Slow Living.

For as long as I can remember, my life has been a blur of thoughts, tasks, and distractions. I was always daydreaming, my mind skipping from one thought to the next without ever really settling. I wasn’t someone who could just be in the moment. Instead, I was constantly chasing the next thing—whether it was an idea, an action, an activity, or yet another problem to solve in my life. My computer was my comfort zone. I love data, research, and occasionally diving into games when I need a break. But in truth, I never really enjoyed just being.

When it came to chores like cooking or cleaning, I’d rush through them, trying to get them over with, trying to tick things off my list. And if I wasn’t multitasking, I didn’t feel right. I'd have a YouTube video playing in the background, listening to an audio message, or checking my emails while stirring in pots. In my head, there was always something more important than the present moment.

Why Slow Living Feels Necessary

I’ve spent the last five years not only trying to fix my life, my health, my issues, but also wondering how to find fulfillment in life. And it’s become clear to me that the way we live today is making us sick—mentally, emotionally, and even physically. The constant distraction, the flood of information, the overstimulation—it all pulls us away from what matters most: the present moment (and those we love). We’re so used to being constantly “on,” chasing the next task or thought, that we forget how to just be. I’ve come to believe that those of us who struggle with mental health or emotional well-being are the first to recognise this. The constant noise isn’t good for our brains. It only adds to the overwhelm, the stress, the disconnection.

But I’ve realised that slowing down isn't just a matter of simply wanting to “be” more. It’s also about learning how to be. I’m still figuring that part out. The urge to check my phone, the anxiety that creeps in when I sit still for too long—it’s all still there. But I believe it’s worth trying, even if it’s not easy.

I want to stop running away from the present. I want to experience life in a more intentional way. I want to slow down, be mindful—not just of the “big” things, but of the smallest, most mundane moments. There’s purpose to be found in every little task, and I want to rediscover that.

… But My Mind Says NO

Lately, I’ve found myself craving a slower pace—more presence, more intentionality. But it hasn’t been easy. I feel this constant pull to do more, to be everywhere at once. To chase the next thought, the thing I want to buy, the chore to get done. I’ve realised this habit of rushing, of multitasking through every task, has become so ingrained that breaking it feels impossible sometimes. Yet, I also know I can’t continue at this pace forever.

And that’s the catch: slowing down doesn't feel natural to me. It's like I'm in this constant back-and-forth within myself. For example, I'll have two good days where I’m present, more focused, and moving with intention. I can feel a shift, like my mind is actually connecting with what I'm doing, not just running from one task to the next. But then, just as quickly, the next two days slip into chaos. I escape reality without even realising it. It's like I’ve been swept away by my own habits, and my brain—this little puppet master—takes over, pulling me back into the cycle of distraction.

I can feel the pull back to that familiar rush. The multitasking. The constant checking, scrolling, moving. I don’t even notice it sometimes until I’ve already fallen back into the rhythm of distraction. It’s like this internal struggle between wanting to slow down and feeling that I need to do more, be more, all at once.

Not only do I struggle to slow down, I have a very strong resistance to being present and “taking in the world.” Of letting things be as they are, be curious, just watch and not manipulate. Indeed you can say it’s so painful, so unusual for me, that my brain resists. I always get these urgent thoughts that pull me away from reality. Again.

I’m a bit extreme in that I think I want to learn, so I keep going, failing, going, failing again. At this point, mindfulness isn’t winning this game. But it doesn’t mean that I will give up.

The Brain Can Change

What I’ve come to realise is that this constant rush isn’t just exhausting me mentally—it’s also affecting my body. Stress hormones flood our systems when we’re constantly on the go. But there’s also the impact on the brain to consider. Neuroplasticity teaches us that the brain is capable of reorganising and forming new connections, but when we’re overstimulated and never allow time to process, we’re limiting this ability.

Our senses are bombarded in ways that don’t give our brains a chance to digest or integrate the information. And this constant bombardment of stimuli isn’t just tiring—it can lead to cognitive overload, making us feel disconnected from ourselves. What I find inspiring is, for instance, how occupational therapy teaches us how to engage with tasks more slowly and mindfully, integrating our senses without overwhelming them. I’m starting to think we can apply this approach to life itself, finding more moments of rest but also gentle activation—moments that nourish instead of drain us.

Could This Be Connected To OUr Mental Health?

