The natural pace of my body is slow.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing this just before dinner, at the end of the workday. Procrastination is how I get things done, and I’m willing to admit that in public, to not let that truth live in the dark. Deadlines are a thing I’m getting better at – I’m a recovering people pleaser and I’ll put everyone else’s tasks above my own to meet a deadline that matters, but I’m really committed to changing that pattern (and after years of work, it is getting better). It may be a few months before I get to a place of being able to pre-plan posts – one thing at a time.
It’s been a long road to accept that slow is my path, that my body doesn’t move at the pace of the world, and that is a feature, not a flaw. She will only set her own pace, the same way she only wants to follow her own path, and no one else’s. I can trust her to tell me if I’ve been pushing too hard or moving too fast.
Maybe this is something everyone else knows, but it took me a long time to learn that stress – the tightening in my shoulders – and overreacting are the signs I’m pushing too hard. That breaking down sobbing in the middle of a workout or a work day means that I’ve over done it. That not wanting to work is not a character flaw – energy is abundant when I take care of myself, but not when I’m utterly depleted. The summer before we moved to Texas, this sense of overwhelm was all I felt – migraines, tears, and all.
And still, even knowing this and after four years of recovery, I will hear my inner critic silently yelling in my head that there isn’t enough time and I need to go faster. I hear it in the morning if I stay in bed for a few minutes too long. I hear it if I haven’t answered an email within 24 hours. I hear it if I need to take a break to walk the dog. I hear it if I want to read a book rather than do anything else that is productive and will result in checking a thing off a list.
Hurry, hurry, hurry, it urgently whispers. I’m learning that the critic always has something to say but isn’t always telling the truth.
It is a conscious, deliberate act of care to give my body space to move at whatever speed she wants to, and trust that we will always arrive exactly on time. It is a choice to hear the “never enough” voice and remind it that we will arrive the very moment we are ready, and not a single moment sooner. I can choose to listen to the voice and burn hot and fast, or I can take contrary action and put my body’s needs first, reminding the hurry, hurry, hurry, that it feels glorious to take our time and take care. Body moves at her own pace, and it isn’t a pace that can be set to the speed of capitalism or constant productivity.
May we all have the courage to trust the timing of our bodies.