How I Learned to Go Slow (Without Feeling Like I Was Failing)

Slow never came naturally to me. Rushing, fidgeting, running late because I’ve given myself too much to do — that felt more like home.

Slowing down felt unfamiliar. Almost uncomfortable, after years of moving through the constant hum of London. Even before the world was forced to pause, something in me was already fraying.

The lack of sleep.
The tightness in my chest.
The sense that I was constantly catching up.

There was a quiet pull toward rest.
I just didn’t know how to answer it.

The cultural shift I’m noticing

Recently, I met a friend in a local café. Within minutes we’d slipped past small talk and into something real — rest, stress, the strange in-between space so many of us seem to be living in.

She runs a studio and told me she’s noticing something:
The slower classes are filling.
The ones centred around stillness.
The ones that don’t promise transformation in six weeks.

Not dramatically. Not loudly.
But steadily.

And I see it too.

More people questioning the idea that we must always be “on.”
More people quietly exhausted by productivity as identity.
More people craving something they can’t quite name.

Why slow feels so difficult

Here’s the part no one talks about:

Slowing down can feel threatening.
If your nervous system is used to speed, noise, urgency and constant input, stillness doesn’t feel peaceful — it feels wrong.

• Guilty.

• Restless.

• Like you’re falling behind.

Slow is not a personality trait.
It’s a nervous system capacity.

And most of us were never taught how to build it.

Modern life trains us for immediacy.
Messages answered instantly.
Information consumed in seconds.
Decisions made quickly.
Attention split in twelve directions.

Speed becomes normal.
So of course slow feels uncomfortable.
It’s unfamiliar territory.
But unfamiliar doesn’t mean unsafe.

Slow is not the same as stuck

My word for this year is Motion.
That might sound contradictory.
For a long time, I confused slow with stagnation. I thought if I wasn’t pushing forward at full pace, I was failing.

When I returned to therapy in 2024, I assumed it would be three months of breakthroughs and tidy resolution.
It’s been eighteen months.

Not dramatic.
Not cinematic.
Just steady.

And that steady pace has changed me more than any sudden “a-ha” ever did.

I used to think therapy was about fixing my past.
Now I see it as maintenance. As capacity-building. As strengthening the emotional muscles I use every day.

The same happened with yoga.

At first I thought it was about flexibility and focus — about being “better” at stillness.

What actually changed was my relationship to my own internal pace.

My thoughts didn’t disappear.
They just stopped colliding so violently.

I began to notice the subtle things — the weight in my chest, the fizz in my legs, the quiet cues before overwhelm.

I’m still ambitious.
I still have huge dreams.
I still move.

But now I can see the next small step instead of only the distant horizon.

That’s the difference.

Slow doesn’t mean stuck.
Slow means regulated enough to choose your pace.

What changed

I don’t rush as much.
So I forget less.

I don’t quantum-leap my nervous system into the unknown.
I take the next visible step.

I can pivot when I need to.
Not because I’m panicking — but because I can see clearly.

For years I could only see where I needed to get to.

Now I can also see where I’ve come from.
I can feel the ground beneath me.

And sometimes that means pausing to watch the sunset properly.
Or stroking Hugo’s ears for a minute longer.
Or lying on my bolster in the evening because it genuinely feels good — not because it’s productive.

That is motion too.

The gentle truth

We give so much of ourselves outward.
To work.
To family.
To plans.
To goals.

And somewhere along the way, we lose the thread of our own internal pace.

Slowing down isn’t about doing less forever.
It’s about increasing your capacity to be with your life.

To digest it.
To integrate it.
To actually feel it.

Regulation, digestion, integration — these don’t happen at speed.

They happen in calm.
And calm is a practice.

If you’re craving slow

Start small.

Not a full life overhaul.
Not a productivity detox.

Just one regulating step.

One pause before responding.
One walk without headphones.
One evening lying on the floor noticing your breath.

Slow isn’t a personality.
It’s a skill.

And it can coexist with ambition. With growth. With motion.

I’m not stuck anymore.
I’m just moving at a pace my nervous system can actually sustain.
And that feels like the most powerful kind of progress.

If you’re practising slow

If this is the season you’re in — learning how to move without rushing yourself — there are a couple of spaces inside Big Love where we practise that gently.

The Big Love Membership for Homebodies is where we build it steadily.
Two live sessions each month — Ready to Rest and Feel-Good Flow — designed to help you regulate, reconnect, and increase your capacity at a pace your nervous system can sustain.

And if what you need is a deeper exhale, Resting Dream Face is a guided somatic rest experience — releasing the jaw, face, and neck, and allowing your whole system to soften.

You don’t need to overhaul your life.
You don’t need to become a different person.

You just need somewhere safe to practise.

If your body is quietly asking for slower — you’re always welcome here.

Big love,
Becki x