Slowing Down: Why the Nervous System Needs Stillness
There are moments in life when we are asked to slow down. Sometimes we listen. Sometimes life makes the decision for us.
There was a time in my life when I moved quickly.
Some people used to jokingly refer to me as a “triple-A personality.” I had an insatiable appetite for more.
More advanced yoga postures.
More trainings.
More understanding.
I loved the feeling of expanding into what felt possible. At the time, I believed that intensity was devotion. And in many ways it was.
But it was also feeding a part of me I didn’t yet know how to see or meet.
Then something unexpected happened.
While studying with Mary Taylor, a strange pain began to appear in my body. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was persistent enough that I eventually had to stop practicing the way I had been.
I went to doctors, had scans, and tests were run… Nothing seemed off or wrong. Nothing could be diagnosed or treated.
So instead of a solution, I was left with something far more confronting.
I was left with myself.
Emotionally it felt like loss.
What I loved most (my practice) felt as though it had been taken away. I suddenly found myself standing in unfamiliar territory without the tools I had relied on for so long.
Looking back now, I realize I had entered a kind of inner winter. Nature understands winter well. It is a season when the outer world grows quiet, when trees release their leaves and life withdraws inward, conserving energy for what will come later.
At the time, however, I did not see it this way. I only felt uncertainty and the fear that something meaningful had been lost.
But nature has always been my teacher.
I grew up in a tumultuous family, and as a young child I often retreated into the woods. This was during a time when it was still acceptable for a seven-year-old to wander the land alone for hours.
And so I did.
Without realizing it, I was becoming a beloved student of nature. I watched the way light moved through the trees, noticed how birds paused before taking flight.
I saw how water easily flowed around stones and debris. Nature became my companion long before I understood what it was teaching me.
And it still is.
In the material world, it remains the place where I most easily remember myself.
Everything in nature moves in patterns and rhythms.
Nothing blooms forever.
There is expansion, and then there is rest.
There is flowering, and there is a sort of quietude.
Yet many of us live as though life should remain in a constant state of blooming.
Always creating.
Always manifesting.
Always producing.
If we remain in that state long enough, something inside us grows tired.
The exhaustion may be subtle. We might even convince ourselves that we are succeeding.
But the body knows.
The body is nature.
And nature does not move in a single season forever.
When the pain in my body forced me to slow down, I found myself returning again and again to the natural world… walking through the woods for hours, stepping into cold water, and noticing tiny little spiral shells sprinkled upon Mother Earth.
Nature just held me.
But, during those months I also encountered many hidden fears.
Without the familiar rhythm of my practice, I had to sit with great uncertainty. There were moments when I wondered if something essential had been taken from me.
Yet slowly, quietly, change emerged.
When I eventually returned to my yoga practice, I noticed something remarkable.
The deeper muscles of my pelvis and abdomen, the subtle muscles that support us from within had softened. Not the outer muscles we use to push or strive. The deeper ones. And when they relaxed, certain postures became more open than they had ever been before.
What years of effort had tried to accomplish suddenly appeared through allowing.
In that moment I understood something I could not see before.
Winter had quietly given way to spring.
The Doorway of Presence
Not everyone is forced into slowing down by life.
But we can learn the same lesson through a gentler doorway. That doorway is presence. Presence begins by noticing how the mind moves. It drifts toward the future, imagining what comes next. Or it wanders into the past, replaying memories.
Presence is simply the practice of returning.
And it truly is a practice. We never perfect it. We just begin again.
One of the most natural ways to return is through the breath.
Rather than controlling it, simply notice it. Feel the quiet rhythm of inhalation and exhalation. There is something humbling in realizing that we are, in a sense, being breathed.
Something sustains us.
Something moves life through us continuously.
Nature offers other doorways as well.
The sway of leaves.
The quiet noticing of a bird.
The way sunlight rests on the ground.
These moments seem small, yet something in the nervous system recognizes them as home.
A Small Ritual of Slowing Down
One of my favorite ways to return to the present moment is through something very simple.
A warm cup of tea or coffee.
Before the first sip, pause.
Hold the cup with both hands and feel its warmth.
Offer love or gratitude: for the water, the warmth, and the many hands and elements that made this moment possible.
Then take a slow sip.
Notice the flavors.
Breathe in the aroma.
Allow the moment to unfold slowly.
In this way, something ordinary becomes a quiet act of devotion to your nervous system.
Why the Nervous System Loves Stillness
There is also a gentle physiological reason slowing down matters.
When we move constantly from task to task, the nervous system often remains in a subtle state of alertness. Moments of presence signal something different. When we pause, breathe slowly, or rest our attention on something calming like nature or warm light the body shifts into what scientists call the rest and restore response.
Heart rate slows.
Breathing deepens.
Muscles soften.
It is the nervous system remembering that it is safe to settle.
A Closing Blessing
May you remember that your life, like nature, moves in seasons.
May you allow yourself moments of quiet winter when they arrive.
May you trust that beneath the surface something sacred is always preparing the next bloom.
And when winter quietly gives way to spring in your own life, may you greet it with a heart that has been gently nourished by rest.
Blessings. xo
Work With Me
If this reflection resonates with you, it may be a sign that your body and nervous system are asking for a different rhythm.
In my private sessions, I work with individuals who feel ready to slow down, reconnect with their inner wisdom, and gently restore balance through practices that support nervous system regulation, presence, and embodied awareness.
These sessions are quiet, supportive spaces where we explore what your body is asking for and how to move forward with greater ease and clarity.
If you feel called, you are warmly invited to schedule a session.
