Slowing Down
28 Days of Asking: Day 13
Friday. I woke up on the couch where I’d quarantined myself, just in case last night’s collapse was contagious. My body felt tender. Not broken down, but not quite back. Turning a corner, I couldn’t see yet.
Started slow. A tall glass of Relyte to push hydration early. Lauren made me rice and a fried egg—the kind of meal you eat when you’re negotiating with your stomach, not ordering from it. It stayed down. Small victory. She spent most of the day preparing the house for the trip while I moved at whatever pace my body allowed.
Hawk was home from school, which meant I got to stay home and work. By 8:30 am we were already at Target together for Valentine’s Day and birthday balloons, cards for Lauren. The kind of errand that doesn’t feel like much but somehow turns into real time together. Wandering the aisles. Picking things out. At one point, he looked over at me. “How are you feeling, Dad?” Sweet boy.
He occupied himself the rest of the morning: reading, trampoline, messing around with the dogs. I worked mostly from the kitchen bar. A couple of calls from the playroom. Spent 15-20 minutes packing in the morning; finished the rest tonight. Paced myself slowly, not because I chose to, but because my body wasn’t offering any other speed.
Day 13: What shows up when I finally slow down?
Hawk checking in on me. A quiet morning at Target before the crowds. Lauren making me eggs and holding down the house. A workday that didn’t demand everything I had.
When I slow down, I notice things I usually blur past. The way my boys tune in. The way my partner carries what I can’t without making it a thing. The way rest doesn’t have to be earned; it can just be taken.
I’ve spent this week running. Juggling. Managing. And then Thursday night, my body made the choice for me. Today I didn’t fight it. I let the hours move at whatever pace they wanted. And what showed up was enough. More than enough.
What shows up when YOU finally slow down?
Not collapse. Not the forced stop. But the intentional downshift, the willingness to let the day breathe instead of gripping it.
What are you missing at full speed? What might show up if you gave it room?
