I began meditating several years ago, around the same time I was trying to take more ownership of my colitis and my health. Yoga came first — initially as a way to lose weight and regain some sense of control. Meditation followed, largely as an attempt to reduce anxiety.

I had an image in my head: sitting in a quiet garden, breathing calmly, clearing my mind, stress dissolving.

That is not what happened.

Despite the books, the guided meditations, the YouTube videos — nothing prepared me for the reality of sitting still with my own thoughts.

It frustrated me.

I would finish my yoga practice, sit down with good intentions, focus on my breath — and then everything arrived at once. Thoughts, feelings, reminders, accusations. All demanding attention.

You need to do the washing.
Did you pick up the mail?
Have you prepared for tomorrow’s meeting?
Why are you even trying this?
What will people think if they find out you meditate?

Inside my head it felt like a race — a scramble for attention. Tomorrow’s worries. Yesterday’s mistakes. And threaded through it all, anxiety and self-doubt. Not subtle. Not quiet.

None of these thoughts were meaningless. The washing did need doing. The meeting mattered. Feeding my family mattered. What troubled me were the other voices — the ones pulling me into fear, embarrassment, and the need to justify myself.

So is this normal?

I don’t know.

I can only speak from my own experience. But I did start asking others. A simple question: Do you meditate?
Most answered some version of “I tried, but it wasn’t for me.”

Why?
Because it was too difficult.
Because they couldn’t clear their mind.
Because they felt stupid.

The answers mirrored my own experience.

The problem

Years later, a colleague noticed my tattoo — ॐ नमः शिवाय — and asked what it meant. We talked about meditation. Then he said, almost exasperated:

“I can’t meditate. It’s too difficult. Sit here. Clear your mind. Clear my mind?! What?”

Without thinking, I replied:
“It’s bullshit.”

I surprised both of us.

What I meant — and what only became clear as I spoke — was this: we’ve overcomplicated meditation to the point of making it inaccessible. Cushions, candles, incense, postures, apps, rules. It becomes institutionalised. Performative. Something you’re supposed to do correctly.

Meditation isn’t that.

It’s simply sitting with yourself, about yourself, for yourself.

You cannot sit down for the first time and expect your mind to go quiet. When you sit, your mind resists. It distracts you. It pulls you toward fear and reassurance in equal measure. That is not failure. That is the beginning.

Meditation isn’t about instant calm or reaching some imagined state of peace. It’s about creating space to notice your thoughts, acknowledge them, and slowly learn not to be ruled by them.

Keep it simple

You don’t need the extras. They can be helpful, but only if you don’t become attached to them.

So the advice I offered — and still offer myself — is simple:

Sit down.
Quietly.
Let the thoughts arrive.
Notice them.
Then place them to one side and remind yourself: this is my time.

Repeat.

I was helped by two simple ideas. One from Andy Puddicombe, who described thoughts as clouds passing across the sky. Let them come. Let them pass.
Another from Koi Fresco, who put it more bluntly:
“Just sit and listen.”

That’s it.

There is no magic posture. No incense. No technique that bypasses the work. You start where you are. You sit. You listen. The thoughts will come hard at first — like water pouring from a jug — then, slowly, they lose their force.

If you sit for thirty seconds, that’s time well spent.
If you sit for ten seconds, that’s still time well spent.

Return tomorrow. Sit again.

Over time, you’ll notice something shift. The thoughts still appear, but they no longer control you. They’re present, but distant. You’re no longer inside them.

I’ve practiced meditation and yoga for many years now, and I still learn from it. I get it right some days, wrong on others. The point is not perfection. It’s returning.

Congratulate yourself for starting.
Keep it gentle.
There are no wrong lengths of time.
You are not failing because it’s difficult.

You’re doing it because it is.