Why Slowing Down Feels So Uncomfortable at First

For years, I believed slowing down was something we had to earn. Rest is only earned after productivity. Stillness after achievement. And peace only after everything and everyone has been looked after first.

Like many people, I became very good at functioning within constant motion.

Busy became standard. Overthinking became usual. And feeling slightly overstimulated all the time became my norm.

So normal, in fact, that when life finally quietened down for even a moment, I didn’t always experience relief.

Sometimes, I experienced discomfort.

I noticed it most clearly after moving to Cabo Verde. There is a slower rhythm to life here that can feel unfamiliar at first. The ocean doesn’t rush. The people don’t hurry. There’s no traffic. Life moves more slowly. Even conversations seem to breathe differently here.

And yet, instead of relaxing into it, part of me initially resisted it.

We were used to the routines of the modern world when we came to live here. We worked long hours in the belief that it would all pay off one day. Weekends were for fun, partially, but also for chores, and then we were back to the weekday grind again.

So, when we first moved to Cabo Verde and things got quieter, I’d feel oddly restless when I had more time to relax. Often, I'd inevitably divert to a list of things I should be doing instead.

And it made me realise something.

Many of us are conditioned to constant stimulation.

Even by our early thirties, many of us have spent years training our nervous systems to operate in a heightened state of alertness. Doing. Remembering. Replying, Organising. Planning. Anticipating. Fixing.

And somewhere along the way, slowing down can start to feel irresponsible. As though resting means we’re lazy, falling behind, or neglecting something important.

Often, to the point where regulating can feel uncomfortable instead of calming.   

What we don’t realise when we continue to push ourselves is that the body does not interpret endless pressure as success. It interprets it as stress.

Not a sudden or dramatic onslaught of stress, but a quiet underlying tension that can become chronic without us even realising it. It may show up as irritability, inflammation, tight shoulders, back pain, emotional flatness, lack of patience, or overwhelm.

That’s why, when we start to stretch on a yoga mat, run a bath, meditate, or sit for a cup of tea, things don’t instantly settle within us.

The human mind has been running on urgency for years.

So it fidgets when we try to relax.  

Sometimes it searches for distraction. Sometimes it reaches toward guilt. And sometimes it convinces us that we are wasting time.

This is why gentle and consistent wellness practices matter so much.

Not because they are trendy or aesthetic, but because they slowly teach the body that safety and stillness can coexist.

A walk. A few minutes of morning yoga. Breathing deeply. Being near the ocean. Moving more slowly. Reducing noise, finding pauses between tasks, or a weekly Yoga Nidra to relax the nervous system.

These things may seem simple. But they are often profoundly unfamiliar to a mind and body that have spent years in survival mode.

The irony is that many people believe they need stricter discipline, intense physical workouts, or more hobbies to feel better. When what they may actually need is recovery.

Not permanent inactivity. Not giving up. Not checking out of life. Just moments of genuine regulation. Moments where the body is no longer bracing for the next chore, task, responsibility, or item on a to-do list.

It’s why we feel calmer after a walk, happier after dancing in the living room to our favourite song, or rejuvenated after a yoga class.

Releasing emotion is not a weakness. It is the nervous system letting go of what it has been holding.

And perhaps that is the real challenge with slowing down.

Not the practical act itself, but what surfaces when the noise finally fades.

The thoughts we have avoided. The exhaustion we have pushed through. The emotions we have postponed. Or accepting the simple truth that it is not possible to operate at full capacity forever without consequence.

Wellness, therefore, is not really about doing more, but about becoming comfortable enough to do a little less. To move a little slower. To release the strict routines that we’ve been clinging to. To step back from constant doing. And to stop treating rest as something that must be earned.

It's not about becoming less capable, less ambitious, or less engaged with life. It’s about recognising that wellbeing cannot exist in a body that never fully switches off.

Namaste,

Karen