Breaking Old Patterns

For the first winter since we moved here, the deer have claimed our backyard as part of their nightly route.  At first, I worried about what spring might bring — the hostas, the flowers, the careful tending undone. And yet, secretly, I wanted to see them. To witness them under the bird feeders, moving quietly just thirty feet from where I sleep.

Last week, I finally did.

At 3 a.m., one clear beautiful night, I looked out and saw them — heads bent beneath the feeders, eating the scattered seed and helping themselves to what hung above. It felt magical. Sacred, even. For a few suspended minutes, I stood, aware of their nearness and the fragile boundary between wild and home. Then I slipped back under warm covers, carrying that quiet awe with me.

But here’s what has stayed with me even more than the magic:

They have carved a path through our yard. A narrow, deliberate line in the snow. Snowfall after snowfall, the path is made again — the same route, pressed firm by repetition. It does not deviate. 

And I can’t help but wonder — how are we like those deer?

How often do we follow the same well-worn paths in our own lives?

The deer return because they find what they need here: safety. Nourishment. Predictability. There is efficiency in a familiar route. Less scanning. Less decision-making. Less cognitive load.

And that matters.

Routine and stability are not weaknesses. In fact, they are essential — especially in seasons of stress, transition, or neurodivergence. Predictable paths conserve energy. They protect us.

But sometimes those same paths, once protective, quietly become limiting.  Overthinking at night leading to less sleep, over functioning leading to being burdened with too many tasks and burnout.

We may stay in a relationship that erodes us because it is familiar. Remain in a work environment that drains us because it feels known. Repeat the internal script of self-doubt because it has long been our mental thoroughfare.

What once ensured survival may no longer create nourishment.  We notice that surviving is not the same as thriving.

Change rarely begins with motivation alone. It begins with acknowledgment — with the honest recognition that something hurts. That we are not where we want to be. That we do not feel how we long to feel.  The concession that we are exhausted, distracted and possibly even disconnected, from ourselves and others.

From that awareness, a new path can emerge.

Our brains are not fixed. They are adaptive. They rewire in response to intention and repeated action. But first, we must know who we are now — not who we were at twenty, not who we had to be to survive, but who we are in this season of our lives.

Coaching is the work of noticing the paths. Of understanding why they were created — often out of wisdom and self-protection. And then gently asking: Does this route still serve you?

Sometimes thriving requires stepping out of the packed snow and tolerating the discomfort of fresh drifts. It requires more energy at first. More awareness. More courage.

But it may also lead somewhere more nourishing.

So I’ll leave you with this:

What well-worn path are you walking — and is it still taking you where you want to go?

If you’re ready to explore that question with support, I’d be honored to walk alongside you. Together, we can identify the patterns that once kept you safe and consider whether it’s time to chart a new direction — one that allows you not just to survive, but to thrive.