The Art of Slow: Unlearning the Lie of Urgency

We were taught to rush before we were taught to breathe.

From the moment we entered the world, we were conditioned to move faster, achieve more, stay ahead. Speed became synonymous with success. Slowness became a sin, an indulgence, a sign of weakness.

But here’s a truth no one tells you: life is not running away from you. You are the one running. And if you stopped—if you truly stopped—what would you find?

Speed is a Sedative

We mistake urgency for purpose, busyness for meaning. We layer our days with tasks, noise, distractions—not because they are necessary, but because they keep us from facing what lies beneath.

What happens when you stop filling every gap? What rises to the surface when you sit in the silence?Most people never find out. They stay addicted to movement, mistaking it for momentum. But speed is a sedative. It keeps us numb, half-alive, coasting on the surface of things. Slowing down is not about doing less—it’s about feeling more. And that is far more terrifying than exhaustion.

What If the Answer Isn’t More?

We chase ‘more’ as if it holds the secret to fulfillment. More time, more money, more experiences, more love, more certainty. But ‘more’ is a treadmill. The second you get it, the hunger begins again. And you spend your life running toward something that never arrives.

What if the answer isn’t more?

What if it’s less—but deeper?

Less noise, more meaning.

Less consumption, more creation.

Less hurry, more being where you actually are.

The Courage to Go Slow

Slowing down is not passive. It is not laziness, or escapism, or a luxury for the privileged. It is a choice that demands courage. Because when you stop running, you have to face the truth of your life.

You have to sit with the longing, the loneliness, the ache for something real. You have to listen to the parts of yourself that got lost in the rush. You have to unlearn the lie that your worth is measured by your efficiency.

And then, something miraculous happens. You arrive.

Not in some perfect future, not in the ‘someday’ you’ve been waiting for. But here, now, inside the life you’ve been rushing past all along.

A Different Kind of Wealth

The world will keep seducing you with urgency. It will tell you that slowness is a waste, that stillness is unproductive, that presence is impractical. But ask yourself: who benefits from your exhaustion?Because it isn’t you.

Slowness is a different kind of wealth. It is the ability to sit in a moment and let it fill you instead of trying to fill it. It is the radical act of reclaiming your time, your breath, your life—from the machine that taught you to sacrifice them. And the best part? Once you taste this kind of freedom, you never go back.

The Invitation

So here is an invitation—not to slow down in the way the wellness industry packages it, not as a fleeting retreat from chaos, but as a return to what is real.

This is not about escaping your life. It is about finally stepping into it.

Because life is not a race, and you are not behind.

You are exactly where you need to be.

The only question is—will you stay long enough to feel it?

The Atomic Age of the Self: Why Slowing Down is a Radical Act

Caroline Myss once wrote about “mass thought”—the collective beliefs that shape civilizations, the unseen forces that dictate what we consider possible, acceptable, inevitable.

If you trace the thread of history, you’ll see a moment where everything fractured: the Atomic Age.

Not just in science, but in the way we think, move, create, consume.

From the moment we split the atom, the world took on a different speed, a different scale. Everything became smaller, faster, exponential—from technology to communication to our very perception of time.

The big became microscopic. The vast became instant. The ripple effect? Compression. Acceleration. Fragmentation. And what happens to a human being in a world that moves at the speed of light? They break—just like the atom did.

The Age of Splintering

We don’t experience time the way we used to. The human nervous system was not designed for this level of acceleration. We once measured life in seasons, in shadows moving across the land, in the slow growth of trees.

Now, we measure it in milliseconds.

• Information overload: An infinite scroll of fragmented realities, none of them truly lived.

• Digital time-warp: A morning can contain more stimulus than an entire decade once did.

• Faster, faster, faster: Emails, notifications, AI-generated everything—compressing what once took lifetimes into mere seconds.

We are witnessing the atomization of the self—our attention, our emotions, our presence shattered into micro-moments, stretched too thin across too many dimensions. And we call this progress.

The Hidden Cost of Acceleration

Everything became faster, but did it become better? More communication, less connection. More efficiency, less meaning. More access, less depth. This is not just burnout—it’s energetic displacement. When speed governs reality, we lose the sacred. We lose the art of experience. We lose the ability to digest life before moving to the next thing.

The Radical Return to Slowness

If the Atomic Age fractured time, the act of slowing down is nothing short of a rebellion against fragmentation. It is a refusal to be atomized by the pace of the world. To slow down is to reclaim the art of wholeness—to gather the pieces of yourself that have been scattered across algorithms, obligations, and artificial urgency. Slowness is not a retreat from the modern world; it is the key to navigating it without losing yourself.

It is a rewilding of time. A return to rhythm instead of reaction. A choice to be fully here instead of everywhere at once.

Will You Choose to be Whole?

We are no longer living in human time—we are living in atomic time, digital time, the time of machines. But we are not machines. We are flesh, breath, pulse, presence. And the question is no longer whether the world will keep accelerating. It will.

The question is: will you let it take you with it? Or will you dare to slow down?

Because in the end, only the whole self can truly live.

Welcome to the Art of Slow. The Art of Becoming Whole Again.

Xoxo,

Leonor

Integrating writing and movement

What I’ve learned through my experience, and reflections is that healing isn’t linear. It doens’t fix ourselves or erase the past. It creates space to feel, express, and grow. Writing helps us articulate what’s inside; movement helps us release it. Together, they form a rhythm—a way to integrate mind and body into a balanced whole.

If you’re new to these practices, here’s a simple way to start:

1. Write reflectively (reflect about a certain theme) : Take 10–15 minutes to write about a feeling or thought that’s been on your mind. Don’t overthink it—just let the words flow as they come with no judgement.

2. Move intuitively: After writing, spend a few minutes stretching or walking. Pay attention to how your body feels and where it holds tension.

3. Reflect: Notice the connection between your thoughts and your body. Did writing bring up physical sensations? Did movement help you feel lighter?

The power of expression

Healing goes beyond addressing trauma—it rediscovers how to live fully and authentically, creating space to reconnect with ourselves and the world. Writing and movement serve as gentle reminders to pause, pay attention to our inner voice, and honor the emotions we carry. They’ve shown me that healing is not a final goal to reach but an ongoing practice of presence and self-awareness.

If you find yourself holding onto emotions, let them flow. Write them down, move with them, breathe through them. By expressing what’s inside, you can transform your relationship with yourself. True healing starts when we give ourselves permission to feel—it’s the doorway to a life lived with intention and depth.

“This too shall pass”

Xoxo,

Leonor