Whisper #7The Hidden Escape
July 1, 2025 | Safwen Daghsen, 8 min read
Last week's letter was about the restless traveller, the ache that follows the awe of discoveries.
If you didn't read that one, you can find it here.
This week's whisper is the other side of it.
The routines, the structures, the mundane aspect of life that we often complain about to friends, colleagues and every Sunday afternoon when we see Monday peeking through the window like an ugly witch grabbing you forcefully and French kissing you while you're trying to escape.
The thing about escape is that it's always justified.
Always beautified.
You escape winter for a sunny beach in Bali.
You escape your weekdays by taking revenge on them during the weekends.
Your brain keeps you awake at night, because part of you is unsatisfied with how the day went, so you scroll, binge-watch, or grab whatever you can before the day ends.
My dear reader, the need to do something can never justify doing randomly anything.
And more importantly: You can do everything right, and still feel wrong.
This is an invitation to take a breath.
Relax your shoulders.
With each whisper, my intention for you, is to dive a little bit within as I dive within myself with you.
I. The Optimized Life
The following took place 3–4 years ago, just after Covid lockdowns lifted.
Life had let out a long exhale after months of breath-holding.
My daily routine wasn't random. It was engineered. Optimized. Structured to the minute.
Friends thought it was intense. Some called it obsessive but I'll let you decide.
The idea behind it?
Freedom.
I didn't want work to control my life. So I built a schedule around what I wanted, and then plugged work into it.
At the time, I was working remotely. No strict hours. Minimal meetings.
All I needed to do was deliver.
So I did:
- 4:30 AM — wake up. Always. No exceptions.
- 4:30 to 5:00 — cold shower, espresso.
- 5:00 to 7:00 — yoga self-practice, breathwork, meditation.
- 7:00 to 8:30 — gym.
- 8:30 to 9:30 — breakfast + reading book #1.
- 9:30 to 3 or 4 — deep work.
- 4:00 to 6:00 — coffee with a friend.
- 7:00 to 8:00 — evening yoga.
- 8:00 — dinner + reading book #2.
- 9:00 PM — sleep.
Rinse. Repeat.
No Monday blues.
No Friday relief.
Weekends and Workdays alike.
Every day was mine.
The engineer in me believed this upward spiral would only lead to a better life.
More presence. More strength. More success.
And it did—until it didn't.
II. The Crack in the System
I followed that routine for nearly two years.
It was built around what I loved:
- I've loved waking up early since childhood—just to sneak cartoons before school.
- I've practiced martial arts and yoga for 17 years.
- I've always loved reading, leading teams, solving problems.
The system was filled with things I genuinely cherished.
But here's what no one tells you
Even joy, when wrapped in rigidity, becomes a cage.
If I woke up late—just once—the whole day felt ruined.
I'd miss my morning flow, skip the gym, and stress through work.
The next day, I'd go harder.
More strict. More disciplined. I'd look in the mirror and self-blame—calling it motivation.
The military voice in my head wasn't trying to punish me. It was trying to save me.
But it didn't know how to love me.
Slowly, the signs crept in:
Wrist tendinitis.
Back and neck pain.
Brain fog.
Then one day: I lost my car.
I walked into the parking. Empty.
I searched the street. Nothing.
I called security. No clue.
I sat in my regular cafe, spiraling through memory. It took me 90 minutes to remember I had left it at the bank's parking lot three days prior—and walked home to enjoy the weather.
That wasn't the only time. Another time, I called the police thinking it was stolen.
Forgetting where you parked once is human. Doing it weekly?
Something deeper was breaking down.
Eventually, my team lead forced me to take a two-week leave. I realized I hadn't taken a single day off in two years.
I was diagnosed with cognitive fatigue and burnout.
And still—my routine was perfectly optimized.
III. Burnout in Disguise
You can do everything right.
You can eat clean.
Move daily.
Meditate.
Breathe.
Read.
And still, something can feel wrong.
Because structure isn't healing. Because wellness isn't wholeness.
The whole world is shouting and screaming about how to do, but that skips the question:
Do you really want to do what you're doing?
And even more, do you even know why you're doing it?
You are not a project.
Your soul is not a checklist.
At the time, I had gone through a heartbreak.
My heart was heavy. I didn't know how to process an overwhelming Tsunami of emotions.
So I did what I knew: Close off and build a life.
A life with no time to feel.
No space to grieve.
No softness to hold the mess of it all.
And I thought I was helping myself.
I don't blame that version of me. He was doing his best.
But the heart doesn't obey optimization.
It doesn't care about routines.
It doesn't heal through suppression.
It waits.
Until your wrists give out.
Until you forget your car.
Until the stillness forces its way into your life.
I realize now I was chasing control, not connection.
Safety, not surrender.
One of the greatest people I trained under and look up to, Jon Yuen's words I always keep close whenever I notice I'm over philosophizing:
I think the most important thing to keep in mind is that structure is something we've made, and that if it doesn't work for us, then we either need to change it or get rid of it.
IV. The "Fuck It" Week
Eventually, I cracked.
I said, "Fuck it."
Slept in.
Skipped the cold shower.
Ate whatever.
It was harder than the hardest day of discipline.
Why?
Because shame rose. Because guilt whispered. Because I was no longer being the person I worked so hard to become.
But that's the point.
Productivity is not the same as healing.
Keeping busy is not the same as being okay.
Removing the routine was like removing anesthesia.
The pain came up. The sadness. The exhaustion.
And yes—my "fuck it week" spiraled into a rut.
Weeks of junk food. Skipped training. Procrastination.
But that was part of it, too.
We think dropping the routine is regression. But sometimes, it's the only way to finally hear the voice beneath the noise.
The voice that's been saying: "I'm tired of being managed. I want to be held."
And yet I went the other way around to distract myself from it by adopting the full lazy routine.
Sometimes the sacred isn't in doing—it's in undoing.
V. The Deeper Realization: Listening, Not Fixing
You see, my dear reader, the problem was never the 4:30 AM alarm.
It was the reason behind it.
Was I waking early because I loved the peace of dawn? Or because I feared being still?
Was I training daily because I loved the movement? Or because I couldn't sit with my sadness?
Or simply I loved the performance of the healthy lifestyle dude.
You can't fix a bleeding part of yourself by silencing it with cold showers and checklists.
You can't heal through punishment.
You can't find peace in performance.
These days, I still wake up early.
But it's not a whip anymore. It's an offering. A devotion.
It's no longer pressure. It's pleasure.
And Mondays? They were never the problem.
We just hated who we were on them.
Disconnected. Misaligned. Numb.
Not where we wanted ourselves to be.
So we blamed the day.
When all it did was mirror the parts of ourselves we refused to feel.
VI. The Closing Invitation
I'm reminded of something writer Louise Erdrich once said:
Life will break you.
Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning.
You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth.
You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up.
And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.
True discipline is not punishment. It's devotion.
And real devotion doesn't force — it listens.
It doesn't rush — it holds.
It doesn't control — it trusts.
So whether you wake at 4:30 AM or sleep till noon, ask yourself:
Am I doing this to escape myself?
Or to return to myself?
Because in that one question... is the whole path home.
With love and stillness,
Saf
PS: I’ve had some of the most meaningful conversations start in the DMs from these whispers. If something in this spoke to you, feel free to reach out @whisperedflow.