the moment i stopped rushing, and started slow living

on time, tenderness, slow living, and the quiet rebellion of moving slower

There’s a kind of quiet that only visits when you’re not chasing anything.

Not the next task, not the inbox, not the person you think you should be by now. Just you. And the sound of the kettle. And the breath that doesn’t need fixing.

I used to move fast. Faster than my body wanted. Faster than my breath could follow.

The business world rewards urgency — move quick, stay sharp, perform. But the body doesn’t care about your metrics. It speaks in symptoms when you ignore it for too long.

Mine started whispering in quiet ways:
Tight chest. Shallow sleep. Crying during savasana for no clear reason.
Not dramatic. Just honest.

Living with an autoimmune condition has deepened this listening. Some days the energy is there. Other days, the body needs more gentleness.

Yoga still holds me — but I no longer force it into the first hour of the day.

Sometimes it happens after breakfast. Sometimes mid-afternoon.
Sometimes, still, first thing.

But now it’s by intuition, not obligation.

In Yogic philosophy, there’s a concept called santosha — often translated as contentment.

It’s not about settling. It’s about sufficiency. Enoughness that isn’t earned, just remembered.

This is a practice. Not a personality change.
I still overcommit. Still forget. Still clench my jaw at times.

But now I notice. And the noticing is where everything starts to soften.

try this:

Before you open your laptop, sit somewhere quiet.
Place one hand on your chest, one on your belly.
Inhale slowly for 4. exhale for 6.

Do this 3 times.

Then ask:
”what would feel kind to begin with today?”

Honour the answer — even if it surprises you.
It doesn’t have to be what is on the list.
It just has to be what is real.