The Pause That Saved Us

Sometimes life just tosses you into the deep end—no warning, no buildup. Just you, the moment, and whatever it’s here to teach you.

This morning, I was deep in my ritual—barefoot at the back edge of my land, where it meets hundreds of acres of wild. Breathing deep. Birds overhead. Dogs weaving in and out of the trees, scouting the woods with that blend of purpose and play they carry so naturally. Everything was still. Or so I thought.

Then—crash. Snapping branches. Too close.

Georgie burst out of the trees like he’d been launched. Right behind him—impossibly fast—a full-grown doe, locked in and chasing like a predator.

I froze. My brain scrambled to make sense of what I was seeing. Then Frankie charged in—no hesitation. She saw her little brother in trouble and didn’t think twice.

The doe reared up and came down on Frankie, hooves flying. It was fierce. Terrifying. I screamed “Stop it!” as loud as I could. Frankie hit the ground, and the doe kept striking—repetitive, sharp, almost like boxing. It wasn’t fear. This was a mother in protection mode.

I had nothing but a leash in my hand and panic in my chest. So I swung it above my head, flailed my arms, robe flying. I shouted like a banshee, desperate to break the spell. The deer turned toward me, head low.

For one breathless second, I thought she might charge.

Frankie froze. I froze. A standoff—three creatures locked in instinct, waiting to see what the other would do.

Then the doe turned, looked back—likely toward her fawn. She was done. She’d made her point. And she chose to walk away.

Frankie’s scraped up, and she’ll be sore, but she’s okay. Georgie’s quiet now, blissfully unaware of how close he came to real danger. And me? I’m hoarse. A little shaken. But deeply, deeply relieved.

Still, what I keep circling back to isn’t the fear—it’s the pause. Right in the center of all that wild instinct, there was a moment of stillness. A choice. Even the deer felt it.

Instinct protects us. But it’s wisdom that tells us when to stop. When to let go. When to walk away.

That kind of knowing—the wisdom to choose peace—it doesn’t just live in humans. It lives in all of us, wild or domestic, furred or barefoot. You just have to be still enough to hear it. And brave enough to follow.