Slow
Welcome to In a Word, a newsletter that cultivates thoughtfulness, one word at a time. If a friend forwarded you this email, click here to subscribe:
Each January, I feel deeply drawn to a hibernation of sorts. Thought processing, daily tasks, email responses: everything slows way down. Things that felt breezy in my whirlwind of industry in the fall now require more effort: laundry, walking the dog, getting out of bed in the dark. I’m still running, but slower; I haven’t done a HIIT run in weeks. When I pour maple syrup over my oatmeal, I feel its languid pace in my bones.
I tend to eye roll advice about “listening to your body” and taking care of yourself. If I had to diagnose my eye-roll, I’d say it stems from a bad case of Not Buying It. I believe in taking care of myself, but I can’t read those messages without seeing a giant asterisk, fine print at the bottom: but only so you have more energy to do more/be a better partner/friend/mother. The Self care conversation is so often rooted in service to society’s first love: productivity.
I am susceptible to its siren’s call. Last weekend, I had a bad headache and took a three hour nap. I felt so much better when I woke up, except for the dark cloud of dread and guilt I felt about everything I did not do.
I want to listen to my body (and soul) telling me to slow down. I want to resist the urge to qualify it with the promise of all I will do after this “much needed” change of pace. I want to believe rest leaves me restored, not indebted. I want to wrap myself in a soft blanket and put myself down for a nap for no other purpose than my own restoration. I want to edit the balance sheet in my brain so that “what I do” isn’t the bottom line. Or maybe obliterate the balance sheet altogether.
But I’ve learned, like many women, not to listen to my body, but to train and control it, assuming what it craves is bad, misleading, a trap. Eating and exercise regimens, Advil, caffeine: we have so many tools to mask, beat back and deny what our bodies are and what they want. (Of course nourishing and moving our bodies are also ways to care for them, but that’s one end of the spectrum and I’ve spent plenty of time on the other end, shouting demands at my body instead of listening to what it needs.)
But as I have been glued to the couch, or moving through chores in slow motion, I’ve realized that my body is always telling me the same thing during these long winter weeks: slow down. I usually try to override it with action plans and goal setting, so I’ve never noted it as a valuable message. Self care practices often revolve around consumption and action, but our absences and undoing are also crucial.
In normal years, we take a whirlwind trip to visit our families for the holidays and we usually fly home on New Year’s Eve. While everything I’m reading online buzzes with fresh starts, I just want to sleep off the jet lag. This year, we didn’t travel, but I still felt that craving for a deep, cleansing breath to flush my central nervous system and restore calm. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been taking shallow breaths since March, punctuated by bouts of hyperventilation.
I need a breath, a minute, a nap (or ten). And when I have access to those things, I should take them without guilt—a proposition I suspect takes more restraint and intention than a reactive flurry of goals.
In this issue, you’ll find an essay, a novel, a photo book, a sweatshirt, some slow cooker recipes, and of course, a benediction.
I am on the library waitlist for the book Wintering, which I am sharing without having read it because I’m so looking forward to it. Blurb from the about page:
“Ultimately Wintering invites us to change how we relate to our own fallow times. May models an active acceptance of sadness and finds nourishment in deep retreat, joy in the hushed beauty of winter, and encouragement in understanding life as cyclical, not linear.”
I’m Chronically Ill and Afraid of Being Lazy
“Though it might be better to realize my worth outside of productivity, I continue to live in a society that praises the art of getting things done over all else—including wellness and rest—and these are values I can't seem to shake.”
A few things I’ve enjoyed in this slowed-down pace:
Goodness, Hamnet is the most beautiful book. It’s a fictional account of Shakespeare’s family, specifically the loss of a son (Hamnet) to the Black Death. The descriptions of domestic life are distant enough from my own that I romanticized things like making cheese and stirring laundry without thinking too much about the laundry I neglected to read it.
It is a quiet book full of domestic dramas but speaks so poignantly of art, loss, healing, communication, motherhood, sibling relationships, and marriage. And it is so, so beautifully written.
This is my second year making a Chatbooks “family yearbook.” It was weird to add a full page image of the biohazard bag from my first Covid test, but 2020 was a year I wanted to bear witness to and document. I find Chatbooks really easy to use if you have your photos fairly accessible digitally (we use Google Photo). The quality is of the books is wonderful. (10x10 lay flat hardcover, pictured here.)
For slow days at home, please consult this most perfect of hoodies. It is the softest and coziest, but also cut well and cute enough to leave the house in, should that be a thing we do again in 2021. (On sale with an extra 20% off as of 2/1/21.)
Slow Cooker recipes:
Basic Chicken in the Crockpot- I totally agree that shredded chicken is best; (I am really picky about meat textures). This is just a basic recipe for cooking chicken in the crockpot that can be used in soups, salads, etc.
Detox Lentil Soup (personally I am not a fan of “detox” in recipe titles since your liver is responsible for detoxing your body and does so naturally, but this is a really yummy soup.)
Some last links worth a click:
If you have trouble falling asleep, I can’t recommend Calm Sleep Stories enough. Matthew McConaughey’s “Wonder” is like falling asleep to one of his weirdly entrancing Lincoln commercials.
Good point (read the caption too):
May we see the open question in a yawning hour before we rush to fill it with the same old story.
As always, I’d love to hear what this issue calls to mind for you! Simply respond to this email to share your thoughts with me. I’ll be back in your inbox with a poem later this week, since this email was too long!
Gratefully, Jacey
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I love your newsletters. Just hopping on here to say thank you.
Such a comforting, strengthening read. Thank you!