When I look back at the last few years, I see a period defined by slowing down, not because I chose to, but because I had to. Life didn’t gently ask me to pause. It stopped me. Health issues, emotional and physical exhaustion, moments of uncertainty and fear all reshaped the rhythm of my days. Things that once felt normal suddenly required effort. What I had taken for granted became fragile.
There were many moments when I wanted to fix everything at once. To understand quickly. To make it all pass sooner. But the truth is, some experiences cannot be rushed. They take as long as they need. And slowly, often painfully, I learned that pushing myself didn’t bring relief. It only brought more fatigue.
What I struggled with most was losing my sense of control. Not knowing what would happen next. Not being able to predict how my body or my emotions would react from one day to the next. I tried to fight this uncertainty. I tried to stay strong. But what I learned is this: strength doesn’t always mean standing tall. Sometimes strength is sitting where you are and letting the moment pass.
Especially this past year showed me how limited time can feel. The reality that yesterday is gone and tomorrow isn’t guaranteed became very real. I began to understand that the only moment I can truly touch is the “now.” Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it feels heavy.
Not every day brought clarity. Some days were complicated. Some were quiet. Some were full of doubt. And yet, in the midst of all of it, I noticed the small things that kept me grounded: a breath that, even for a moment, felt balanced; a conversation that felt honest; a simple moment of rest. These didn’t fix everything, but they reminded me that life was still moving.
I’m not writing this from a place where everything is clear. I’m writing from inside the process. I’m still learning how to live with uncertainty, how to honor my limits, and how to give myself time without guilt.
Slowing down didn’t make everything easier. But it did make some things clearer. It showed me what remains when everything unnecessary falls away. And even in the struggle, it taught me that something quiet is still moving forward.