MetaMonica

The Unexpected Clarity of Coming Back

I didn’t expect peace to arrive at the local library. Not after the weeks I’ve had. Not after the airport goodbyes, the emotional weight of sorting memories, the quiet ache of returning to a house that no longer holds her presence.

But there I was, sitting on the floor with my son, surrounded by shelves we know by heart. Watching him pick the same book for the fifth time, laughing at the same page like it’s the first. And in that moment—something inside me softened. I wasn’t in survival mode. I wasn’t striving to process or produce or even heal. I was just there.

Back in the familiar. Back in the ordinary. Back in the rhythm of our life.

And I realized… there’s a kind of clarity that only comes when we return to what we know. Not because it’s exciting, but because it’s anchoring.

This post was born from that moment—when grief met routine, and routine quietly held me.

My Personal Paradox: The Seeker Who Craves Change but Needs Structure

For almost two decades, I’ve been immersed in the world of personal growth and lifelong learning. Professionally, I’ve guided people toward clarity and alignment—helping them structure their thoughts, reflect intentionally, and make decisions rooted in awareness. Personally, I’ve spent just as much time exploring my own patterns. What grounds me. What energizes me. What I resist. And one thing I’ve resisted for most of my life? Doing the same thing two days in a row.

Especially when it comes to routines: eating the same dish twice, walking the exact same route, repeating a ritual just because it works.

I craved variety, unpredictability, movement.

For a long time, I told myself this was just who I was—creative, flexible, easily bored. But with time (and a lot of reflection), I started to see something deeper. That resistance to repetition wasn’t just a personality trait.

It was a survival strategy.

It was movement instead of stillness.

It was my nervous system saying: Don’t get too attached. Keep going.

But the more I’ve slowed down—especially in the last decade of self-work—the more I’ve come to see that freedom without rhythm is just noise.

And that sometimes, the very structure I resist… is the one that could support me most.

This paradox still lives in me. I don’t force it into a solution anymore. I observe it. I learn from it. And that’s part of the practice, too. It’s a practice that transformed the moment I became a mother. Because motherhood didn’t just teach me about routine—it showed me why we need it.

Motherhood as a Mirror: The Magic of Familiarity

Nothing brought the power of routine into sharper focus than becoming a mother. Suddenly, everything I once resisted—repetition, predictability, structure—became the very thing that grounded us both.

It was no longer about me. It was about creating safety, rhythm, and emotional predictability for this small human who was learning the world one moment at a time.

What once felt boring started to feel… holy. Waking up at the same time. Singing the same song before nap. Reading the same book until the spine gives out. Returning to the same bench at the park, the same library corner, the same evening walk.

I began to see that children don’t crave novelty. They crave coherence. And neuroscience confirms this.

The developing brain—especially in children—seeks familiarity because it reduces stress and cognitive load.

(Source: The Science Behind Why Kids Prefer Familiarity Over Novelty)

Routine calms the amygdala (the part of the brain that detects threat) and allows the prefrontal cortex to function more clearly—creating a safe mental space for learning.

(Source: How to Train Your Brain to Accept Change, According to Neuroscience)

That means more presence, more focus, more room to learn and connect.

When we repeat something often enough, the brain shifts control from the conscious mind (the prefrontal cortex) to more automatic systems (the striatum).

(Source: Habits 101 – The Neuroscience Behind Routine)

This frees up working memory and executive function, making space and creating a felt sense of safety—essential for both emotional regulation and learning.

(Source: The Importance of Routines in Learning – Novak Education)

And honestly? This isn’t just about children. Adults benefit in exactly the same way. We’ve just been taught to call it boring. To associate repetition with stagnation. To believe that sameness equals failure—or worse, mediocrity.

But motherhood taught me what my nervous system already knew:

We need the familiar. We need to know where the edges are so we can feel safe enough to explore.

Routine is not a cage—it’s the soft structure that lets growth happen.

And in the hardest moments—meltdowns, sleepless nights, transitions and loss—routine isn’t what holds us back. It’s what holds us up.

The more I observed my child blossom through repetition, the more I started healing my own relationship with rhythm. Because if he needs it to thrive… maybe I do, too.

