The Beauty of Taking Life Slowly (When You're Invisible and Exhausted)

Let me be clear: I didn't choose slowness. It chose me. Well, actually, chronic illness chose me, and then after a while slowness became it's annoying cousin that didn't leave me alone and now I'm stuck with it. I spent years pushing, over-scheduling, performing with energy that I didn't have, and feeling quietly ashamed when I couldn't keep up. In college, I had extremely active friends that loved to go to concerts, or on hikes, and I can't do those things, so I would show up in every other way possible to "prove' that I was worth something. The world rewards speed. Fast workers, fast healers, fast texters. We're taught to move quickly, bounce back fast, and keep up- or just get left behind.

But when your body refuses to sprint anymore, you learn how to live at a different pace. You learn how to survivie deliberately, and gently, and sometimes even beautifully!

Living Quietly Isn't the Same as Living Less

I used to be the loudest one in the room. All eyes had to be on me, because I always had something to say. Now? I get lucky if I don't have to repeat myself a few times at the dinner table because I prefer to be quiet. (and yes, that's my fault that I have to repeat it, I never mind re-saying anything at a better volume!) But, one truth in life that I wish that I had heard earlier, is that living slowly doesn't mean living passionately. It's not giving up, it's not falling behind. It's learning how to live in a way that doesn't constantly betray your body and mind's needs. It's paying attention to the cues that once got drowned out by pressure and performance.

When you have an invisible illness, people expect you to move like them. Heal on their timeline. To get "back to normal" or "feel better" by the next morning. But slow living? That's our rebellion. It's how we honor a body that still shows up, even if it's limping, exhaustedm flaring, or just flat out exhausted.

Slowness is Where I Notice Life Again

When I move slow, I notice things. The way my yarn stretched between my stitches. The sounds that the family dog makes when she's sleeping. The exact times that my body starts to shut down and my joints start complaining. The soft shifts in daylight that I never used to look up for.

Chronic illness might have stolen a lot from me, but it gave me this strange, sweet gift of loving the moment and taking it in. I sit with it. I remember those little moments that I feel good and what I'm doing when I do feel good. Some days, those are the only wins I have, and that's okay.

Mental Clutter Doesn't Thrive in a Slower Life

When I stop running, I stop spiraling. (Okay, I spiral less, I'm still me.) But, slowness gives me space to untangle thoughts instead of shoving them into the junk drawer that's locked in my brain. It lets me feel my feelings without trying to out pace them all the time.

Grief, disappointment, guilt, they all get a seat at the table when you're chronically ill. But in slower life, those things don't stay buried. They move through you. They become stories of strength and overcoming.

A Different Kind of Schedule (Where 'Rest' Counts as a Real Plan)

Most people don't consider "rest" a plan. They pencil it in like a maybe. Like a back up. But when you're chronically ill, rest isn't optional, it's essential, and it's survival. It's your foundation. Without it, everything else collapses, from the inside out. These days, I build my days around rest. Around low-energy days, unpredictability, and honoring what my body tells me. Is it extremely frustrating? Sure. But it also means that I don't have to crash and burn just to prove that I'm "productive"

Spoiler: I'm still creating things. I'm still making meaning. I'm jsut doing it slower- and turns out? That's enough.

There's Beauty Here, Even If No One Sees It

The world rarely claps for slow people. but I've learned that my life doesn't need to be validated by a finish line to be meaningful. There's beauty in the pause. In the breath. In the gentle tenacity it takes to keep going on the days that no one knows how hard it is to just show up. And maybe that's the point: this life isn't flashy, but it's real. It's honest. It's stitched together in quiet eays, in moments the world might miss, but I don't

Slowness Isn't Failure, It's Care.

If you're someone who's learning to slow down like I am; whether your body demanded it, your mind needed it, or your spirit just couldn't take the pressure anymore, I want you to know this:

You are not doing less. You're doing it differently. And different can be beautiful. This life might not move quickly, but it's still full of color, texture, and meaning. Sometimes, the most radical thing we can do is love slowly in a world that never stops rushing. And if you need a reminder? You're not behind. You're right on time.

Peace, Love, and All the Above,

Ella Marie <3