Today I Choose to be Equilibrated – How to be Equilibrated

Balance has always felt like a cruel joke to me. Working 10–12 hour days while managing a household, caregiving, and trying to squeeze in joy—balance? Please. But equilibrium, I’ve realized, isn’t about equal weights on every side. It’s about knowing when I’ve tipped too far and finding ways to steady myself again. Some days that looks like a walk outside, some days like saying no to one more request, and some days like eating popcorn for dinner because cooking would push me over the edge. I used to beat myself up for not keeping everything “balanced.” Now I think equilibrium is less about perfection and more about staying upright while life keeps shifting under your feet.

Like that day when everything hit at once: Curtis had a bad night, work exploded with three simultaneous crises, and my mother called needing emotional support I didn’t have to give. Old me would have tried to handle it all, perfectly, and ended up in the bathroom crying. Instead, I triaged. Handled the absolute must-dos at work. Texted Curtis that I loved him but couldn’t talk until evening. Told my mother I’d call her tomorrow.

Was everything balanced? No. But I stayed upright. That’s equilibrium—not juggling everything perfectly, but knowing which balls are glass and which are rubber.

The Reality of Midlife Equilibrium

At 61, equilibrium looks different than those yoga poses where people balance on one foot looking serene. My equilibrium is more like a controlled stumble forward. Some days I lean too hard into work and neglect everything else. Other days I’m all family and work gets the minimum. The key is catching myself before I fall completely.

I think about tightrope walkers. They’re never perfectly still. They’re constantly making micro-adjustments, arms wavering, body shifting. That’s real equilibrium—constant small corrections, not frozen perfection.

Last month was a perfect example. Started with me in full work mode—12-hour days, eating at my desk, canceling plans. By week two, my body started protesting. By week three, Curtis said, “I miss you and you’re sitting right here.” That was my cue. I’d tipped too far. Time to shift weight back to the personal side.

The Myth of Having It All Together

Social media shows us women who seem to have achieved perfect equilibrium. They’re CEOs and perfect mothers and yoga instructors and gourmet cooks. Their houses are clean, their marriages are passionate, their skin glows.

Bullshit.

Behind every “perfectly equilibrated” woman is a support system you don’t see, sacrifices she doesn’t share, or a breakdown waiting to happen. Or she’s lying. I’ve been behind enough curtains to know the wizard is always smaller than the projection.

Real equilibrium at 61 means some days my kitchen is a disaster because I chose to paint. Some weeks Curtis and I are ships passing because work is intense. Some months I don’t call friends because I’m conserving energy for crisis management. It’s not pretty. But it’s real.

Physical Equilibrium Changes

Let’s talk about literal equilibrium. At 61, my physical balance isn’t what it was. I grip the railing going downstairs. I’m careful getting out of the shower. That yoga tree pose? Please. I’m more like a shrub in a windstorm.

This physical wobbliness mirrors the emotional. Everything takes more effort to balance now. What used to be automatic—multitasking, quick pivots, juggling demands—now requires conscious attention.

But here’s what I’ve learned: accepting the wobble is part of equilibrium. Fighting it makes you fall. Working with it keeps you upright.

Finding Your Center When Everything’s Moving

The Daily Recalibration
Every morning, I do a quick check: What’s off? Too much work? Not enough movement? Zero creative time? Then I make one small adjustment. Not a complete rebalancing—just a slight shift toward center.

Yesterday’s check: Haven’t talked to Jesse in a week. Adjustment: Called him during lunch instead of eating at my desk. Small shift, big difference.

The Emergency Brake
When I feel myself tipping into overwhelm, I stop. Literally. Sit down. Breathe. Ask: What can wait? What can I delegate? What can I simply not do? It’s not giving up; it’s strategic equilibrium.

Last week I was spiraling about a presentation, Curtis’s medical appointment, and my mother’s birthday party planning. Emergency brake: Presentation was good enough. Curtis could handle his appointment alone. Birthday party became birthday dinner. Equilibrium restored.

The Counterweight System
For every heavy thing, I need something light. Difficult conversation? Follow with silly cat videos. Financial stress? Counter with a walk in nature. Bad news? Find something, anything, to laugh about.

This isn’t toxic positivity. It’s physics. Without counterweights, you tip over.

The Equilibrium Thieves

Some things consistently destroy my equilibrium:

Other People’s Urgency
Their hair-on-fire emergency becomes my crisis. Except it’s not. Their poor planning doesn’t constitute my emergency. Learning this took 60 years.

