Irritation: The Underrated Invitation Back to Self

The Glow and the Grit: Returning to Yourself When the Light Fades

There was a moment, not long ago, when I felt like I had swallowed the sun.

I had just come back from a Dr. Joe Dispenza retreat, and everything in me felt wide open—my chest, my heart, my awareness. My nervous system was humming in perfect rhythm. I was soft, grateful, clear. There was no rush to fix or prove anything. Just a deep exhale into my own being.

I call it the Dr. Joe Glow. That post-retreat clarity where life feels like it has cracked wide open and gently whispered, You were never broken.

I was floating. Smiling at strangers in the airport like they were all part of some great reunion of souls. Everything pulsed with possibility. Nothing felt personal. It was blissfully impersonal—the way truth often is.

And then—48 hours later—I found myself wanting to throw my phone into the canyon and scream at a houseplant.

Not because anything huge happened. But because life came back. Uninvited.

 

When the Glow Meets the Grit

It started small. Someone dropping by to “just say hi,” like I hadn’t just spent days dissolving layers of self and story. Then my partner, lovingly but firmly, started asking logistics about our upcoming move—a move I was already resisting on a soul level.

And suddenly, I couldn’t answer a single question without short-circuiting.

Then came the full wave: humans. Texts. Errands. Expectations. People being people.

Not slowing down. Not sensing the space I had just emerged from.

I could feel myself shrinking by the hour. The very state I had just spent days releasing? It came flooding back.

And the worst part?

I knew it was happening.

That awareness—so hard-won—was now watching me tighten. I saw myself falling out of coherence, out of clarity, out of that sacred softness I had fought so gently for.

 

Irritation Isn’t a Problem. It’s a Portal.

Here’s the thing I’ve learned: the glow isn’t the point. The return is.

We think coming back down means we did something wrong. That the glow has vanished because we didn’t do enough breathwork or mantras or palo santo cleanses or crystals on the forehead or magnesium baths.

But irritation isn’t failure. It’s feedback. It’s our system whispering, *"Something’s off. Come back to me."

It used to send me into a spiral of shame. How did I lose it so fast? Now, I try to see it as a breadcrumb trail back to myself.

Not always gracefully. But more gently than before.

 

What Helped Me Return This Time

I didn’t reach for a fix. I didn’t numb or scroll. I did three things:

🟢 I walked. No phone. No podcast. No agenda. Just me and the land. The wind clearing what I couldn’t. Letting the soles of my feet remember who I am.

I remember passing a grove of cottonwoods, their leaves shimmering like little silver bells. I noticed the weight of the sun on my shoulders, the particular way the earth smelled after a sprinkler had just passed over it. At one point, a crow flew overhead and let out a single cry, and it felt like a punctuation mark on something I hadn't yet found the words for. There was no performance in that walk. Just presence. Just the kind of quiet that lets your nervous system come home.

🟢 I let myself be irritated. I didn’t spiritualize it. I didn’t try to reframe it. I let it move through me like a storm that had every right to be there. I whispered, This is where I am. And it’s okay.

For me, irritation often lands as a buzz under my skin—tight jaw, shallow breath, a kind of prickly restlessness that makes it hard to stay in my own body. But this time, I stayed. I sat with the buzz. Let the edges be sharp without trying to soften them. I didn’t meditate. I didn’t reach for meaning. I just let myself be a woman with a storm in her chest and nowhere to put it. And in that, I found a strange kind of relief.

🟢 I touched my body. Warm oil on my legs. Gentle hand on my heart and the other in loving embrace on my womb. Because sometimes, the most powerful return is not to spirit—but to skin.

 

Coming Back Isn’t Weakness. It’s Wisdom.

We talk about growth like it’s a ladder. Like we’re meant to stay high, hold the field, keep ascending.

But maybe the truer path is the spiral. Maybe it’s not about how long we stay in the glow—but how kindly we come back when we fall.

What if coming back down isn’t a fall at all? What if it’s an invitation?

To tend. To anchor. To practice what we remembered. To respond differently to the challenges in our life. And to reduce the reaction time. Because integration isn’t about staying light. It’s about learning to hold both the glow and the grit.

 

If You’re Snapping, Sighing, or Side-Eyeing Everyone Right Now…

You’re not failing. You’re not broken. You’re just transitioning.

And yes, you can come back. Not because you forced yourself to. But because you remembered to.

The glow is real. The grit is too.

And you, my love, are allowed to hold both.