When Life Falls Apart: What Ayurveda Looks Like During Real Transitions

A dynamic explosion of color and chaos surrounds a central figure's expressive face, capturing a whirlwind of emotions and symbols including clocks and abstract shapes, against a vivid radial background.

We are never really ready for it.

Life happens—fast, unannounced, and sometimes with a force that cracks our routines and leaves us scattered like fallen branches. Whether it’s the loss of someone we love, the painful reshaping of home, or simply a season of uncertainty, there comes a moment when we’re asked:

How do I return to myself now?

This post wasn’t meant to be written. It emerged from the debris of recent weeks, through the dust of an unexpected house move, through the echoes of “not ready yet” echoing louder than any plans I had made. And if you’re here, sipping warm tea, maybe you’ve been there too—or maybe you are there right now.

When I decided to move closer to the city, the plan was simple: easier logistics, better balance. But life rarely listens to our linear maps. The house wasn’t finished. The timeline dissolved. My nervous system was pulled into unfamiliar terrain—transitional accommodations, a new school for my child, new people, systems, sounds. And I, a mountain-rooted, introverted soul, was asked to move at the speed of noise.

In Ayurveda during life transitions, we often see the increase of Vata dosha. And travel—moving from one city to another—is a Vata-inducing event in every way. You’re unrooting from one soil, hoping the new one is ready to receive you. But what if it’s not? What if you don’t know where you’ll land?

I grieved.Not in big, dramatic sobs.But in the quiet in-betweens. The “I’m fine” silences. The moments when I didn’t recognize the version of me that was waking up in someone else’s guest room, again.

As someone who teaches Ayurvedic routine and structure—Dincharya—I can tell you this:

I didn’t follow it.

Not because I didn’t believe in it. But because I simply couldn’t.I had no space. No kitchen. No bath. No privacy. I had no bandwidth left to oil my body or cook the perfect tri-doshic meal.

But I didn’t forget. I didn’t abandon my body.I chose the smallest, kindest steps I could take—every time I had a minute to meet myself.

That’s the beauty of Ayurveda during life transitions—it doesn’t demand perfection. It invites presence. Small acts become sacred when done in times of disarray.

I oiled my body some mornings, even if I skipped it at night when the exhaustion and sadness were too dense to touch.I chose warm cooked food wherever I went—even if that meant meat in a restaurant after nearly a decade of vegetarianism.I ordered warm water or tea instead of cold, even if it wasn’t on the menu.I walked, a lot. Sometimes barefoot. Sometimes lost. Always carrying a yoga mat with me, just in case.

I drank turmeric milk when I could.Matcha when I needed.And coffee—yes, even coffee—because survival sometimes requires fuel. I added butter or oil to soften its blow, never on an empty stomach. That was my rule. That was my boundary with chaos.

I took Haritaki tablets to keep my digestion alive. I massaged oil into my ears, nose, and mouth when my body screamed for grounding. I whispered "not today" to stress through these small acts.

These weren’t routines. They were rituals of remembrance.

I didn’t have candles. I didn’t have affirmations.But I had myself, barely—but still there.

This is why Ayurveda is not a rigid to-do list. It is a way of relating to life. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about being in presence, no matter the weather of your world.

If you’re in the middle of your own transition, I hope this doesn’t sound like advice. It’s not. It’s a hand on your shoulder. A voice saying:

“You don’t have to do it all. But don’t forget yourself.”

When the world pulls you into chaos, choose the smallest things that anchor you.

Even one sip of warm water.Even skipping that second coffee.Even remembering to breathe before you react.

And if you want to understand your unique energy better, if you're curious about your own Vata tendencies and how your system reacts to stress, this post about the three doshas might be a good place to begin.

Or, if your digestion disappears under stress (like mine does), read this piece about Agni—the Ayurvedic fire within.

Or if spring's heaviness is sitting in your chest, start here, with Kapha season.

You’re not broken. You’re in transition. And transitions aren’t meant to be clean. They’re meant to be honest.

Come back slowly. Come back gently. But come back, when you’re ready.

You’re still here. That’s the most powerful thing.

Best of me,

E.T.

For those of you new to this place and to the overall concept of Ayurveda, this is India’s oldest medicine system. It originated more than 5000 years ago and promotes holistic well-being by balancing the mind, body, and spirit. It recognizes three primary doshas—Vata, Pitta, and Kapha—unique energy types that influence our physical and mental makeup. By understanding these doshas and their imbalances, Ayurveda offers personalized guidance on diet, lifestyle, and herbal remedies to restore harmony and vitality. If you want me to help you with that, or to assist you on your journey towards a healthier version of you, I am just one message away.