With summer upon us, I’ve been loving my bike rides. But I’ve also been feeling the vulnerability With summer upon us, I’ve been loving my bike rides. But I’ve also been feeling the vulnerability of riding on the road — navigating traffic, unexpected hazards, and the constant awareness that not everyone is watching out for you.
A few years ago, in a road safety class for cyclists, I learned a lesson that has stayed with me: taking the lane — not riding in the gutter or on the sidewalk, but claiming some space on the side of the lane — is often the safest choice. Hugging the curb might feel polite, but it can put you in more danger — hidden from view, squeezed by passing cars, or dodging debris.
Lately, I’ve realized how much this lesson applies off the bike as well.
At various times in my life, I’ve been much more comfortable on the edges — squeezing myself around others’ needs, staying quiet to avoid discomfort, choosing the sidewalk even when the road was mine to ride.
And yet, just like in cycling, the margins aren’t always safe. They can wear me down. They can leave me unseen, unprotected, and exhausted.
Taking the lane means risking visibility. It can feel uncomfortable. I might worry I’m inconveniencing someone. But it’s my lane too. And when I claim it, something shifts — even if shaky at first, I tend to feel more present, more grounded, more like myself.
I feel it every time I ride now. My chest expands. My breath deepens. I remember: I have a right to be here.
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Self-compassion isn’t only about being gentle with yourself — though it’s that too. It’s also about being willing to take up the space you need to be well. To speak up for what matters. To say no with clarity and kindness. To stop riding in the gutter to make everyone else more comfortable.
This fiercer side of self-compassion asks something of us. Not to take over the whole road, not to shut anyone else out — but to hold your own lane, honestly and without apology. To say: there’s room for you here, and there’s room for me too.
That requires courage. Sometimes bold, visible courage. Sometimes the quieter kind — a choice you make in a small moment that only you might notice.
Where in your life are you hugging the curb right now? Where might you be keeping yourself smaller than you need to be?
You don’t have to claim everything at once. One honest sentence, one boundary held, one block of time protected — that’s enough to begin.
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As I ride this summer, the sun warm on my shoulders, I’m reminded of how tempting it can be to drift toward the curb — to make myself smaller, to keep out of the way. But each time I claim my space on the road, I’m practicing something much bigger: trusting that I belong here, that my presence matters, and that I can move forward with steadiness and care.
In life, as on the bike, taking the lane is both an act of self-protection and self-expression. It’s a way of honoring the truth of who we are — visible, present, and wholly allowed to be here.
