29/10/2025
There’s a pattern I’ve known for a long time, one that’s been threaded through much of my life. And I know I’m not alone in it. So many women I meet share this same rhythm, moving fast for so long that we don’t even realise how wound up we’ve become.
Even now, 49 years deep into this lifetime, after over a decade of consciously slowing down, I still notice moments where I slip into that mode of excessive doing. Sometimes life simply asks it of us, family, work, commitments, opportunities, those seasons where we need a little extra yang energy to carry it all.
But what I’ve learned, again and again, is the importance of consciously unwinding afterward, to drop back into that deeper, slower current beneath the surface.
Because when there’s less space, everything feels harder. When we create space, everything softens. Life becomes more manageable, more meaningful, more alive.
It’s in that slower rhythm that joy naturally arises, the sacred, healing playfulness that comes when we stop rushing, the scent of flowers, the warmth of the sun, the way music, sipping tea, touch, or a shared meal can recalibrate the whole system.
And when we move too fast, we don’t just miss out on being fully present with the people we love, we miss out on being with ourselves. On hearing the truth of our own inner world, the quiet guidance that only reveals itself in stillness.
Someone once shared with me that the feminine form is meant to move like a cat, slowly rising in the morning, stretching, basking in the sun, sipping tea, lingering in presence. She shared this with me during a time when I was up before five every morning, rushing off to teach, to serve, to give. Her words have stayed with me ever since.
Because that feline energy, unhurried, sensuous, alert yet at ease, holds a kind of ancient wisdom. It reminds us that slowing down is remembering our nature.
