Slow is a word rarely used in my vocabulary. It’s not a word I’ve ever used to describe myself, describe how I like to work, train, talk, think or eat. I’ve quite persistently and enthusiastically been; quick, impatient, efficient, productive, fast, at almost everything.
‘Slowing down’ for me was resting. (spoiler) It’s not resting.
I’d take a bit longer to finish a work report or design. I’d give myself a few more minutes on my morning walk to take in the scene around me. I’d allow myself some grace for not responding to my friends messages as they piled up on my phone. I’d sit down a bit more. Slower, but never stopping.
I’m an early riser and ‘get a lot done’ before I turn my laptop on to work. I have a coffee. I pray, meditate, shower, clean up my living space, take my dog for a walk, respond to messages. I have another coffee. I log onto emails, telegrams and messages before my laptop time officially begins. Preparing myself for the working day ahead. I check my socials, see what’s going on in my world both professional and personal. Sometimes I post an update. I have another coffee. I work as long as it takes to get the job done. Probably more coffee. I cook something for dinner. I train after work. Maybe I see friends. I spend time with my partner. I check my messages, professional and personal. I reply to anything that seems urgent. I go to sleep. Repeat.
With adjustments from time to time, and a few personal battles along the way, that’s been my life for the last decade.
In December, my body stopped.
I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t talk coherently or focus. I was in more physical pain than I’d ever experienced, and I couldn’t understand why. My body, I, had failed.
Soon after, I was diagnosed with inflammatory bowel disease that had been growing, untreated, in me for years. Symptoms I thought were a “normal” part of a busy lifestyle were most definitely not normal. I was told I had to stop. Immediately. Everything.
No work. No training. No traveling. No “doing”.
For the first time in my life, very reluctantly and despairingly, I stopped.
I learned that fatigue for those living with IBD is akin to a healthy person not sleeping for three days and continuing to function. A feeling I had taken as normal and fuelled by my identity as a proud coffee snob. That living in pain throughout the day, everyday, didn’t have to be my reality. And that my worth is not measured by my output, but in my existence alone.
I spent time a lot of time each day alone in prayer and meditation. I slept. I read (a lot) of books. Got obsessed with Medieval history, 16th Century convents, and the life of St Teresa de Ávila. I removed social media from my phone. I spent time with my partner and family. I responded to my friends. I listened to the experiences of others and the advice of doctors.
This is the time to be slow,
John O’Donohue
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.
Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.
If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.
Three months later, I’m in recovery. Back to work. Back to training. Slowly.
I have a far greater appreciation for my life than I ever had. How important it is to take a step back to keep charging forward. Gratitude for the time to reassess what’s important to me and why I was pushing myself so hard for so long. For relinquishing control. For being given another chance to start again; a life “blushed with beginning”.
“Living slow” finally clicked.
It isn’t about lack of productivity or inefficiency, it’s not laziness or apathy, nor is it insolent or self-righteous. It’s real living. Experiencing the every day. Acting not reacting. Planning without panic. Handing over control to gain freedom.
I encourage you to take my lesson in extremes to enjoy the stillness and slowness of your day today.
I will be forever grateful for what this period has taught me, and, weirdly, for a condition which will now explicitly tell me when I’m not slow enough…
“There is more to life than increasing its speed.” Mahatma Gandhi
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