When Life is a Mess, Be a Creature of Habit
I’m coming to realise—mostly because I’ve been trying to actually do the stuff I write about on this blog rather than just typing it out and feeling smug—that there's a massive difference between "knowing" and "doing." It’s all well and good writing about balance, but it’s another thing entirely when you’re in the thick of it.
I’ve been trying to walk the walk lately, and it’s dawned on me that there’s something weirdly life-saving about the bits of the day where you can just let your brain go on strike. When life goes a bit pear-shaped and the hours start feeling like a glitchy, high-speed game of Tetris—when you’re so frazzled you’d probably struggle to remember your own middle name—those mindless little routines are actually a total safety net.
The funny thing is, we don’t even notice these habits when life is ticking along. When things are "normal," we just see them as the boring furniture of the day—the repetitive stuff we try to power through as fast as possible so we can get to the "interesting" bits. But when the wheels start to wobble, suddenly, those boring bits are the only things keeping the whole ship afloat.
But when everything starts feeling a bit much, well, it's time to stop seeing those little habits as just another job to do. Instead of being another thing on the list, they can actually turn into the glue that keeps the day from falling apart.
I wanted to write this blog because I’ve realised that, for me, being on 'autopilot' isn't always a bad thing. Those bits of the day we usually just gloss over could actually be the things that keep us going when everything else is a mess. It's a little reminder that even when life is a bit chaotic, there’s a lot of comfort to be found in the simple, familiar stuff we do every day.
I should probably say, I don't see this as a way to get more out of the day. It’s not about finding a clever way to be 'better' or some grand plan to overhaul my life. For me, routine is just about lowering the stakes. It’s a moment where your brain doesn’t have to negotiate, decide, or brace itself for a surprise. It’s the three minutes spent making a cup of tea exactly the way you like it—where the only 'stake' is how much milk to add.
These small acts are like a quiet internal memo that says: 'You’ve been here before. You know how to do this part. You’re okay for now.' It’s about having a bit of the day that is completely predictable, and in a world that’s usually anything but, that’s a massive relief.
There’s so much advice out there telling you that a routine needs to be this big, 12-step production. But when you’re actually stressed, that just feels like more homework. For me, it’s much simpler than that. It’s just the small, tiny things that remind you you’re actually a person—the stuff that keeps you tethered to the day.
It’s things like:
The first cup of tea or coffee in that one mug you always reach for, even if you’re not exactly thrilled that the day has started.
Using your favourite shower gel because you love the smell, or putting on the specific sweatshirt that feels like a bit of a shield against everything else.
Walking the same loop around the block. No 'exploring,' no new sights. Just the same familiar pavement so your brain can finally go on standby.
Closing the laptop and actually walking away. Hey, you can even light a scented candle or just switch off the big light and try a bit of mood lighting—just a simple way to say the day is done and you’re off the clock. It’s about making sure the world can’t get to you for a bit.
It’s not meant to be fancy. It’s just about having a few moments where you know exactly what’s going to happen next.
You don’t need to 'fix' your entire life by Monday. You don’t need to have some grand plan for how to handle the madness. You just need one familiar, unremarkable thing to return to—one little habit that makes you feel like yourself again.
Let these routines be your breather. Let them be the quiet, steady rhythm beneath all the noise.
There is nothing weak about needing a bit of comfort, and there is nothing silly about leaning on these small, repetitive things. If the world is going to be completely unpredictable, the least you can do is have one part of the day that stays exactly the same and all yours.
Watching the Winter Olympics this past couple of weeks actually gave me an idea. We see these athletes doing these incredible, high-stakes feats of balance on the ice, but I think most of us are doing our own version of that every day—just with fewer Lycra suits and a bit more staring at the fridge, willing it to give up the secrets to a masterpiece for tea—or at least something that doesn't involve the microwave.
So, I’m officially launching The Oddly Specific Olympics.
If the world is going to be a bit mad, we might as well grab some 'gold medals' for the tiny, daft things that keep us on track. My current entry for the podium? The way I always try to beat the self-checkout voice at its own game—bagging the last item and hitting 'pay now' before she can even start to tell me there’s an 'unexpected item in the bagging area.' It’s a tiny, pointless win, but for thirty seconds, I feel like a world-class champion.
So, if your speciality is a very specific way of folding a tea towel, or an 'elite' way of organising your supermarket trolley, come and join me on the podium. Let’s see how many gold medals we can rack up for the habits that have absolutely no point, other than keeping us sane.
There’s plenty of room at the top.
Because when you can't control the big things, sometimes the only win that matters is the one you find in the small, familiar moments that are yours and yours alone.
Thanks for reading and virtual hugs to you all
