Slowing Down: Why Taking a Few Steps Back Is The Only Way I Can See Myself Moving Forward

More Than Lyme

I can hear the rain dripping down the side of the house, splashing against the rough of the rocks just outside my office door, the one that joins me to the outside.

The gentle hum of cars and streaks of light dancing across my wooden table on the floor soothes me. I close my eyes (yes, while I type!) to try and soak it in just a little bit more. My mind is working against the grain, weaving through knots and unexpected curves, struggling to grip at the sense of clam that I am so desperately trying to usher in. It’s been difficult you see, to take the pressure off. To tell myself that it’s ok to dive into the pile of books that sits next to me on my futon - the pens and notebooks calling my name.

My hands shake.

I want to write, I want to run, and I crave silence but haven’t a clue where to find it. In a sense, I am lost in my mind. Not in a dark unforgiving kind of way, but in a jumbled pile of chaos kind of way. I have lists and to do’s that reach far above my head, jumping out at me with every thought. Every whisper. How could I possibly do anything but attend to these demands? How could I possibly give a little less to the tasks at hand and allow for contentment with where I am to take it’s place.  

My eyes blur. 

There is a yoga and pilates schedule sitting no more than two feet away from me. I have made plans with my good friend to take the 4:15 class. The same friend that brought up the idea of slowing down. Of processing. Of resetting and giving space to an always active mind. 

My neck throbs, twitching intensely as I stare at my computer.  

How could I not see it before? How necessary this time for myself is? How delicate my emotions are. How easily I take on the weight of everything and from everyone around me, setting aside my own as if saying, “you, you can wait.” 

But no, I can’t move forward like this. For my health, it has always come second, even if I am only just realizing this. I let is find a comfy spot in the corner, sitting there, patiently, letting out small cries for help that I can only hear if I stop to listen. 

But I don’t stop. I push through, attempting to silence it with more, more, more. With heavy words, damaging thoughts, and a mind that refuses to stop for even a moment to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, there is something else hiding behind this curtain that I strategically placed at the entrance to my jumbled mind. 

Why am I telling you all this? After all, time and time again I have told you to put your health first. To slow down and listen to your body, your mind, your thoughts that are so often masked by the self doubt. I tell you to listen to them, and what do I do? I turn a blind eye to the very words that come out of my mouth.

Yes, it is most certainly what I wish to be doing. It is the road I wish to take, but there is always something diverting my attention. Rather, myself. Not you, this community, or the seemingly endless to do lists, but myself and by stubborn ways. 

I can’t seem to slow down, speeding past who I know myself to be, leaving behind my truths, my hopes, and the very tools that have always been there to help me get to where I need to be. But for some reason, I think I don’t need them. I believe that I can move alongside them, against the grain, and never in harmony with. 


So, once again, why am I telling you this? I am telling you this because I want you to understand, but even as I type those words I know that there is a chance you won’t, and that’s ok. I know that there is a chance that it is too soon for me to tell you exactly why I am feeling the need to take a few steps back. 

To sit with my thoughts, really in truly inviting in the calm rather than pushing it away. More than that, in my gut, and in order to make progress and move forward, I know I need to do this. 

After all, I don’t think I ever have. 

Sat with my thoughts that is.

And my body, now more than ever, needs me to do this. 

I don’t expect it to be easy, and after not posting for four days, I can already feel myself going through withdrawals, but I am certain that it is necessary. 

And by no means is More Than Lyme leaving. 

Quite the opposite really.

It’s re-rooting, re-focusing, and re-directing its attention inwards.

It’s getting back to basics and learning to be content with all that already is rather than what has yet to be done. Because I am beginning to think that in order to move in the direction you wish to go, you must first learn to be ok with taking a few steps back.

To slow down,

breathe,

and put your face in the sun,

in the rain

and believe,

really, really believe,

that things will turn out ok. 


Readying, moving, healing, writing, and reading some more.

It’s time for me to slow down and heal. 

So, what you can expect over the next month or so?

  • One to two Instagram posts a week, rather than daily (same goes for FB)
  • One real talk (this one) at the start (now) and one down the road, or whenever I feel that spark and pull to share with all of you some of my musings and thoughts, and hopefully the progress that has been made from this. 
  • One story this month, or maybe not, only time will tell! But please, keep sending and sharing them with MTL, they will be posted, it just might take a little longer than usual. 
  • One day a week I will be answering emails, so still feel free to contact me at any point, you just might be waiting a little bit to get a response. 

Most importantly, I don’t want this to mean putting a temporary pause in support within More Than Lyme! In fact, I would say this is all the more reason to keep sharing through our different experiences and thoughts on it all with #morethanlyme, knowing that even reaching out to someone in one small way could have a huge impact. 

So incredibly grateful for all of you. Thank you for all that you continue to give! It lifts me up more than I can say. Now, off to read, write a little, meditate, take some supplements, take the pressure off, and drink some tea...

Talk with you soon,

Chloe