What If Guided Meditation Is Holding You Back?

There comes a moment in every meaningful practice when we realise: the very thing that first helped us… might now be holding us back.

Not because it’s wrong.

Not because we’ve outgrown it completely.

But because it’s no longer ours.

In Episode 2 of Café Méditatif, we explore this tender threshold — the shift from being guided to guiding yourself.

And in a world overflowing with well-meaning voices, this episode is your permission slip to soften the noise, slow the pace, and begin again — with your own rhythm leading the way.

Beyond the Voice in Your Ear

There was a time I craved audio guidance. I’d read about meditation, tried to follow the steps, and often felt I was doing it wrong. A voice in my ear felt like safety — someone was there, holding my hand.

Some of those guided meditations became part of my healing. Some helped me find my breath. Others kept time or taught me sacred rhythms and mantras. But some… felt too much. Too soothing. Too intrusive. Too scripted. Too far from where *I* wanted to go.

I began to notice: sometimes, even a loving guide can interrupt the magic. Especially when you’re finally starting to feel something real.

So I returned to the written word — with more courage, more presence, and more curiosity. And what I discovered was this:

Reading a meditation gives you space.

To breathe. To pause. To feel.

To return. To make it your own.

The Case for Reading Your Meditation

What if your practice could feel like flipping through a handwritten letter instead of pressing play?

When I read a meditation now, I can slow down or speed up. I can breathe when I want to, pause when I need to, skip or linger — not because someone tells me to, but because my body tells me to. It becomes less like a performance and more like communion.

And my favorite trick? Reading the instructions in a different voice — my grandmother’s, my child’s, or even Maurice from La Belle et la Bête.

Playfulness is sacred too.

This freedom led me to create something new: meditation letters.

They’re not scripts. They’re not city guides. They’re not diary entries.

They’re invitations.

To feel.

To remember.

To begin — and then drift off into your own current.

Letters from Paris, for Your Inner Practice

When I moved to Paris, I didn’t want to write about the city in a tourist’s tone. I wanted to write from the city — sending you letters like a dear friend who whispers, “Here’s something I tried. Maybe you’ll love it too.”

Each letter is part ritual, part reflection, part practice.

It doesn’t replace meditation.

It becomes meditation.

They’re created to be returned to. Not because you depend on them. But because they delight you. Because they remind you. Because they hold a moment in time that gently opened something in you.

And just like a walk through Place Dauphine, they’re not made to impress — they’re made to invite you in.

A Soft Invitation

If you’ve been feeling a little constrained by your current practice — like you’re doing someone else’s version of meditation, yoga, or spiritual ritual — this episode might be the nudge you need.

Not to abandon the tools that served you.

But to start weaving them into a tapestry that’s completely your own.

Listen to the full episode of Café Méditatif here.

And if you’d like to receive a handwritten practice in the mail each month — something to keep, fold, and carry — you can explore the meditation letters here.

Until then,

With love from Paris,

Evi

for Evaco Paris