Everything is telling me to slow down; some things are telling me to stop.

I was in a therapy session this week, listening to my therapist reveal to me how I've spent so much of my life running towards goals that I've missed out on life itself. I ran through college—straight to class, straight home, straight to homework, straight to bed, straight to class, straight home, straight to homework, straight to bed—and missed out on the experiences, lessons, and relationships that many people build during those years. I've run through relationships trying to quickly figure out that he isn't the one so I can move on to the next and find out that he isn't the one so I can rush through the process of finally finding the man who is to be my husband. I left no room for mistakes, compromise, or effective relationship building.

And here I am, rushing through my 30s—unintentionally this time—because I've built up this momentum and my body and brain don't know how to stop. Fear, she said, has locked me into one speed for so long that I have to break that gear in order to stop and regain control.

My response: I feel like if I stop I will fall apart, just like if the Earth stops spinning it'll fall out of the sky.

Her response: Will it? Will the Earth actually fall? How do you know?

And I realized in that moment how much I actually needed to stop moving and also how afraid I was to stop moving. I am past the point of "slow down" and "stop rushing." I am at the point now of "stop." Stop or I will implode. Stop or I will fall apart. Stop or I will miss out on the rest of this decade and all the beautiful things God wants to do with my life... that I want to do with my life.

My baby cousins aren't babies anymore and it blows my mind how much of their lives I have missed the past few years. When they were little, I was present a lot. The past year and a half I've been completely absent. They don't stop growing just because I'm in crisis. They don't stop needing me just because I'm consumed in my own mess and trying to speed to the end of it. I want them to have me. I want to be a safe space for them to land when they cannot seek refuge in the arms of their parents because of fear, shame, or being misunderstood. In order for that to happen, though, I have to be present. I have to slow down. I have to stop.

This notion of slowing down has presented itself several times over the past few months. I've been advised to sit with myself, discover myself, feel myself, heal.

Don't rush through building this relationship. Acknowledge the ways in which it has been difficult, hurtful, scary, calming, joyful, fulfilling, and move forward in the way it is naturally meant to move. Stop rushing it. Stop convincing myself it will end and that I need to rush through to its end.

Don't rush to find the next thing. Enjoy the space and freedom that comes with clearing the hours of my day. Restructure, but don't rush. God will meet my needs in ways I can't imagine and can't describe if I stop... just stop.

Just...

stop.

Be blessed.

-CH