The Dance of Gathering: a Practice in Joy, Discomfort, and Self-Compassion

The season of gatherings is beginning to blossom—ads for holiday décor fill our screens, IG reels swirl with decadent desserts, Evites glide into our inboxes, and even Priya Parker reminds us of The Art of Gathering. Yet, I’ve found myself moving through it all with mixed emotions.

There’s a certain sweetness in reconnecting—the anticipation of seeing friends, getting all dolled up, the simple joy of being in togetherness.

And then there are the moments that bring hesitation: when the knots start to surface, or the breath catches in the chest before arriving. The quiet wondering—will this time feel different, or will old dynamics quietly resurface?

During our October Sister Circle at Myna Yoga, Jasmin shared a reflection that has stayed with me.

Many of us move through our days not fully present, but stuck in survival states of fight, flight, freeze, or appease. These responses were once our body’s way of protecting us from harm. They kept us safe. But when we stay in them for too long, they become the lens through which we experience life, relationships, and even ourselves.

Her words landed deeply. They reminded me that even in moments of joy, our bodies sometimes carry old stories of protection. I began to notice how often my body braces before certain gatherings. The smile is there, the warmth is there, but underneath, there's a quiet readiness to flee or retreat. That's been my survival response, my body's way of keeping me safe.

Most of us were never taught how to sit with or process feelings like vulnerability, shame, or the ache of not feeling seen or good enough. During the holidays, when we’re surrounded by expectations of joy and connection, these emotions often hum quietly beneath the surface. But acknowledging our vulnerability is not weakness—it’s an invitation. Through mindfulness and breath, we begin to release the body’s quiet tension and teach ourselves that it can be safe to feel and accept.

The Energetics of Gathering

Gatherings hold many layers. For introverts, they can be overstimulating, a swirl of sound and conversation that leaves the nervous system craving pratyahara, the yogic turning inward. For extroverts, the challenge can look different, the unspoken expectation to sustain energy, to keep the room alive, to carry the joy for everyone.

Both experiences are valid. Both are deeply human.

In yoga, we practice sahaj—a state of natural ease, where we meet life as we are, without the effort to perform. On the mat, we embody sthira sukham asanam—steadiness and ease within a pose. Off the mat, this means allowing joy and discomfort to coexist, noticing when we contract and when we soften, and remembering that both are sacred.

after the Gathering: The Quiet of Self-Doubt

Sometimes, the most difficult part of a gathering comes after it’s over. On the drive home or as we lie in bed, the mind begins to replay the small moments.

Did I say too much? Was I too quiet? Did I seem distracted? Was I unkind in my words?

These thoughts can spiral into self-criticism or guilt. Even though the gathering has ended, our body may still be in a protective state—trying to flee from discomfort, to outrun the feeling of not being enough.

This is where the practice of Metta—loving-kindness—becomes my anchor. The Buddha’s teaching reminds us to begin with compassion for ourselves, and then let it ripple outward:

May I be happy. May I be well. May I be safe. May I be peaceful and at ease.

Repeating these words is like placing a warm hand over the heart. They soften the edges of self-doubt and remind us that presence—imperfect, human, tender—is always enough.

Once we’ve offered compassion to ourselves, we can gently extend the same loving-kindness to others—especially those who may stir difficulty within us.

May you be happy. May you be well. May you be safe. May you be peaceful and at ease.

Sometimes during loving-kindness meditation, feelings such as anger, grief, or sadness may arise. Take these to be signs that your heart is softening, revealing what has been held there.

The Practice of Gathering

Gathering, like yoga, is a practice. Some gatherings leave our hearts light and full, others leave us exhausted and vulnerable. Both offer wisdom. Each offers an invitation, to notice, to breathe, and to meet ourselves where we are.

When you find yourself in a challenging moment, notice how your body responds. Do you fight—defend or engage? Do you flee—shut down or leave early? Do you freeze—feel stuck or unsure? Or do you appease—smile and agree, even when it doesn’t feel true?

I’ve come to see that my own patterned response in uncomfortable moments is often flight, and when I can’t leave, I hide. It’s subtle—staying busy, tending to my children, clearing plates. For a long time, I didn’t even notice it. Now, I try to catch it with compassion.

When I notice that urge to retreat, I pause. I take a slow breath and remind myself: I am safe. I belong.

This small act of awareness shifts something inside—it reminds my body that presence doesn’t mean perfection, it simply means staying with what is.

Returning to Presence

Gathering is not about getting it right—it’s about connecting. It’s about meeting each moment, and each person, with as much presence as our nervous system can hold.

There will be times when we contract, moments when we feel ourselves pulling away, or when old patterns whisper that we don’t belong. And yet, this too is part of the dance.

The practice is to notice the rhythm—the ebb and flow of connection—and to offer ourselves tenderness as we move through it.

So this season, may you gather with curiosity, gentleness, and care for your own heart. When you feel yourself wanting to fight, flee, freeze, or appease, pause. Breathe. Remind yourself—you are safe, you belong, and your presence, exactly as it is, is enough.

Maheen's Family at the Pumpkin Patch

Sharing joy and gratitude from my family to yours!