And that’s when I started wondering: If routine is so nourishing, so regulating, so quietly transformative—Why have we been taught to see it as boring?

The answer, I’ve come to realize, lies deeper than just cultural narratives. It’s in how our brains work. How we’re wired for efficiency, for safety, for rhythm. And how, somewhere along the way, we’ve stopped listening to that wiring.

We’ve mistaken stimulation for aliveness.

But the science tells another story.

The Neuroscience of Routine: Why Familiarity Frees the Mind

If motherhood showed me how essential routine is to emotional stability, neuroscience helped me understand why.

Behind every repeated moment—every bedtime song, every step along a familiar sidewalk—there’s a pattern of neural activity being reinforced. What feels boring on the surface is actually deep brainwork beneath.

Routines are formed through a process known as cognitive automation. With each repetition, control of the behavior shifts from the prefrontal cortex (responsible for conscious decision-making) to the striatum (responsible for habitual and automatic actions). This transition reduces the cognitive load, giving our brain space to focus on novelty, connection, or healing.

(Source: Habits 101 – BrainFacts.org , Novak Education)

But the impact of routine goes far beyond efficiency.

Routine also serves as a tool for resilience—especially in times of emotional or existential challenge. When we feel overwhelmed or destabilized (as I have in grief), familiar patterns act as anchors. They create predictability that helps regulate the nervous system by lowering amygdala activation, which is associated with stress and fear. That safety is what enables emotional processing to even begin.

(Sources: NBC Better, The Healing Power of Routines in Brain Injury Recovery)

On a neurological level, routines help rewire the brain by strengthening connections between neurons—what we call neuroplasticity. This is how we build habits that sustain us through adversity: with each repetition, the path gets clearer, the resistance gets lower, and the brain learns how to stay present—even in pain.

(Sources: Progressive Therapy Associates, Dr. Anu Patel )

Routines also deliver small doses of dopamine, especially when there’s a reward or soothing component to them (a walk, a warm drink, a song). This neurochemical boost reinforces persistence through challenging moments and contributes to emotional regulation.

(Source: Southwest General Health)

In other words, routine doesn’t just make learning easier—it makes it possible. It frees the brain from overprocessing the environment and gives it permission to focus. It also supports memory and retention through what’s called associative learning.

When we link new information to something familiar, we activate existing neural pathways, making it easier to encode and retrieve that knowledge later.

(Source: Structural Learning – Neuroscience of Learning Strategies)

Here’s the part that shifted everything for me: Familiarity is not the opposite of growth. It’s the foundation of it.

We build new skills, process emotions, and develop self-awareness far more effectively when our brains are not in survival mode. And routine—predictable, repeated, sometimes boring routine—is what helps lift us out of that state.

Neuroscience Snapshot: Why Routines Matter

Benefit	Neuroscience Insight
Cognitive efficiency	Routines shift behavior from prefrontal cortex to striatum, reducing cognitive effort
Emotional regulation	Predictability lowers amygdala activation, calming the nervous system
Resilience	Routines reinforce neuroplasticity and release dopamine for emotional persistence
Learning readiness	Routine frees working memory, allowing focus and processing of new information
Memory retention	Familiarity enables associative learning and stronger memory encoding

And it turns out, this wisdom isn’t new at all. We’ve seen it echoed across centuries, in traditions far older than neuroscience. Which brings me to something I’ve been quietly noticing:

Ancient wisdom and modern science may not be so different after all.

Wisdom Across Time: Ancient Practices, Modern Brains

Before neuroscience had names for habit loops or neural pathways, humans understood the power of repetition through something deeper: practice.

Across cultures and centuries, routine wasn’t seen as boring.

It was sacred.

It was anchoring.

It was a way of coming home to yourself—again and again.

In Stoic philosophy, repetition and rhythm were considered essential to moral clarity and mental discipline. Musonius Rufus wrote, Life without a design is erratic. Epictetus reminded us: Walking is learned by walking, and running by running. In their view, habits weren’t restrictions—they were training for the soul.

