The Pace of Grace

Last updated on December 29, 2025

You’ve probably heard it before—maybe from a friend, a therapist, a bumper sticker, or even from yourself in a particularly frazzled moment: You just need to slow down.

But I want to tell you something that might surprise you: telling someone to slow down is almost always unhelpful.

I live on a curvy, hilly street where people drive way too fast. I could stand out there with a sign, wave my arms, shout “Slow down!” at the top of my lungs. It wouldn’t change a thing. People are going to do what they’re going to do. Some drive like they’re in a race. Some coast like Sunday never ends. Same road, different speeds, different stories.

And isn’t that life?

We’re all trying to get somewhere—some of us with urgency, some of us just trying not to fall apart. But the command to “slow down” often feels like a judgment more than a gift. It implies you’re doing something wrong. That your speed is a problem. That your stress is self-inflicted.

I’ve felt that pressure. You probably have too. The kind that whispers: You should know better. You should rest more. You should be more balanced. You should stop rushing. You should find your center.

But here’s the truth: no one else gets to set the pace of my life. Not permanently. Not meaningfully. That’s my job.

The problem is, I don’t always know what pace I need. And even when I do, I don’t always have the capacity to match it.

Sometimes I want to slow down. I long for stillness. But the day is loud, and the emails keep coming, and the laundry piles up, and someone I love needs me, and I’m tired but also buzzing with ideas. And I can’t find the brakes.

Other times I need to move fast. I feel alive in the momentum. I’m inspired. I’m clear. I’m productive in a way that doesn’t feel like burnout—it feels like a gift. And in those moments, someone telling me to “slow down” feels like a misunderstanding of my joy.

This isn’t a pace problem. It’s a permission problem.

I don’t want to be told what speed to live at. I want to be trusted to figure it out. I want to be allowed to move at the rhythm my body, heart, and soul need—even if it looks inconsistent. Even if it makes people uncomfortable. Even if it doesn’t fit into the perfect “self-care” formula that lives on Pinterest boards and wellness blogs.

Some days, peace looks like canceling everything and sitting on the floor with a hot cup of tea. Other days, peace looks like firing on all cylinders and getting more done in three hours than I did all last week.

Both can be holy. Both can be healing.

I think what I’m learning—what I’m still learning—is that life doesn’t require me to be constantly balanced. It asks me to be present. It asks me to be honest. And it asks me to stop measuring my worth by how well I perform calmness.

Because sometimes the most spiritual thing I can do is go. Move. Make. Create. And other times, it’s to pause. To breathe. To do nothing and let that be enough.

Neither one is wrong. What becomes harmful is when I expect myself to pick one and stay there.

Work doesn’t have to be frantic to matter. But it doesn’t have to be slow and methodical to be sacred either.

Creativity doesn’t only visit in stillness. It doesn’t only bloom in quiet. Some of my best ideas have come in a rush—in a flurry of motion that felt chaotic but alive.

There are no rules.

There is only awareness.

And if I can stay aware—of my limits, my energy, my desires—then I can start making choices instead of reacting from habit. I can ask myself: What pace do I need right now? Not what I’m supposed to need. Not what I needed yesterday. Not what someone else thinks is best for me.

I get to choose. That’s where the grace comes in.

Sometimes I’ll get it wrong. I’ll overdo it. Or I’ll pull back when I actually had more to give. That’s okay. The point isn’t perfection.

So instead of telling you to slow down today, I’ll offer this instead:

You don’t have to match anyone else’s pace. You don’t have to prove your peace by sitting still. You don’t have to earn your rest.

You’re allowed to go fast when it feels good. You’re allowed to pause when you’re tired. You’re allowed to live in rhythm, not rigidity.

Let it be a dance, not a destination.

Let it be a conversation with yourself—not a verdict from someone else.

Bring your awareness to the front of your mind. Let it sit there like a friend, not a critic. Let it help you notice when you’re buzzing too hard or dragging too low. Let it remind you that your life gets to be lived in your own timing, not on someone else’s stopwatch.

And if today you can’t choose what you know is best, let that be okay too. Sometimes just noticing is the win. Sometimes just naming it is the shift.

We’re not machines. We’re humans. Messy, brilliant, exhausted, inspired, grieving, grateful, trying-harder-than-we-let-on humans.

And maybe the most healing thing we can do isn’t to slow down or speed up, but to move through our days with just a little more gentleness.

Especially toward ourselves.

Be Well,

Leslie

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