Containment, Embodiment, Structure, and Expression
Today I want to talk a little about containment along with embodiment, structure, and expression, and how these ideas can sometimes support us when we feel stuck or overwhelmed.
I’m holding a literal container as I write this: a small recipe box. When I’m ruminating or caught in a thought spiral, I sometimes use something like this to create a bit of space and perspective.
If I were using it today, I’d start with a small piece of paper. I’ve found that for many people, a large sheet of paper or an open journal can unintentionally invite more circling around a thought rather than clarity. I don’t think I’ve ever arrived at a good solution by looping endlessly in my head—though maybe you’re the exception.
On that small piece of paper, I’d write the problem as concisely and objectively as I can. I might note what it brings up for me, perhaps how it impacts my sense of security, identity, or connection. I’d write down the emotions that are present, what I notice in my body, and then I might rate the intensity from 0–10, with 0 being neutral and 10 being the most upsetting. Some people prefer a color scale instead, whatever feels accessible.
Then I’d place the paper in the container, close the lid, and set it down. The problem will still be there when I’m ready to return to it.
By creating this distance, I give myself time to regulate emotionally and to access the kind of clarity that often only comes with space. When I’m fully inside a problem, I usually don’t have enough perspective to work with it effectively. Distance is what allows insight to emerge.
It can be very tempting to stay in the spiral, to believe that if we just think hard enough, we’ll think our way out. But I try to remind myself how often solutions arrive when we aren’t actively searching for them: while walking, showering, or driving. These moments of clarity tend to appear when the problem-solving part of the mind is offline and we’re absorbed in the flow of daily life.
Another benefit of containment is that some problems simply don’t feel as big with time. A day later, a week later, the issue may soften—or reveal itself not to be a problem at all. Context and time can dramatically shift perspective.
Containment and Embodiment
I also want to acknowledge that people can have complex feelings about the idea of containment. For me, I can’t think about containers without also thinking about embodiment; what it means to hold something, to sit with something, to be in a body.
There are many forms of containment beyond boxes and paper.
A canvas, for example, offers structure and limits. It can hold expression while providing boundaries. I’m not a professional artist, but working within a contained space can be a powerful way to express what doesn’t yet have words.
Textiles—like knitting or crocheting—offer another kind of containment. There’s rhythm, pattern, and movement. For some, this carries cultural or spiritual meaning as well.
Some people use containers in spiritual or religious ways: writing notes, placing them in a box, and imagining handing them over to a higher power. Others work with woven baskets, clay vessels, or vases that carry deep cultural, ancestral, or ritual significance—especially within Indigenous traditions. These objects often hold layers of meaning that extend far beyond their function.
All of this matters because we each have a unique relationship to containment.
This isn’t therapeutic advice (I can’t individualize it) but I hope something here feels useful or sparks reflection. At the very least, I hope it invites curiosity about the many ways we can create space, structure, and support for ourselves.