I can’t help but think about how this culture of constant motion affects our mental health. It’s something I’ve felt in my own life, and I wonder if others feel it too. It’s not just about feeling stressed or overwhelmed; it’s about a deeper disconnection, an inability to catch a breath in the middle of a never-ending to-do list, emails, social media scrolls, and a culture that demands we do more, be more, constantly. Rest feels like a foreign word in almost every language.

What if our mental health struggles are, in part, a product of this lifestyle? I don’t mean to say it’s the sole cause of everything—mental health is complex, and there’s never just one reason behind it. But I do wonder if the pace we set for ourselves is affecting how we process, how we connect, how we feel. And this isn’t the pace only for grownups. It’s also the same impossible pace for children from the moment they’re born.

Women, especially, seem to bear the weight of this. I’m not talking about labels or diagnoses, but rather the quiet exhaustion that often goes unspoken. We juggle so much—careers, family, social expectations—and it can feel like there’s no space to just be. No space to rest, to exist in the present without feeling guilty for not doing more. It’s as though we’re asked to perform, constantly multitasking, always looking ahead. And somewhere in the middle of all that, we lose sight of our own well-being.

Maybe it’s time to ask: could the way we live, this rush to do, to be everywhere at once, be partially at the heart of the disconnection we often feel? Could it be that the absence of slowness, the absence of pause, is leaving us disconnected from ourselves in a way that affects not only our bodies, but our minds too?

Mindfulness (or “Mind-empty-ness”)

I’m starting to think of mindfulness in a different way. The word “mindful” seems a little misleading. The mind isn’t full. Also mindfulness is always presented as if it requires a particular set of actions or goals. It sounds like something needs to be done, when in reality I think it’s exactly about NOT be consumed with what or how to do it for once.

When I say mindfulness I don’t mean a set of programs that need to run in my life in order to be mindful. Not yet another checklist of items that need to be worked on to stay efficient. Not the guided meditation that takes you away from your being yet again and makes you do things that are not you. That voice that instructs you what to do to meditate instead of stopping time to take life in.

I have always been very averse to guided mediations, because it’s always felt like disturbance of peace to listen to someone’s guidance. What I’m really looking for is mind-empty-ness. It’s not about filling the silence with more thoughts or striving for some ideal state of calm. It’s about quieting the constant stream of thoughts, the endless to-do lists, the worries about what’s next. Instead, it’s about being in the moment, simply existing without needing to rush through everything. And listening to what is happening. Inside and out. And I think it’s also about finding purpose in the small, even “boring” activities, like chopping vegetables or folding laundry.

And for me, this is where the healing begins. Or I’ve sold myself the idea that this is how I can heal. I’m hoping that by slowing down, I can start to heal my body, feel more connected, and improve my emotional processing. There’s a part of me that secretly hopes that in embracing this kind of slowness, some of the things I’ve lost along the way—some lost cognitive or emotional function—might eventually come back. Maybe my brain will feel less fragmented, less disconnected from itself. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find peace in the simplicity.

Living with Intention

I don’t have all the answers, and I’m still in the middle of this journey. But I do know one thing: the more I learn to embrace the slow, the more I realise how much I’ve been missing. Something that I wish I had understood to introduce early into my life, in the hopes that I could have enjoyed that with my children when they where younger. About being here. Being present. But it’s what I’m learning to do now: to live with intention, to find meaning in even the smallest tasks, to give myself permission to stop running and simply be.

For me, the key to all of this is finding balance. Slowing down doesn’t mean doing nothing—it’s about choosing how to engage with life in a more intentional, mindful way. It’s about finding a rhythm that doesn’t constantly push me to run faster, but instead invites me to breathe, to be, to feel more connected to myself and the world around me. And in doing so, I believe my brain can begin to heal, and my body can find the rest it’s been craving.

Today was one of those days. A blur of work, tasks, thoughts—always something to do, never a moment to just be. I rushed from one thing to the next, barely noticing the day passing by. And now, as I sit here reflecting, I realise how much I longed for a pause but never gave myself permission to take one.

Tomorrow, I want to try again. Not by forcing myself into stillness, not by making it another item on my to-do list, but by simply allowing space. A small window in the day where I’m not thinking about work, about what’s next—where I just look around and take life in. No pressure, no expectation. Just presence.

Maybe that’s how this journey unfolds. Not in perfect, mindful days, but in tiny moments where I remind myself to stop running. And maybe, eventually, those moments will grow.

I’m not here to tell anyone what to do or how to live their life. This is just my path and my reflection. But if there’s anything I hope you take away from this, it’s the idea that slowing down can possibly make us feel better—it might just be the way to start healing. One slow day at a time.