The Strength of Stillness: When Stopping Becomes Survival

I once spent three days snowed in during a solo winter trip—grounded, unable to move forward, with nothing to do but wait. At the time, it felt like an inconvenience. Years later, facing terminal illness, I realize that moment was preparing me for something I couldn't yet name.

I've just published a new essay on my Substack called "The Strength of Stillness." In this piece, I explore how stillness has transformed from weather delay to necessity—how my body now says "no" without negotiation, demanding I stop and lie down, now.

This isn't the earned stillness that comes after a long hike or hard day. This arrives uninvited, unannounced, non-negotiable. But those three days in the woods taught me something profound: stillness doesn't have to mean defeat. It can mean listening. It can mean witnessing the subtle motion around you—a snowshoe hare testing the silence, a coyote diving for voles, life continuing its quiet rhythm.

In treatment rooms, when IV lines are in and machines hum, that winter scene floods back. The same kind of moment. The same kind of stillness. Unchosen, unavoidable, and still—alive.

For anyone who has found themselves forced into stillness—whether through illness, loss, or life simply demanding you pause—this reflection offers a different way of seeing those moments.

I invite you to read the full piece on my Substack, “The Edge of Now,” where I share how stillness taught me that strength doesn't always mean moving forward, and how the wild showed me what it means to be fully present.

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is simply be still.

You can find it at: The Strength of Stillness. 

— Thom