HELP! I’m Stuck on a Cliff! … Or Am I?

The other day while I was at work, I set my trusty robot vacuum to do its usual rounds – because let’s be honest, if it doesn’t vacuum the house, there’s a solid chance it won’t get done until the dust bunnies unionize.

I love that little vacuum. It dutifully rolls around the house, scooting under chairs and making gentle collisions with table legs like a drunken sailor at a pub. It’s not fast, and it’s not perfect, but it tries. And that’s basically my entire life philosophy these days.

Anyway, I was deep into my work when my phone buzzed with a notification:

Excuse me?

We live in a bungalow. A very flat, single-story, no bluffs-in-sight kind of home. The only cliffs in this house are emotional ones (usually around 3 PM when I want chocolate, or a nap). There are no stairs. No ledges. No danger zones that could reasonably be described as a cliff.

I laughed out loud and shook my head. Then I paused.

Because … wow. That message felt familiar. 

When the “Cliff” is in Your Head

That little robot got me thinking. How often have I told myself I’m stuck?

Not physically, but emotionally. Creatively. Mentally. Like I’m standing on the edge of something big – some change I want to make – and I can’t seem to move forward. It feels like there’s a drop-off right in front of me. Like the next step might be dangerous or irreversible. So I freeze. I back away. Or I just keep spinning in circles, hoping clarity will show up – preferably  with coffee.

Lately, writing has felt like that. I’ll get a flash of a brilliant idea or one great line, and then… nothing. Total blank. I’ll sit with my fingers on the keyboard or pen poised, convinced I’ve broken some internal switch. I’ll reread the same sentence seventeen times. I’ll rearrange words like they’re puzzle pieces. I’ll write some absolute crap in the hopes of finding the thread of brilliance.

And that familiar little voice shows up:

“You’re stuck. You can’t do this. You’ve lost it.”

But have I?

Or am I just standing on a rug and calling it a cliff?

We Think We’re in Danger, But We’re Not

Here’s the thing about our brains: they’re doing their best to keep us safe. They are ancient little machines wired to detect threats – real or imagined. And unfortunately, they’re not great at distinguishing between actual danger (like, say, a bear or a rattlesnake out here in the woods) and modern discomfort (like starting a new project – or deciding what to make for dinner).

So when we face uncertainty or challenge, the brain goes into high alert:

• “This could go badly!”
• “What if people think you’re ridiculous?”
• “If you start and can’t finish, that’ll feel awful. Better not start at all.”

Sound familiar?

We label these moments as “being stuck” when really, we’re just unsure. Or afraid. Or tired. Or overdue for a snack. Our nervous systems are responding like it’s a life-or-death situation, when in reality, we’re just trying to write a paragraph. Or change a habit. Or speak an honest truth out loud.

We’re not on a cliff. We’re in our living rooms, on a relatively flat rug, with a brain that’s being just a little too dramatic.

The Cliff is an Illusion

Most of what we call cliffs are really just perspective problems. We don’t know what’s next, so we assume it’s dangerous. Or final. Or unfixable.

But uncertainty is not danger.

A blank page is not danger.

A hard conversation is not danger (well, not usually anyway).

Change is not danger.

Discomfort? Maybe. Stretching? Absolutely! But we are so much sturdier than we think. We’re often still standing on solid ground – we’ve just convinced ourselves we’re one step away from disaster.

And when that anxiety or fear takes over, it doesn’t matter how much logic we throw at it. The nervous system needs something gentler. Softer. A reset.

Here’s a Thought: What If You’re Actually Fine?

The next time you feel yourself slipping into “I’m stuck” or “This is impossible” mode, pause and ask:

Am I actually in danger? Or am I just overwhelmed, uncertain, or afraid of doing it wrong?

Because if it’s not life-threatening, you’re likely okay. You might not feel great in the moment – but you’re okay. The ground is still solid beneath your feet. Your heart is still beating. The sun came up again today, and you have permission to try, to wobble, to figure it out one small step at a time.

Try a Reset (No, Really)

Sometimes the best thing you can do when you feel stuck isn’t to “push through.” It’s to pause. Breathe. Back up the robot vacuum of your mind and give it a moment to reset.

Take a walk. Make a cup of tea. Stare out the window for a few minutes. Not to escape – but to remember that you’re not actually on the edge of anything dangerous. You’re just in the middle of figuring something out. That’s allowed.

You’re allowed to not know yet.

You’re allowed to fumble.

You’re allowed to take a break without quitting.

Just like the robot, you might not be malfunctioning, you might just be… positioned awkwardly. Or looking too closely at the same corner over and over.

So… Where Was My Robot?

When I got home, I went searching for my brave little explorer to see what kind of epic terrain it had encountered.

I found it peacefully perched on the edge of the doormat by the patio door. Not in distress. Not teetering. Just stuck. Quietly. Maybe it paused to take in the view of the backyard. Maybe it just needed a moment to recalibrate. (Don’t we all?)

I picked it up, put it back on its dock and let it recharge. The next day, off it went again, like nothing ever happened.

And honestly? That’s exactly what I needed too.

Final Thought: You’re Not Helpless, and You’re Not on a Cliff

We all have “robot-on-the-rug” moments – when the world feels heavy and our path feels blocked. But so often, we’re still safe. Still sound. Still standing.

You’re not broken because you’re stuck.

You’re not behind because you paused.

You’re not doomed because you’re scared.

You’re just human. Navigating rugs, illusions, and a very busy inner voice.

So maybe take a breath. Zoom out. Ask yourself what’s real. And when you’re ready – gently hit the reset button and carry on.

You’ve got this.

Even if you need a few moments with the view.