Comparison
Looking at others’ equilibrium (or perceived equilibrium) immediately throws off mine. My friend who runs marathons at 62. My colleague who never seems stressed. Comparison is equilibrium kryptonite.

Perfectionism
Trying to keep all plates spinning perfectly means they all eventually crash. Good enough is often the key to equilibrium. The email can have typos. Dinner can be cheese and crackers. The bed can stay unmade.

Yes Without Thinking
Every automatic yes tips the balance. Now I say, “Let me check my capacity and get back to you.” Half the time, they find someone else before I respond.

Equilibrium in Relationships

Marriage equilibrium at 61 is its own dance. Curtis and I aren’t 50/50. Some days I’m 90 and he’s 10. Other days reversed. Over time, it equilibrates, but never in a given moment.

During his health crisis, I was 95/5. Now that I’m launching Enlightenzz, he’s picking up more. That’s not imbalance—that’s equilibrium over time.

With adult children, equilibrium means not being their emotional regulation. Tyler calls in crisis, I listen without fixing. Jesse needs support, I offer without taking over. Their imbalance doesn’t have to become mine.

Work-Life Equilibrium (Not Balance)

I hate the term “work-life balance.” It implies they’re separate, equal entities. At 61, after decades of trying to achieve this mythical balance, I prefer equilibrium.

Some weeks, work needs 70% of me. Other weeks, life demands 80%. The key is recognizing when I’ve been tilted too long in one direction and consciously shifting back.

I track this now. Literally. In my planner, I mark W-heavy or L-heavy days. Too many Ws in a row? Time to shift. Too many Ls? Maybe, but that’s rarely the problem.

The Seasonal Nature of Equilibrium

Equilibrium changes with seasons—literal and metaphorical. Winter equilibrium means more rest, less productivity. Summer means more movement, more social. Grief season means everything tilts toward survival. Joy season means expanding into possibility.

Right now, in this season of reinvention with Enlightenzz, my equilibrium includes more creating, less consuming. More risk, less safety. More authenticity, less performance. Next season will require different equilibrium.

The Cost of Lost Equilibrium

When I ignore equilibrium too long, my body keeps score:

• Insomnia arrives like an unwanted guest
• My digestion rebels
• Headaches become constant companions
• My temper shortens to nothing
• Joy feels like work
• Everything hurts—body and soul

These aren’t separate issues. They’re equilibrium alarms. My body telling me I’ve tipped too far, too long.

Micro-Equilibrium Practices

Small adjustments throughout the day maintain equilibrium better than major overhauls:

The Two-Minute Reset
Between meetings, I stand, stretch, breathe. Two minutes to recenter before the next demand.

The Lunch Non-Negotiable
I eat lunch away from my desk. Even if just 15 minutes. This tiny equilibrium practice changes everything.

The Evening Transition
Before engaging with home life, I sit in my car for five minutes. Transition time. Work-self to home-self. Without it, I bring office energy into my sanctuary.

The Bedtime Boundary
Phone charges in the kitchen after 9 PM. No exceptions. Sleep equilibrium requires boundaries with technology.

Accepting the Wobble

Here’s what I wish I’d known earlier: Wobbling IS equilibrium. That constant adjustment, that never-quite-balanced feeling—that’s not failure. That’s the process.

Watch a surfer. They’re never still. Constant micro-adjustments, weight shifting, responding to each wave. That’s mastery—not rigid balance but dynamic equilibrium.

At 61, I’m done pretending I have it all together. I wobble. I tip. I occasionally fall. But I get back up, readjust, and keep moving. That’s my equilibrium.

The Permission to Be Unbalanced

Some days, equilibrium means accepting disequilibrium. Curtis’s surgery day? Everything tilts toward him. Book deadline? Everything tilts toward writing. Mother’s crisis? Everything tilts toward support.

The key is knowing it’s temporary. And having a plan to shift back. Without that plan, temporary imbalance becomes permanent exhaustion.

Today’s Choice

Today, choose equilibrium over balance. Don’t try to keep all plates spinning equally. Just stay upright. Lean where you need to lean. Rest when you need to rest. And remember: equilibrium isn’t about being perfectly centered—it’s about always finding your way back to center, no matter how many times you wobble.

Check in with yourself: Where are you tilting? What needs a counterweight? What can you let fall so you can stay standing?

At 61, I’ve learned equilibrium isn’t a state you achieve. It’s a practice you maintain. One small adjustment at a time, one conscious choice at a time, one wobbly day at a time.

And that popcorn dinner when cooking would tip you over? That’s not failure. That’s wisdom. That’s knowing your limits. That’s choosing equilibrium over perfection.

That’s real life at 61.