Everyone I talk to seems to be exhausted. Exhausted by their marriage, their divorce, their last date, their day job, their dream job, their politics, their grief, their family, their friends, their fertility, even (or especially) their emails and algorithms. Most of what I mentioned is life’s big stuff, so, of course, they require our energy and efforts. But at a time when efficiency and productivity seem to be at the center of our lives, why do so many of us feel behind and not enough?
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One thing I have found to be true, and it is such a simple truth, it almost feels annoying: Not everything can be done in a hurry. Healing, for example, is not something you can be hasty about. The big stuff of life tends to bring emotional baggage so heavy, it breaks us. Our wounds need more than a moment. We have to slow down to heal. Easier said than done. I recently realized I held a lot of shame around the change of pace that physical and mental healing requires—particularly during motherhood.
Read More: The Heart-Shattering Feeling of Going Back to Work After Having a Baby
As a chronic “do-er”, I had trouble slowing down during my pregnancy and postpartum periods. When I was six months pregnant with my first daughter, I was living in London and had just returned from a work trip in Rwanda. The day I landed, I insisted we meet friends at the Notting Hill Carnival. As a girl who grew up going to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, there is nothing I love more than dancing to live music in the street. Instead of listening to my tired body, I followed my excitement for the experience (otherwise known as F.O.M.O.). I was so rundown I fainted on the street. Fortunately, my partner caught me before I hit the pavement. I was in denial that I was physically different—human, even—and therefore needed to move through the world differently.
Similarly, I often feel like my postpartum depression would have been less daunting if I hadn’t tried to rush the healing process; if I’d learned to be okay with needing slowness in order to heal, or sooner reckoned with my insecurities, which desperately linked worthiness to productivity. When you move slowly, you don’t feel like yourself. It is hard to love a stranger. It is extra hard when depression turns the stranger into you. Lying awake in the night, my racing heart grabbed my inner microphone and repeated the words “something is wrong with you” so loudly they echoed through my bones. It was a lie that felt true, and I couldn’t unhear it.
Postpartum healing looks different for everyone but I can tell you mine began by giving myself patience and kindness. I gave myself more time to do things—and I was nice about it. I didn’t beat up on myself for my needs. Therapy helped. Friends helped. My partner helped. More than anything, slowing down helped.
We always seem to be moving quickly, but where are we going? If we dash through the race and can’t catch our breath at the finish line, when do we get to feel life and have joy? Speaking of joy, it is another thing that must be unhurried. When modern spirituality tells us to be present, I am pretty sure that’s code for slow down and soak it in. Feel your favorite song. Let your laugh go on long enough for it to turn into the cry you really need. Breathe. Snuggle. Get some sun on your sun-screened face.
This is the good stuff of life. We can have it if we give our time to it. But it is tough to access the good stuff of life without allowing ourselves access to ease.
We rarely reach for ease. Even when it is within our grasp, we don’t give ourselves permission to sit in it. During my post partum, ease was available to me, but I didn’t know how to offer it to myself or receive it. Ease has pretty much become a radical counterculture. It rejects our devotion to hustle and grind. Our world tells us that difficulty and discomfort make our material goals more valuable and love affairs more worthwhile. While there is wisdom to be found in and on the other side of our struggles, we can also grow, learn, achieve, and evolve without grinding ourselves down to dust—without missing out on the good stuff of life.
We look forward to retirement because we think it is the only time of life we are allowed to truly center ease. But do our exhales really only belong in our final chapters? I am not suggesting we join the great resignation. This is the real world. We have to work. We have to “Do.” But we must also remember we are not built to only “Do.” We are beings. We are not machines-no matter how much time we spend interacting with them.
Our aliveness requires patience. As does bringing life into this world and the recovery it requires. If something takes too long to load on our phones, we assume it is malfunctioning. I fear it has led us to believe that our own slowness or stillness is a malfunction rather than a requirement for a thoughtful, deliberate existence. Patience is the divine gift that gives way to presence, reflection, and healing. The pot at the end of that rainbow is the good stuff of life.
When a website asks us to check the box that says, “I am not a robot,” let’s take that mantra with us into our day. Slow down. The pace of the world does not need to be your pace. Re-pace. We are not built to move at the speed of our Wi-Fi.
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