Choosing Slow Motherhood in a World That Runs Fast

By the time 2025 came to a close, I felt like I had been caught in something stronger than a rat race. It was more like being pulled along by a fast-moving current, one that looks manageable from the shore, but never really lets you stop to catch your breath once you’re in it.

Everything was moving. Deadlines. Commitments. Activities. Expectations. Even the good things, homeschool rhythms, work I love, family moments, began to blur together as I moved from one task to the next without ever truly arriving anywhere.

I didn’t feel lazy. I didn’t feel ungrateful. I felt untethered.

When the holidays finally passed and the house grew quiet, I realized how tired my soul truly was. And in that stillness, I made a quiet vow as we stepped into 2026.

Not louder. Not better. Not more.

Slower.

Why I Didn’t Make a New Year’s Resolution

I didn’t announce it. I didn’t choose a word of the year. I didn’t start strong on January 1st.

Instead, I told myself: Let’s see if you can live this way for a month.

We’re told that New Year’s resolutions are about motivation and momentum, but research tells a different story. Studies show it takes about 66 days on average to form a new habit, and often just as long, or longer, to break an old one. Especially, when that habit is tied to survival mode, people-pleasing, or the belief that worth is measured by productivity.

So the next two months became my test, not a performance, but a practice.

These Months Weren't Perfect and That Matters

These first two months of 2026 have not been perfect.

There were still overwhelming moments that made me question whether I’m getting this whole motherhood thing right. Moments when the noise crept back in, when I felt stretched thin, when the chaos threatened to take up residence in my chest again.

But instead of letting those moments define the month, I allowed them to invite me inward.

I slowed down, not dramatically, not all at once, but intentionally. I lingered over coffee. I softened our mornings. Some days, I crossed one small thing off my to-do list instead of ten. Other days, I let the list sit untouched and chose to be present on the floor with my kids, listening to stories that only matter if you’re really paying attention.

And in that slowing, I began to reflect.

Coming Face to Face with “Too Much”

I reflected on my wants. My needs. And the life I’ve built for myself and my children.

And I had to acknowledge something honestly and without shame: this life is full, beautifully so, but also too full, in ways many of my own choices have created.

Too many commitments. Too much stuff. Too much time spent trying to please everyone.

With three children, and now three who are constantly on the move, I’ve realized that my time can no longer be spent loosely. It must be stewarded with intention. Presence isn’t optional anymore; it’s essential.

Learning to Let Go

Slowing down has shown me that holding onto everything is costing us something sacred.

So I’m learning to let go of what no longer serves our family:

• Excess, both physical and emotional

• Relationships that drain more than they give

• Activities that crowd our calendar, but starve our spirit

  
  

Letting go isn’t failure. It’s discernment.

It’s making room for rest, for connection, for joy that doesn’t require a schedule.

I’ve come to understand that the future we hope for doesn’t simply arrive someday. It’s built quietly, right here, by how we live now. By the moments we choose to notice. By the space we allow. By the pace we keep.

Choosing Presence Over Productivity

I used to believe that being intentional meant being efficient. Now I know it means being present.

Presence looks like:

• Eye contact when my children speak

• Responding instead of reacting

• Choosing words carefully, knowing they linger

• Aligning my actions with the values I say I hold

  
  

It means understanding that my time isn’t just a resource to manage, it’s a gift to steward.

These months forced me to sit with the discomfort of how often I’ve used productivity as validation. And on the other side of that discomfort, I found something gentler.

Remembering What Once Mattered

In the stillness, I also realized how much of what once held meaning had slowly slipped to the wayside.

Simple joys. Creative rhythms. Sacred pauses.

I miss them. And I want them back, not as another task, but as part of the life I’m reclaiming. A life that feels rooted instead of rushed. Lived instead of managed.

Life Is Complicated and Still Beautiful

Life is complicated. Motherhood is layered. Some days feel heavy. Others are luminous in ways that stop me in my tracks.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, I’m learning that my role isn’t to control every outcome, it’s to tend.

To tend my children with patience and presence. To nurture their curiosity, resilience, and softness. To create an environment where they are free to unfold into who they are becoming slowly, uniquely, beautifully.

Like a garden, they don’t need constant interference. They need care. Light. Space. Time.

And maybe I do too.

Carrying Slow Motherhood Into the Rest of 2026

I don’t know what the rest of this year will hold. None of us do.

But I do know this: habits aren’t formed in grand declarations. They’re formed in daily, often unnoticed choices. And the life we build is shaped less by our intentions and more by our attention.

So as we move forward into 2026, I’m choosing to honor the moments. To cherish the ordinary. To make memories instead of simply managing time.

Not because the world has slowed down, but because I finally am.

And that, I’m learning, changes everything.