Why Slow Living Fuels Creative Growth

And what happens when we stop rushing through the good parts

My life didn’t always move slowly

I didn’t grow up on a farm. I’m not immune to Amazon Prime or a perfectly timed Target run.
But a few years ago—somewhere between burnout, babies, building a business, and trying to keep the house standing—life cracked open. And slow living snuck in.

It started with woodburning. Then a garden. Then two goats named Dorothy and Blanche.
Not because I was chasing a lifestyle, but because I was trying to breathe.

And somewhere in the middle of the mess and quiet, I started to feel creative again.

So what even is slow living?

Not everyone defines it the same way. But here’s what it looks like in real life:

• Making space for the things that make you feel human
• Choosing presence over productivity (at least some of the time)
• Saying “no, thanks” to the idea that busy = important
• Letting your life feel more like yours, not a to-do list with a pulse

It might look like tending tomatoes. Sitting with your coffee instead of gulping it.
Sketching at the kitchen table while someone asks for another snack. Folding laundry with music on just to make it feel less like a chore.

It’s not perfect. It’s definitely not Instagram aesthetic all the time. But it’s intentional.
And that’s the point.

What does this have to do with creativity?

Honestly? Everything.

Because when you slow down—even just a little—your brain stops sprinting.
Your senses turn back on. You notice things again.

That noticing? That’s where creativity lives.

How slowing down has changed the way I create:

1. I make things from a full heart, not an empty tank.

When I stopped chasing momentum and started following meaning, my work started to feel like mine again. Not for followers. Not for deadlines. Just because it felt good to make something.

2. I’m no longer afraid of blank pages.

Quiet is where ideas begin. Not on scroll number 83. Not between back-to-back meetings or during screen time guilt.

3. I remember why I started.

Not to build something perfect. But because art—especially handmade, imperfect art—gave me a place to land.

This doesn’t have to be your story—but it might be your season.

Maybe you’re not a woodburning artist. Maybe your version of slow is walking the dog before the rest of the house wakes up. Or journaling while the pasta boils. Or just… not overcommitting for once.

Whatever it looks like—you’re allowed to choose it.
You’re allowed to crave peace. To protect your energy.
To say, “This matters to me,” even if it’s not urgent or impressive.

Let’s be honest—

The world doesn’t exactly reward slow.
It rewards fast food, fast content, fast decisions.

But what if your best ideas—the ones that feel honest and new—only show up when you stop rushing?
What if slowness isn’t the obstacle, but the doorway?

A note to the tired ones

(the moms, the makers, the quietly creative women figuring it out as they go)

If you’ve been feeling off lately—disconnected from yourself, from anything that feels inspiring—you’re not alone.

Sometimes I find myself again while pulling weeds in the garden. Or while standing in the kitchen waiting for water to boil. Not exactly glamorous, but it’s enough to catch my breath. To remember there’s still a spark in there somewhere, underneath the noise.

You don’t need a big shift. You don’t need a full day off.
Just five minutes. Maybe less. A little bit of quiet. Your own attention.
Let that be enough, for now.

What about you?

Do you have slow moments that refill your creative cup?
Are you craving more space—or have you already found a way to make it?

I’d love to hear what slow living looks like in your world.
Leave a comment or send me a note—this space is better when it’s shared.