The Middle Is Not a Passive Place, and Kindness as a Route Back

Have You Ever Felt Like You Left Your Centre?

There are moments in life when something subtle—but unmistakable—happens.
You’re still here… but not quite here.

I remember one of the first times I felt it.

As a child, sitting in a chair while my father spoke to me—gently, but with a kind of disappointment that landed heavier than anger ever could. He wasn’t harsh. That almost made it harder. My sister and I cared deeply about his trust, and in that moment, I could feel it waver.

As I sat there listening to his… reckoning, I felt something strange.

It was as if my body dropped. Not physically—but perceptually.
Like I had sunk a foot or two below the chair.

Dense. Low. Far from my heart. Far from my head.

I even looked around, slowly, to make sure I hadn’t actually slipped through the seat.

And somewhere inside that moment, I understood something without having the language for it:

I could not hold what was happening in him,
and what was happening in me,
at the same time.

So… I left.

What Does It Mean to “Leave Your Centre”?

Over the years, I’ve seen this again and again—not just in myself, but in others.

People shift.

• Some move forward—almost out ahead of themselves
• Some fall back—retreating behind their own experience
• Some tilt to the side—disorganized, scattered
• Some lift high into the head—disconnected from the body
• Some drop low—heavy, withdrawn, hard to mobilize

It’s not dramatic. It’s often quiet. But it changes everything.

Imagine a ball rolling forward with its weight unevenly distributed.
It doesn’t travel cleanly. It veers. It compensates.

We do the same.

So What Is the Centre?

The centre is not a fixed point in the body.

It’s not just your core muscles.
Not just your pelvis.
Not just your breath.

The centre is a relationship.

A dynamic place where:

• front body and back body are in conversation
• head, heart, and pelvis are not competing
• feet are included in the sense of “me”
• breath is moving, not managed
• past and future are not pulling you out of the present

It’s where you are gathered enough to respond,
but not braced.

The Middle Is Not Passive

For a long time, I’ve worked with a simple inner image:

To move forward…
all of me must come with me.

Not ahead.
Not behind.
Not split.

There’s a place—right in the middle of experience—
between past and future,
between doing and bracing,
between effort and collapse.

And to settle there can feel… surprisingly vulnerable.

Because you’re no longer leaning on compensation.

But something else happens there too:

You become more responsive.
More precise.
Stronger in a quieter way.

And—importantly—kinder.

A Thread from the Yoga Sutras

In my recent study with Orit Sen-Gupta, we explored a sutra from Chapter 3 of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali:

III.24 – Maitryādīṣu balāni
Cultivating qualities like friendliness generates strength.

Not force. Not effort.
Strength.

This is profound when we consider the centre.

Because when we are not centred, we often compensate with effort, control, or withdrawal.

But friendliness—especially toward ourselves—has a regulating effect on the nervous system.

It widens our capacity to stay.

A Different Doorway: Friendliness Instead of Compassion

I had a recent conversation with a dear yoga-nerd friend about this very sutra.

We were circling around the word friendliness—maitri—and how it lands in the body.

At first, it feels close to compassion. They sit in the same family.
But as we stayed with it, something clearer emerged.

Compassion, as we often use it, can carry a subtle forward motion.

A reaching.
A doing.
An attempt to be compassionate.

And if that doesn’t come easily?

There can be a quiet self-judgment layered underneath:
Why can’t I feel compassion right now?

That effort—however well-intended—can pull us slightly out of ourselves.
Forward. Trying. Organizing a response.

But kindness…

Kindness feels different.

Kindness doesn’t reach.
It softens.

It doesn’t ask you to do something noble or elevated.
It allows you to stay where you are—even if where you are is messy, reactive, uncertain.

Kindness says:

You can be here.

And in that permission, something reorganizes.

Kindness as a Way Back to Centre

If we think about centre as that place where we are not pulled too far forward or dropped too far back, kindness becomes incredibly practical.

Because it doesn’t move us away from ourselves.

It brings us closer.

When you are scattered, kindness gathers.
When you are bracing, kindness softens.
When you are withdrawn, kindness warms just enough to keep you in contact.

It doesn’t fix.
It doesn’t perform.

It allows.

And that allowing is often what the nervous system has been waiting for.

Less Doing, More Staying

This is where the sutra becomes quietly radical.

Yoga Sutras of Patanjali III.24 points to the idea that cultivating friendliness builds strength.

Not because we are doing something impressive—
but because we are no longer abandoning ourselves in the moment.

Kindness reduces the internal friction.

It removes the extra layer of:

• pushing
• correcting
• judging
• fixing

And without that friction, the system can settle more easily into coherence.

Into centre.

A Small but Powerful Shift

You might notice this in a simple moment:

You feel yourself drifting—forward, back, up, or down.

Instead of trying to “correct” yourself or even trying to feel compassion…

What if you offered something quieter:

A small kindness.

Not a statement.
Not a solution.

Just a softening in how you are holding the moment.

And then notice—

Does something come back online?

Does your sense of centre become a little more available?

Kindness, in this way, isn’t lesser than compassion.

It’s often the doorway.

A way of staying with yourself
long enough
for everything else to follow.

Centre and the Nervous System

From a nervous system perspective, “leaving centre” is often a shift in state:

• Forward and grasping → sympathetic activation (fight/drive)
• Dropping low or back → dorsal withdrawal (freeze/shutdown)
• Scattered or ungrounded → disorganized activation

The centre is not a perfect calm.

It’s a place where your system has enough safety and coherence to:

• sense clearly
• respond appropriately
• stay connected to yourself while engaging with the world

It’s adaptable.

Not rigid.

The Ongoing Practice

There are many ways to find your way back.

Through movement.
Through breath.
Through attention.
Through relationship.

What matters most is not staying centred at all times.

That’s not realistic.

What matters is recognizing:

When have I left?
And…
Can I return, even a little?

Because each return builds something.

Not perfection.

But capacity.

And over time, that capacity becomes something you can trust—

A centre that is not fixed,
but alive.