Slowing Down? Only Lazy People Do That.
Running towards something isn’t only about ambition; it can also be avoidance dressed up as determination.
The idea of slowing down feels foreign to me. Almost… wrong. The concept of not sprinting, of not constantly pushing forward, feels a little lazy. And honestly, the thought of simply being—being present without striving—makes me want to grind my teeth.
What if I become stagnant or become too comfortable? What if I die without fulfilling my purpose on this Earth? What if, what if, what if. But here’s the most ironic what if of all:
What if running for so long is what has made you stagnant?
That realization hit me hard. And as soon as it did, I rejected it. I shoved it out of my mind, just no. Running toward something is all I’ve ever known. It’s my rhythm, my way of surviving. Running toward something can look admirable—like ambition, growth, purpose. But sometimes, running forward is just a way to avoid looking back. So, then the real question becomes: What am I running from?
Disappointment. And not disappointment in others, disappointment in myself.
Shame? I’ve worked through that. Regret? I don’t have many. But disappointment? That’s different. That one’s stickier. It’s not even the actions I’m disappointed in—it’s the lack of thought behind the actions taken. It’s the fact that the me I am now looks back and thinks, “How could you have been so careless? So naive?”
That hit me recently—when I saw someone, I care about so something that I had once done. And my reaction toward her? Harsh. Judgmental. Disappointed. I was speaking to her the way I would’ve spoken to my younger self. And when I stepped away from it, I realized—it wasn’t about her at all. It was about me.
I’m not just running toward some future version of myself—I’m also running from the version I used to be. I’ve made her the scapegoat for everything I don’t like about my current reality. She made the mess I’m still cleaning up. She’s the reason I’m still stuck. She’s why I’m “too this” or “not enough that.”
But that narrative? It’s just not true. Sometimes, I thank my past for the challenges and traumas that shaped me. And other times, I just want someone to blame so I can sit in self-pity for a while. The easiest target is… me. But honestly though, how dare I?
How dare I expect my 16-year-old self to know what I know now?
How dare I expect my 20-year-old self to meet the standards I have only just begun to understand?
How dare I expect my 23-year-old self to be more patient when having a child is the only reason, I now possess that patience?
How dare I expect my 27-year-old self to have the confidence and surety she has now, when it took 10 years of therapy to unpack my traumas, heal my wounds, and understand who I truly am?
You cannot shame yourself into becoming someone you're proud of.
If I keep feeling disappointed in my past self, I’ll never truly accept the flaws I still carry. They don’t magically disappear just because time passes. Healing doesn’t happen because time passes. It happens because we finally stop running from the work healing requires.
When people say acceptance is the first step, I believe what they really mean is embracing. Embracing is different; it requires empathy. It means seeing your flaws, acknowledging they need work, and still choosing to love the person you’re holding — without shame or judgment for what they already try to hide.
Healing doesn’t begin with a sledgehammer, smashing through everything all at once. It begins with a gardener’s gentle touch, patiently nurturing the fragile roots beneath the surface.
What I didn’t expect from asking myself these questions and taking a step back to reflect was this. All that running—from the past, from the messes, from the versions of me I’ve blamed—it's the same energy I’ve used to chase success. It’s the same drive, the same fear, the same urgency.
That drive to be exceptional? It’s not just about achievement. It's been about redemption.
How can I redeem myself for the ways I’ve put myself in spaces that have caused me harm?
How can I redeem myself from choosing people who wanted to snuff the light out of my spirit?
How can I redeem myself from the choices I made in haste because I was afraid?
But the whole truth? I was also running. Running from the versions of myself I didn’t want to face. Running towards something isn’t only about ambition; it can also be avoidance dressed up as determination. I was using survival tools — urgency, grit, overachievement — when what I really needed was something softer. Not armor, but a mirror. Not a race, but a moment to be still and brave enough to look back.
Sometimes, the tools that get us through the fire aren’t the same ones that help us heal from the burns.
I wasn’t just trying to move forward — I was trying to outrun versions of myself I didn’t want to love. Versions of myself I was angry at. Versions of myself who made mistakes I swear I’d never make now. That’s why I’m tired. Not because I’ve been chasing growth — but because I’ve been running. Running from the parts of me I quietly resent.
People don’t get exhausted from pursuing what they love. People get exhausted running from their past, trying to bury it instead of making peace with it.
I wasn’t always like this. Before my divorce, I truly believe that my drive came from where I wanted to go. But after it — after everything unraveled — that drive morphed into something darker. It turned into self-loathing and resentment. My marriage cracked my identity wide open. It forced me to rebuild myself in ways I never imagined I'd have to. And I blamed her — the younger version of me — for the collapse.
I resented her. I thought she was the reason I lost myself. She was the one who made choices that led me to start over. For the past two years, I’ve been running away from her. If I’m being honest, when I first started writing this, I couldn’t stand her. And if I’m being very honest, she still makes me want to face-palm and say, “Come on, how could you not see that?” But here’s the truth writing this article has taught me…
No one heals with a wrecking ball. You can’t demolish your past and expect to build something whole. Some tools are for tearing down, yes — but others are for repairing, restoring, and reconnecting.
And no one can truly move forward until they’ve made peace with where they’ve been.
Missing you and your wisdom, friend.