On Listening to the Deepest Self

“Men are not free when they are doing just what they like. Men are only free when they are doing what the deepest self likes.” -D.H. Lawrence

For the past five years, (perhaps my entire life) my deepest self has been calling out to me.

At first, it was just a whisper—a faint voice I could easily ignore as I moved further and further away from her. Then the whisper became a roar, as my body took a nosedive into panic, anxiety, and a year-and-a-half-long manic episode that ended with a bipolar 2 diagnosis. That’s when she started screaming: “Help!”

Answering the call of the deepest self is no small feat. It’s not a one-and-done event but an ongoing process—a daily excavation of routines, a shedding of old habits, and a willingness to try on new rituals until something fits. Anything that allows the deepest self to surface, even for a moment, acts as a salve. A small comfort for the part of us that is constantly buried by the noise of life.

I believe we’re all drowning a little. Drowning in motion, in distraction, in the endless pull of small digital boxes that fill our hands and minds. Everyone’s deepest self is crying out, but the cries are muffled, drowned out by the chaos of the world we’ve built around us.

So, I’ve created a few rituals—ways to check in with my deepest self and remind her, I hear you. I’m here. These rituals aren’t grand or complicated, but they are deliberate. And that makes all the difference.

Meditation

Every morning, as soon as I wake up, I meditate. It’s not long—5, 10, maybe 15 minutes—but it’s consistent. I’m on day 1059 of this practice. I never want to break the streak.

I sit with a heat pack to soothe my insides and my arthritis. It’s not fancy or performative. It’s just a quiet moment of acknowledgment, a way to say, I see you, deepest self.

Commitment has always been my biggest challenge. I’ve spent much of my life resisting it, telling myself I’m not built for it. But when I do commit—when I show up for the quiet, steady practices that don’t demand applause—my deepest self feels seen.

Reading

Every day, I read. Books, articles, poetry—words written by other deepest selves. My own deepest self recognizes them like old friends. Teachers, showing up exactly when I need them. Reading feels ancient, sacred. It’s a small act of devotion, both to the writers who came before me and to the voice inside me that longs to be heard.

A Creative Act of any size

I do something creative every day. It doesn’t have to be big or important. Sometimes it’s rearranging the bookcase to reflect my mood. Other times, it’s ten minutes at the piano before driving my daughter to guitar lessons.

It could be recommending a favorite book to a friend, writing an article for my website, or striking up a real conversation with a neighbor I don’t know.

These are small acts, but they matter. They feed the part of me that craves expression, connection, and presence.

Acknowledging the deepest self doesn’t have to be dramatic or overwhelming. It can be as simple as a wave, a nod, a small gesture that says, I haven’t forgotten you.

As I get older, I have come to realize that a spiritually creative life isn’t built on massive breakthroughs or grand declarations. It’s built on small building blocks, daily acts of recognition.

The deepest self doesn’t demand much—just acknowledgment, a bit of attention, a nod to say “I see you girl.” And in return, she gives us freedom. Not the freedom of doing whatever we like, but the kind of freedom that comes from living in alignment with who we really are.