Personal dignity in moments of solitude, which I wrote about last time, is connected to something deeper: the capacity to remain anchored in yourself regardless of what is happening outside. And precisely this is one of the most valuable skills a person can develop, not rigidity or detachment, but that inner centre of gravity that does not move with every wave.

We live in times that constantly test this ability. The world changes rapidly, relationships become complicated, expectations shift, roles overlap. And in all this chaos, the question is not how to avoid change, but how to remain yourself in the middle of it.

What is the inner centre of gravity? It is not cold stoicism or indifference to what happens. It is an internal point of reference, a set of values, convictions, and ways of being in the world that remain relatively stable even when external circumstances change dramatically.

People with a well-defined centre of gravity can be affected by what happens around them, can feel unease, pain, confusion, without losing themselves in those feelings. They move, but they return. They sway, but they do not fall. Not because they are naturally stronger or more resistant, but because they have something internal they can return to.

What builds the centre of gravity? A few elements I consider essential.

The first is clarity of values. Not the list of abstract values you tick off in a coaching exercise, but the real operative values, those that guide the concrete decisions of your life. When you know what genuinely matters to you, independent of what others say should matter, you have a compass. And the compass brings you back home even when you have lost your way.

The second is the relationship with the body. The body is your anchor in the present. When the mind is in chaos, the body is still there, breathing, feeling, existing. People who have a conscious relationship with their body, who know how to use breath, movement, or simple somatic attention to bring themselves back into the present, have access to a form of stability that thinking alone cannot produce.

The third is a reflective practice. It does not need to be elaborate. It can be ten minutes of journaling, a solitary walk, a few minutes of silence before starting the day. What matters is that there is a regular practice of turning back towards yourself, processing what has accumulated, and recalibrating.

The fourth is anchoring relationships. Not all relationships anchor us. Some destabilise us, consume us, or require us to be someone else. But a few relationships, with people who see you, accept you, and do not ask you to transform yourself, function as external reference points that support the internal centre of gravity.

Why do some people fall apart in the face of change and others remain relatively whole? It is not a matter of strength of character or natural resilience, as is commonly believed. It is a matter of available internal and external resources.

People who fall apart in chaos are not weaker. They are less equipped, usually for reasons they did not choose: an unstable childhood, absent or conflictual parental models, a lack of experiences that would have gradually built resilience. And knowing this, compassion towards one's own fragility becomes more justified than self-criticism.

How do you build a more solid centre of gravity if you feel you do not have one or that it is unstable? Through small practices, not radical transformations.

Identifying two or three values that are non-negotiable for you, regardless of context. And living them, not declaring them.

Creating a daily practice of reconnecting with yourself, however brief. Five minutes matters more than no day at all.

Investing in relationships that anchor you and reducing exposure to those that systematically destabilise you.

In relationships, the inner centre of gravity is essential. People without it enter relationships in which the other becomes responsible for their emotional stability. People with it bring to relationships a presence that is not dependent on the other's state, a capacity to be there even in the difficult moments without losing themselves.

And in intimate life, inner stability is what makes genuine vulnerability possible. You can show yourself precisely because you know that, regardless of the other's reaction, you will remain you.

What is the element that anchors you most powerfully in yourself in moments of chaos? And if nothing comes to mind, what could that element be?