Peace Isn’t Something You Conquer — It’s Something You Allow

A reflection on physical, emotional, and professional extremism — and the discovery that real change doesn’t come from pushing harder, but from allowing yourself to simply be.

1. The Day I Turned Off the Screen

I was watching a documentary about a woman running the Marathon des Sables — one of the most extreme races in the world, across the Sahara Desert. She had lost a leg. She was running under a merciless sun. At one point, she collapsed. She was crying in pain.

I had to turn off the screen.

Not because of her.

Not because of the blood.

Not because of the effort. I turned it off because of what was happening inside my body. I recognized the feeling.

I felt anguish. Helplessness. And a question I couldn’t ignore: Why would we choose to keep suffering when life has already hurt enough?

I don’t judge her. Everyone has their own reasons, their own inner fire.

But that scene was a mirror.

And what struck me most wasn’t her strength.

It was that she chose the pain.

I kept thinking about it for days — about this human tendency to push ourselves to the extreme. To go further. To prove that we can.

"Life shouldn't be a collection of noise and distractions, but a symphony where each person discovers and expresses their own personal melody."

— Mario Alonso Puig

Later, at work, I felt something similar. Not in my muscles — in my mind. A kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from physical effort, but from constant thinking. From a mind that never stops. From nostalgia. From “never again.” From memories that return uninvited.

And I understood something uncomfortable: There are many ways to run in the desert.

There is physical extremism — running until you break.

Emotional extremism — forcing yourself to stay in relationships that hurt.

Productive extremism — doing, doing, doing.

Mental extremism — thinking until you are drained.

Sometimes, when pain (physical or emotional) becomes overwhelming, acceleration works like anesthesia. If I run to the limit, if I swim in ice, if I climb without a harness, the mental noise quiets down because the body enters survival mode.

But there are other extremes that are invisible.

Emotional overexertion.

Constant self-pressure.

A mind that never shuts up.

“You have to handle it.”

“Don’t slow down.”

“Don’t be weak.”

I wasn’t running in the Sahara. But for years, I lived as if I were.

Not from my body.

From my mind.

2. The Silent Extreme: Fitting In to Belong

There is another kind of extremism — quieter, more subtle. The overexertion of trying to fit in. Trying to be a certain way in order to receive love, approval, or safety.

In my own story, those mandates came from family. But they can be social. Cultural. Staying inside the mold in order to belong.

Because deep down, the logic is simple and brutal:

If I am like this, they will love me.

If I achieve this, I will be worthy.

If I fit in, I will be safe.

And that’s where overexertion begins.

The character begins.

The tension begins.

The disconnection begins.

The key, I believe, is not fitting in — but discovering who we truly are. And when that happens, something softens. Tension lowers. Anxiety loosens its grip. Fear transforms into something gentler.

A knowing appears that doesn’t need explanation.

An invisible language that runs through the veins.

An inner coherence that doesn’t need applause.

For me, that language exists.

It doesn’t speak in shouts.

It speaks in sensations.

But overexertion doesn’t always show up in relationships.

Sometimes it shifts. It stops calling itself “love” and starts calling itself “vocation.”

It stops seeking emotional approval and starts seeking professional validation.

The mechanism is the same. Only the disguise changes.

3. The Trap of the Ideal Job

Recently, I was talking to a friend who is going through a career crisis. Trapped in a job that has been draining her for a long time. She feels like she’s fulfilling expectations — but she can’t breathe.

As I listened to her, I felt the same knot in my stomach I felt watching that documentary.

Because I’ve been there.

We were sold a powerful and seductive idea:

“Do what you love.”

“Live from your passion.”

“Go all in.”

And although it sounds inspiring, it can also become another form of extremism.

I spent years chasing that formula.

I read books. Watched interviews. Listened to podcasts.

I quit without a plan B. I jumped into the void more than once.

Convinced that if I found that one thing, I would finally feel at peace.

But now I can see it more clearly.

Many times, it wasn’t passion driving me.

It was anxiety.

It was fear of falling behind.

It was the need to prove that I could.

Life is not work.

My happiness is not a professional destination.

It is not in a title. Not even in a personal project.

My happiness is a state of presence.

I had to unlearn the idea that I need to force an outcome in order to be someone.

I had to unlearn that my worth depends on producing something extraordinary.

To my friend — and to myself — I say: there is no need to panic.

You can trust.

You can walk more slowly.

You can find meaning without living with your foot on the accelerator.

The key is not finding the perfect job.

The key is not losing yourself in the search.

Because when you know who you are, work becomes just a stage.

And the melody — the one that needs no applause — you carry it with you.

4. When the Body Stops Running

When you stop pushing yourself, at first, there is emptiness.

Silence.

Discomfort.

A strange feeling of “what do I do now?”

Because we were used to the noise.

But if you stay with that silence… something else appears.

The body regulates.

Breathing slows down.

The mind stops screaming.

And you begin to realize you were never your effort.

You were the one underneath it.

Today, I am no longer running in an invisible Sahara.

I walk.

Sometimes I doubt.

Sometimes I get tired.

But I no longer push myself until I break.

I understood something simple — and revolutionary:

I don’t need to prove anything in order to deserve rest.

Not everything valuable is born from sacrifice.

Strength is not always about moving forward. Sometimes, it is about stopping.

My worth does not depend on effort.

It depends on my presence.

And peace — the one I searched for outside for so long —

is not conquered.

It is allowed.