something I return to.
Again and again.🦋
Thought to Ponder:
What if consistency and balance were not something to perfect…but something to return to gently?
Taken by the author
©Terry Pottinger 2026