Gentle Change
A unique reflection—written and read by the author—on slowing down, letting change unfold, and finding the light within. Let it rise gently inside you, like dough in the morning light.
Feel the gentle change inside, the movement toward the light of invisibility.
We’re always changing—that’s for certain. One thing I’ve discovered is that when change happens too fast, it can be unsettling and painful, especially the kind we never asked for, or don't see coming.
Then again, change can often seem too slow—especially when we’ve been in pain for a long time. And you just want it to go away as fast as possible.
What's happening in the world leads me to believe that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Sometimes it’s just a repeat of an old story played again and again until people get the answers they want—or get tired of saying no.
It’s painful to watch.
I think of myself as a child who had to grow up too fast—becoming a parent to a parent. When you need to survive, you don't have time to be a kid—and appreciate the rising dough and the shape it’s taking.
You stop playing and being yourself… It just isn't safe to do so. That may seem like frills to some, but play is the work of children that helps them feel whole and alive. If you don't get it, you’re always trying to do more. It's never enough.
And in the end, you stop growing and lose your purpose—forgetting that you are enough—and you always were.
Sometimes we need to sit back and not work so hard. The same goes for therapy. We just have to play a little—and remember what that's like.
But the biggest thing we learn from play is that change is gentle. It’s like waking up a part of our body that has been injured and hiding, by stretching and holding it—just for a bit. No longer, no less—just enough to open our eyes.
It’s not for the purpose of living in the pain again or creating more—but healing it alongside the joy of knowing you’re alive.
Try it… It's not easy, but you might like it.
When you remember what it means to be alive, the veil over the Core Self begins to rise—letting in the light.
Find the light inside that is always there. Let the light of invisibility shine. When you feel it, others will too.
Then they can shine it on themselves—playing and changing from the bottom up and the inside out, until it meets the top down and finds the heart.
That's the spirit.
My friends tried to light it up in me when I played football in high school. They cheered gleefully: "Rah-rah Cecil. Rah-rah Cecil. Cecil is a rah-rah!”
I had a hard time hearing it as I was lost in the game. But now, as I slow things down in my life, I can feel the gentle stretch of my awareness toward the light.
Finally, I’ve come to see that we need to slow down and stretch a bit to wake up what has been hidden by the pain.
We can enjoy the ride, even when it gets a little bumpy—knowing that we have the capacity as humans to get to where we need to go. Otherwise, even the most dependable car will start slowing down and spinning its wheels.
Maybe then, the world will slow down, and we’ll see some real change we can trust—not just move to a warm climate and get burned by the sun or blown away by a hurricane.
Take the time to feel the change. Be gentle and kind to yourself and to others—and notice how you get more in sync with the earth, which moves slowly in a circle where the end is always a new beginning.
In the meantime, let the dough rise gently through the darkness into the light. Pain softens into presence—noticing the beauty in each imperfection and difference.
That’s everyday grace—who we are. And that’s something to cheer about.
Rah-rah, everyone. Rah-rah, everyone. We’re all a rah-rah!
Now, let’s break some bread together so we can nourish ourselves—and each other.
Thank you for this space—from my heart to yours, and back around—noticing the stretch and gentle change inside.
May something sweet and glorious rise within us all.
Gratitude: In appreciation of those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Confidentiality note: Any resemblance to your own life is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.