Strands of blonde hair stuck to my forehead and cheeks. Rocking the middle school-issued gold shorts and a white boxy T-shirt. I was poised at the painter’s tape line on the gym floor, ready to go as soon as the whistle blew.
I was off. In my stride, sprinting from one end of the gym and back again, 50-yard dash style. Kenny, my competition, had no chance. Picking up one block and placing it at the other end of the gym. Then back again two more times. I felt unstoppable. Sweet victory was only a few feet away. No doubt, I was winning this race.
It meant everything and absolutely nothing.
Sure, I had bragging rights. I wouldn’t use them. This was a competition between me and self-worth, not Kenny, or how fast I could complete an insignificant task. Kenny was merely the sprinkles on my “winning equals self-worth” cupcake.
I’m fairly certain that the shuttle run was foundational in teaching me that you get rewarded for rushing, and that there’s an element of beat-the-clock to everything you do. There’s a part of me that’s been running this race ever since. Thanks, middle school gym class!
Rushing around trying to keep up with work, chores, life, friends … the list could go on for days. There’s a struggle to juggle everything, a hesitation to put a ball down, let alone let one drop. But why? To prove what point? That I’ve got it all together? That I’m good enough?
It’s so incredibly ingrained. Busyness. Rushing. A badge of honor. A quiet competition to see who’s juggling the most.
Our society has handed us praise for our packed schedules and constant motion. Slowing down sends the message you could be doing more. Resting? Well, that’s just laziness. (I have a lot to say about rest in the September 2025 issue of CH2/CB2.) Don’t you know there’s always something to do? Stillness? Oh no, that’s indulgent.
And the messaging runs deep. If your calendar is full, it must mean you’re in demand. If you’re exhausted, it must mean you’re important. If you’re always doing something, surely you’re doing something right.
Then there’s the underlying belief that if you keep moving, keep pushing, keep doing, you’ll earn something in return. Approval. Self-worth. Possibly a gold star?
What if all this busyness and rushing is simply noise?
Hear me out. What if I told you that slowing down allows you to choose presence over performance? I didn’t believe it either.
Let me be very clear: Slowing down doesn’t mean doing less, although it could. It means doing what matters with more focus, more intention, and fewer unnecessary detours.
It’s realizing that not everything needs to be done right this minute – although it often feels like it. Some things can wait. And sometimes, the most productive choice is the one that looks the least impressive from the outside.
It’s also knowing that sometimes you’ll have to hustle. Because that’s the season of life you’re in. And in this hustle, you can still find some stillness, even if it’s taking an intentional breath between tasks or pick-up lines.
The myth of busyness says: You’re only doing enough if you’re doing it all.
Slowing down challenges that. It says: Enough is enough. You can take a beat. Breathe. Think. You don’t have to run on autopilot.
It sounds counterintuitive, but slowing down allows you to work more effectively. Here’s how:
• You make space to focus and be more present, rather than frantically multitasking.
• You remember things more easily because you’re not rushing past them.
• You listen more fully.
• And, ironically, you often get more done – because you’re doing it with presence instead of panic.
When I’m feeling flustered and at my wits’ end, I’ve started asking myself these questions. I challenge you to do the same.
• What actually matters to me in this moment?
• What’s mine to carry and what can I put down (for now)?
• What am I doing out of obligation, and what’s rooted in purpose?
• Is this something I can ask someone to help me with?
I’ll be the first to admit I’m still a work in progress. My default setting is to rush towards a false sense of achievement, like I did in middle school gym class.
The lesson in all of this “go-go-go” mentality? As you begin to unhook your value from your achievement, you stop trying to earn your worth. Instead, you start claiming it.
You get to define success for yourself. That may look like getting one thing done on your to-do list, instead of being in constant motion.
It doesn’t mean abandoning your responsibilities or pretending life isn’t demanding. It simply means that your self-worth no longer has to hinge on how much you accomplish in a day.
If everything’s a race, you’ll always be running past your own life. You don’t have to win to belong. You don’t have to prove your value by exhausting yourself.
Sometimes, the most loving thing you can do for yourself – and the people around you – is to slow down, to choose quality over speed.
To slow down, not because you’ve earned it, but because you’re human (and you deserve it).
To decide that your value doesn’t come from how busy you are, but from who you are when you stop trying to earn love or self-worth through doing.
Sheila Tucker is a licensed marriage and family therapist, supervision candidate, and owner of Heart Mind & Soul Counseling on Hilton Head Island.