(Source: Daily Stoic – How to Overcome Procrastination Based on Ancient Philosophy)

What they practiced, modern neuroscience now explains:

The more we repeat a behavior, the more it shifts into automatic neural pathways, freeing the mind for higher-order thinking and emotional regulation.

(Source: BrainFacts – Habits 101: The Neuroscience Behind Routine)

Similarly, in Buddhist and Taoist traditions, daily rituals and rhythmic practices were designed to bring people back to presence.

Meditation, breathwork, chanting—these weren’t distractions from real life.

They were life.

A way of regulating emotion, expanding awareness, and maintaining balance in the face of change.

(Source: Talk Third Space – How to Build a Resilient Future Using Ancient Wisdom)

Today, we see this mirrored in neuroscience: Mindfulness practices increase metacognitive awareness and calm the amygdala, creating the emotional safety necessary for learning and transformation.

(Source: NSW Education – Metacognition: A Key to Unlocking Learning,  LinkedIn – Ancient Wisdom, Modern Science)

Whether in the quiet of a Stoic morning ritual or the breath-focused presence of a Buddhist monk, these practices share a common message:

Discipline is not punishment. It is care.

And routine is not monotony.

It is medicine.

The more I explored, the more I realized: these weren’t separate paths—science and wisdom.

They were two lenses through which humans have always made sense of challenge, rhythm, and return.

“Adaptability through balance” may sound like a Taoist phrase—but it’s also what modern neuroscience defines as neuroplasticity.

(Source: Dr. Anu Patel – Neuroscience Meets Wisdom )

And once I saw that, something softened in me. I no longer had to choose between being reflective and being structured. Between ancient ritual and modern tools. Between routine and freedom.

They all belong. And maybe—they always did.

Wisdom in Rhythm: Where Ancient Practice Meets Modern Science

Core Principle	Ancient Wisdom	Modern Science
Repetition builds clarity	Walking is learned by walking.– Epictetus	Repetition shifts behavior to the striatum, freeing up cognitive energy
Routine creates resilience	Rituals cultivate inner balance (Taoism, Buddhism)	Routines regulate emotion, support neuroplasticity and recovery
Focus needs rhythm	Breathwork and mindfulness sharpen attention and presence	Mindfulness calms the amygdala and supports metacognitive learning
Freedom is rooted in structure	Life without a design is erratic. – Musonius Rufus	Predictable routines improve memory and focus by reducing cognitive load

A New Definition of Routine: Beyond Productivity

So, when I saw how clearly ancient wisdom aligned with what science is only now beginning to map, I felt a quiet kind of awe. And that feeling—like recognition more than revelation—shifted something in me. The way I held structure. The way I spoke to myself about consistency. The way I stopped measuring everything by output.

Because I stopped thinking of routine only as a tool for productivity or performance. And I started seeing it as something quieter. More human. More sacred.

We’ve spent so long tying routine to productivity—as if its only value lies in what it helps us achieve. But what if routine isn’t about becoming better? What if it’s about becoming more whole?

Over time, I began to strip away the pressure to be efficient, to perform, to meet someone else’s version of balanced. And in that space, I started to see routine not as a system to perfect, but as a companion. A rhythm that holds me when the world feels shaky. A returning place.

I used to think routine was about consistency. Now I believe it’s about safety too. It’s about creating a familiar doorway into the present moment—a soft bridge between chaos and calm.

For me, routine lives in the smallest things: a warm drink before the rest of the house wakes up. The same book at bedtime. A short journaling pause between calls. A walk, not for exercise or metrics, but for softness—for feeling the ground beneath my feet.

None of this is about doing things perfectly. It’s about coming back—again and again—to what helps me feel like myself. And that, I believe, is a far more useful definition.

So much of this redefinition—the way I now see routine not as performance, but as presence—became clear in theory.

But it wasn’t until I was in the rawness of grief that I understood it in practice.

Because when everything else was stripped away, the only thing that made sense anymore was rhythm.

The kind I didn’t have to invent.

The kind that was already there.

Waiting for me to return.

The Grief Layer – What Returning to the Familiar Showed Me

Grief rearranges everything.

It unravels what you thought was stable. It scrambles your sense of time, distorts your thoughts, and fills the air with a kind of silence you didn’t know was possible.

