Do I trust my instincts? 🤔
This post explores the fragile courage of listening to intuition as ritual, memory, and myth.
Sometimes the world wants logic, math, and proof. But deep down, there’s something quieter, older, and tougher to put your finger on: instinct.
Instinct isn’t the opposite of reason. It’s that deep current, the pulse that guides us when we’re lost, when words fail, when there’s no playbook yet. It’s that whisper that says “this way” even when all the signs say something else.
The Fragility of Trust
Trusting your gut isn’t easy. It means letting go, stepping into the unknown, and risking being wrong. We’re taught to doubt it, to shut it down, to swap it out for facts and what everyone else thinks. But instinct isn’t crazy. It’s memories in your body, wisdom kept hidden, the record of every move you’ve made before.
When I ask myself, Do you trust your instincts? I am really asking:
- Do I trust the part of me that remembers without words?
- Do I trust the rhythm that rises before thought?
- Do I trust the myth I am already living?
Instinct as Ritual
For me, instinct is like a ritual. It’s my hand just grabbing the right tool without even thinking. It’s my eye knowing when the light’s perfect for a photo. It’s my voice picking a word that just feels right, even if it catches me off guard.
Instinct is not blind. It is deeply attuned. It listens to silence, to shadows, to the unspoken. It is the compass of exile, the guide through memory, the bridge between the mythic and the mundane.
A Question Without an Answer
So, do I trust my instincts?
Yes. And no.
I trust them enough to follow, but not enough to stop questioning. Instinct is not a destination — it is a threshold. Each time I step across, I am reminded that trust is not certainty. It is courage.
And perhaps that is the real question: not whether we trust our instincts, but whether we trust ourselves enough to listen.
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