Reader,
Last week, I sat down at my desk, and a dull ache settled into every part of my body. I couldn't figure out the cause, so I simply sat with it, letting my eyes wander around my office. They landed on my bookshelf, more specifically, on the section dedicated to my Toni Morrison collection. One novel in particular, Song of Solomon, caught my attention. Though I’d read it years ago, I’d ordered a reprinted version that included a foreword Morrison had written almost 20 years later. I hadn’t yet read it; it had just been sitting there.
In that moment, with the ache still present, I decided to step away from my work. I pulled the book from the shelf and opened to the foreword. There, Morrison wrote about having to let go of a familiar process—one she’d relied on for so long—and opening herself up to something entirely new to write this book. Her words felt like a mirror to everything I've been saying and exploring throughout my creative life, only expressed in a way so stunning and profound.
The inspiration was instant, and so was the relief; the aches disappeared almost as quickly as they’d arrived. That short pause with Morrison’s words brought me back to myself, and back to why this creative journey matters so deeply.
When I say, “Slowing down is my activism,” it means I’m choosing a path that feels true to me, one that pushes back against the constant pressure to do more, be more, and race through life.
In a world that glorifies hustle and productivity, slowing down is my way of reclaiming my time, my energy, and my priorities. It’s my quiet rebellion, a way of saying, “I refuse to be rushed.”
I've held a lot of roles where the urgency narrative was constantly in the air—fast-paced, unrelenting, and often dominating the space. I always felt like a bit of an outsider in those settings because I didn't want to fuel that kind of energy.
It was not a good kind of lonely.
Over time, I had to make some tough choices to stay true to my own rhythm. If you had a chance to read my money email last week, you’ll see what I mean.
For me, this choice is about self-preservation. It’s about letting myself breathe, and making space for what really matters so that I can show up to serve community in the way I've always wanted to.
As I prepare to launch my fifth book, I can’t help but look back at the journey of the previous four with a bittersweet feeling. There's a lingering sadness in how quickly I pushed forward with each one. Although I slowed down a bit with books three and four, I still found myself clinging to that sense of urgency, as if rushing was somehow necessary.
I don’t want life to be a series of checked boxes; I want it to be fully, genuinely lived.
When I slow down, I feel a kind of power in that choice. It reminds me that there’s value in the pauses, that quality is more meaningful than quantity, and that I get to decide what my life looks like.
I understand—maybe this message is arriving at a time when you're not quite ready to hear it (I’ve been there myself; years ago, I’d roll my eyes and hit delete!). Timing really is everything. But here’s the thing: if we don’t allow ourselves to slow down, how can we sustain the work we’re passionate about bringing into the world?
And maybe, by calling in this slower pace, I can inspire others to do the same—to find what genuinely feels right for them and let that lead the way.
Breathing Space Creative is all about slowing down, heck it’s even in the name ; )
Reflective Question 1: If you find yourself open to slowing down, what motivates this openness?
Reflective Question 2:If you feel resistance, what emotions or thoughts are surfacing for you?
With love,
Chelene
As always, if you know of a friend who could benefit from reading this weekly share, please forward share. I want these personal shares within the Say No With Love Newsletter to reach the right people : )
