The Art of Not Rushing

For my last solo art exhibition, I booked the gallery before I started painting. My thought process was, if I locked myself into a deadline and forced the penalty of losing my deposit, then it would make me do the work. Even though, I did finish the collection with love and passion, it started out of anxiousness. I gotta get it done. I got it done. But my nervous system was such a mess, that when it was over, I couldn’t do anything. I needed to rest my body as if I had just completed a triathlon. I had to rest my mind as if I just came out of a tragedy. I didn’t want to paint again for a long time.

Rushing through life isn’t a badge of honor. Baby, that’s a trauma response. And that constant pressure you feel deep in your chest? That ain’t motivation—it’s survival mode dressed up like ambition. I’m not saying this to sound poetic or profound. I’m saying it because I lived it. I spent years running—mind racing, body tired, spirit depleted—thinking I was being productive, when really, I was just trying to stay afloat.

I  didn’t know any better at the time. I thought the hustle was noble, that urgency meant I cared. But the truth is, I was living on edge. My nervous system was irritated, overwhelmed, and constantly bracing for impact. And I’m sending this with love—not judgment—because I see you. I feel you. I know what it’s like to mistake rushing for progress. To believe if you’re not constantly moving, you must be falling behind.

But rushing ain’t just a bad habit. It’s rooted in something deeper. It’s what happens when we grow up in chaos… when peace felt unfamiliar, when stillness wasn’t safe. So now as adults, we speed through life, not because we want to—but because we don’t know how not to.

Stillness can feel dangerous when your nervous system was trained for chaos. Rushing becomes our armor. It’s how we try to feel in control, how we chase worth, how we run toward some future version of ourselves that we hope will finally feel like enough.

But here’s the thing—your body, your spirit, can’t thrive in that fight-or-flight mode. Let’s talk real quick about the science. Your nervous system operates in two main states: sympathetic (that’s fight, flight, freeze), and parasympathetic (rest, heal, receive). When you’re always rushing, always on edge, your body stays in that sympathetic overdrive—heart racing, cortisol pumping, everything feels like a threat—even when it’s just a work deadline or a text you haven’t answered.

And when you’re in that mode, how do you really feel? Anxious? Scattered? Exhausted? Exactly. Because that energy of rushing… it actually slows down everything you’re trying to speed up. Healing, clarity, manifestation, aligned decisions—all of that requires a regulated nervous system.

Divine timing? It needs a grounded vessel.

I had to learn this the hard way. Through breakdowns, burnout, and having to rebuild from the inside out. Rushing was my resistance. It made me bypass my own wisdom, ignore my intuition, and silence my body’s signals. That led to misalignment, poor choices, and delay after delay. I thought I trusted divine timing… but if I’m being honest? I was afraid. Afraid it wasn’t coming fast enough. That I wasn’t enough yet.

But every time I rushed, I missed something. A red flag. A divine detour. A soul whisper. And when I slowed down… that’s when the blessings started flowing. That’s when I aligned with people, places, and opportunities that matched the real, rested me.

So let’s shift, together. Out of urgency, into peace. Out of panic, into presence.

Here’s a few ways to start: