We say we want to slow down. Then the moment we need it most, we're the first ones to skip it.
I noticed this about myself recently. Meditation and painting are two of the things I know help me the most. I feel it every single time. And yet the days I'm the most stressed, indecisive, and the most in my head, are the exact days I don't prioritize either of them and instead end up making a list, over-planning, and working on tasks that don't make a big difference.
It's a funny kind of sabotage that's taken me several years to understand and learn to love. It's not laziness, it's a resistance to feeling my feelings. Think of it as fear wearing a very convincing disguise that looks productive on the outside.
Here's what I think is actually happening. When we're overwhelmed, we don't reach for the things that would help us feel more calm. We reach for the things that keep us busy and feel familiar and in control like the checklist, cleaning, tweaking, or spending hours making a small decision. We give ourselves more to do when that's the opposite of what we need. It's not that we want more to do, but we want that little hit of relief when something is done.
Slowing down doesn't give us that hit. It asks us to sit in the feeling instead of outrunning it.
I see it in the studio too. The urge to keep touching up a piece before I call it finished or a fear of ruining the progress resulting in a state of paralysis unable to make any creative decisions. What's happening in these moments is that it has nothing to do with the painting. It's about not wanting to feel what's sitting under the surface waiting to be noticed.
Maybe that's the real reason slowing down is hard. It isn't that we don't have time. It's that stillness and quiet moments hand us back to ourselves, and sometimes we'd rather not look.
But this is also the part many of us aren't taught. The feeling we're chasing underneath all the busyness with the hope that one day we'll be seen. The ease, freedom, the peace is only ever available in the moment we slow down enough to notice and celebrate ourselves. It's never found in the doing, no matter how hard we try.
You can't complete enough checklists to feel the feeling of wholeness, of unconditional love for the moment, and of peace. You have to stop long enough to actually feel it.
I don't have this all figured out. On the days I need it most, I still find myself skipping a meditation, making an excuse for not going in the studio, or feeling too in my head to journal. But I'm starting to notice the skipping itself as information. It's a small flag that says this is exactly when I need it because I'm avoiding it.
Maybe that's true for you too and if it is, here's one practice I can offer you that helps me every time. It's three questions to ask yourself the moment you feel resistance or avoidance.
One: What do I feel? Name it as simply as you can. I'm overwhelmed. I'm avoiding a hard conversation. I don't feel ready. Naming it takes away some of its power, because now you're the one observing the pattern, instead of being inside it.
Two: What do I need? Not what should I do. What do I need? Maybe it's creative expression. Maybe it's movement. Maybe it's a conversation with someone or reassurance that you're allowed to feel what you're feeling without judgement. Instead of resisting the feeling, ask what it's asking for.
Three: Can I give that to myself right now? Or a small version of it? If not right now, when? And then put it in your calendar, like any other appointment that matters.
Here's what this looks like for me. When I catch myself stalling, I might step outside for a walk, put on music and paint for 15 minutes instead of the two hours I had envisioned, play with my dog, or make a cup of tea and sit by a window.
And here's the important part. Don't do it as a to-do item, as in I'll go for this walk so I can be productive afterward. Do it for the joy of it. Like a kid at recess. They aren't spending twenty minutes worrying about what happens after recess. They just play. They're fully there.
That's what brings you back into trust. And from there, the next step usually becomes obvious. And it's usually smaller than you thought.
With love,
Katherine