When my mother passed away suddenly, I didn’t have a goodbye. I didn’t have a script.

But I had one thing: rhythm.

In the days after, I returned—gently, hesitantly—to the routines I already knew.

A short walk with my son. A familiar coffee cup. Reading the same story again. Visiting the same library corner.

None of it made the grief disappear.

But it held me.

And only later did I learn that what I was instinctively doing had a neurobiological name.

Grief activates the brain’s threat response systems—including the amygdala—and depletes cognitive resources. Predictable routines lower this activation, automating tasks through the striatum, and free up the mental space needed to process emotional pain.

(Sources: How to Heal From Traumatic Grief, The Neuroscience Behind Routine, The Importance of Routine in Learning)

In other words, I wasn’t just keeping busy. My brain was finding anchors in the familiar—resetting itself around what was lost. There’s a term for this too: prediction error resolution.

Our brains build internal maps of our loved ones—their voice, their presence, their routines. When they’re suddenly gone, that map doesn’t update right away.

Routines like setting one fewer plate at meals or walking the same path without them help integrate absence into the brain’s understanding of reality. (Source: Grief, Mindfulness and Neural Predictors of Improvement in Family)

This hit me most in the mundane.

Packing our bags. Eating meals with extended family. Washing dishes in my childhood home. Each act grounded me—not because it erased the grief, but because it gave my nervous system a way to stay present inside it. Even my emotions started to shift when I included simple rituals like journaling in the evening or walking after breakfast.

These small, repetitive acts—especially when paired with reflection—engage the prefrontal cortex and reduce amygdala reactivity by 20–30%, promoting emotional regulation and resilience.

(Source: Frontiers in Human Neuroscience)

I now see that grief isn’t something we get through. It’s something we learn to live alongside.

And routine—predictable, gentle, familiar—became my co-regulator. It reminded me that while so much had changed, not everything had.

And that was enough. Enough to breathe. Enough to feel. Enough to begin again, slowly.

How Routine Supports the Grieving Brain

Routine Element	Neuroscience Insight
Morning rituals	Automates tasks via striatum, reducing cognitive load
Predictable habits	Lowers amygdala activity, calming fear and anxiety responses
Familiar environments	Helps brain resolve prediction errors, integrating the absence of a loved one
Repetitive acts (e.g. journaling, walking)	Activates prefrontal cortex, reducing emotional overwhelm
Social connection	Releases oxytocin, rebuilding connection circuits and reducing isolation

Make a Heaven From What You Have

It turns out that healing isn’t found in the big a-ha moments. Not in silent retreats. Not on mountaintops or in perfectly timed breakthroughs.

It’s tucked inside repetition. Inside the ordinary. Inside the way I slowly rebuilt myself through rhythms that asked nothing of me—only my return.

And in that slow return, I began to understand a truth I grew up hearing:

Fă-ți rai din ce ai—Make a heaven from what you have.

I used to think this saying was about contentment. Now I see it’s also about resilience.

About working with the materials life gives you—even if they’re chipped or heavy or unfinished. Especially then. Because while I spent more than five years mapping the next chapter of my work planning the pivot, sketching the vision, designing the systems— I didn’t realize that I’d actually start it in 2023.

The year my son was born. The year I whispered to myself that I wanted to be fully present in his early childhood—in those irretrievable 0 to 3 years.

I thought I was slowing down. But month by month, I was stepping deeper into the direction I had only theorized before.

And with every day I spent mothering, reflecting, watching, holding, learning—I felt it with all my senses:

This is the work. This is the path. Even if it’s hard. Even if it’s not linear. Even if I’m building it while walking it. Especially then.

But with a quiet, personal turning point.

One where I finally saw how interconnected it all was.

• Motherhood
• Learning
• Grief
• Routine
• Self-awareness
• Metacognition
• Safety
• And growth

This is what I write about. This is what I teach. And this—perhaps more than anything—is what I live.

So if you find yourself in a season that feels repetitive, uneventful, or too quiet to count as progress…

Let this be your reminder:

Sometimes the boring is what saves us

I’ll be here, in the rhythm of the ordinary—writing, learning, returning. When you’re ready, come sit with me again.