The phrase that comes to mind when I think about slowing down is that either you consciously choose to take the time to slow down, or your body will force you to. I entered adulthood at age 17 when I moved in with a friend to finish high school. For the next roughly 20 years, I spent my time balancing a relentless pursuit of a better life with the pervasive fear of failing. I say 'balance' because, as I entered my 30s, the drive became almost exclusively fear. Pretty soon, fear was driving my decisions and running my relationships. Further, my husband and I had decided it was time to start a family and, after 2 years of trying, were unsuccessful. I am also in the final stages of obtaining my doctorate and rewriting my project for the 200th time, and just found myself staring at the screen, unable to come up with anything to write. It was a random day, while scrolling through social media, that I found an ad for a psychology practice in town and decided to try it out. I remember beginning my first session with the counselor, saying, " I am just not happy anymore, and I don't know why." Over the course of the following year, she and I slowly unpacked all of the trauma I had encountered over my 35 years of life. In addition, I began to rediscover my innovation and creativity. I learned that downtime or dedicated time to recover -whether that be physically, mentally, or emotionally-is just as much of a priority as planning for tasks and accomplishments. It's not selfish, it's maintenance. That's why I say it's not "work-life balance" because trying to balance is what leads to exhaustion and burnout. It's a juggle. It's peaks and valleys. It's finding joy along the "average" line that embraces the uncertainty of life but also holds faith that the outcomes will be reached exactly how they should.

I didn't choose to slow down. Life decided to slow it down for me. After leaving traditional retail (brick and mortar operating 9a-9p) and jumping into managing a convenience store that operates 24/7 I found myself working all hours of the day. I mentally convinced myself that I NEEDED to be available 100% of the time to my staff and the customers. I also had a "no one can do it better or quicker than me, so I might as well do it myself" mentality. And so I would find myself working 60, 70, 80, even 90 hour weeks. I even clocked a 28 hour day simply because staff called out and I was too prideful to reach out to other supporting stores and ask for help. Watching the growth of sales beating last years numbers, listening to positive customer feedback only fueled this mentality I had. Through my dedication to the store and its growth and the positive community relations, I was promoted to a bigger store. Going from a store that averaged $5,000 a day into a store that average $10,000 a day. This was quite the feat for me and continued to drive me to over work myself. This was June 2021, within a month of accepting the role of a larger store, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. In the early stages of treatment, I still didn't slow down. I simply adjusted to the circumstances. He was still very much capable of handling the children and their daily needs. I would rearrange my working hours to take him to treatment. Once that was done, I would hurry back to the store to complete my daily tasks. This continued on until Jan/Feb 2022 when he became so fragile and weak from all the chemo, when he was hospitalized twice. This was the beginning of the realization that I needed to slow down, but it hadn't sunk in fully. I simply adjusted my working hours to be able to take on the care of the children as well. I kept telling myself that I needed to work, that was how we kept the roof over our head, the food in our stomachs. It wasn't until his final 2 days that my direct supervisors finally sat me down and told me to take an LOA and be at home with him when he was released from the hospital. I didn't get that opportunity. He came home on a Friday night and had passed early Saturday morning. Life and my situation forced me to slow down. To be more present for my children. I was faced with the reality that I had been working myself to a point that I didn't know who they truly were. I was lucky enough to have the support of a company that allowed me to work around them. I found my balance, or the best balance I can have when I am still required to cover shifts if no one else is available. I have been blessed with team members who try to understand. Slowing down is still very much uncomfortable for me, I still have a mental block that tells me that if I'm not in my store doing my job, than I'm never going to grow with the company. I know this to be a false statement, but its one that is hard to shake. However, being "forced" to slow down has helped me find and develop a better time management skill. I know what hours I have during the day while the kids are in school to get my job done at work. This then allows me to be more productive and intentional with my time and tasks. I sleep better.......mostly.....and I have gotten to know who my children are, what they aspire to be, and the joys (or fears) they face as they continue to grow. Do I still fall victim to my old self and feel the need to always be at the store ensuring that the detailed cleaning list is going to get completed. Absolutely. Slowing down isn't an overnight miracle. It takes time, patience and sometimes life changes to help us see that slowing down isn't just good for us, but good for those around us, especially our loved one.

I was so afraid of time slipping past me that I kept myself constantly busy, but all that frantic motion created exactly what I feared: a life I couldn't properly remember. It wasn't until I spent three hours on a single scrapbook page that I learned slowing down doesn't make you lose time. It gives you your life back.

I spent years operating at full speed in my payroll career, believing rest made me less committed. It wasn't until my husband and I shifted our lifestyle by choosing clean foods, cooking from scratch, and being mindful of what we nourish ourselves with, that I finally learned how to slow down. That change grounded me in ways I didn't expect. Instead of running on stress, I began working from a place of clarity and intention. Slowing down didn't take away from my productivity. It enhanced it, and it's made me better in both my personal life and my career.

For years, my worth was tied to the "breakneck pace" of my achievements. Graduating high school at 16 and finishing my degrees ahead of schedule created a psychological blueprint where rest felt like a failure or, at best, a luxury I hadn't yet earned. When the pandemic forced me to slow down at 20, the silence was deafening. Without a checklist to conquer, I felt a sense of "stagnation" that was deeply uncomfortable. I had to confront the reality that I didn't know who I was if I wasn't being productive. What finally helped me embrace a different pace was the realization that flexibility is a form of strength. Meeting my husband (someone whose career as a professional athlete is defined by high-intensity "sprints" followed by necessary recovery) taught me that constant motion isn't the same as progress. I embraced the "slow down" by reframing my career pivot not as a step back, but as a strategic alignment. Moving into laboratory research allowed me to trade the rigid, stationary demands of a future in medical residency for a career that honors both my scientific mind and my nomadic life. I learned to view "rest" and "balance" as the fuel that makes my high-level laboratory practice possible, rather than a distraction from it. Choosing to slow down and pivot has fundamentally changed my output. In the lab, I am more meticulous and present because I am no longer operating from a place of chronic exhaustion. My productivity is now measured by the quality of my discovery rather than the speed of my ascent.

I began my career in hospitality not at the front desk, but behind closed doors cleaning rooms. I wasn't there because I lacked ambition or heart. I was there because I was told I could never be the face of a hotel. I was told that with Tourette's and ADHD, leadership wasn't for me. That guests wouldn't understand. That I wouldn't be polished enough, calm enough, or "normal" enough. So instead, I scrubbed floors. And I listened. And I learned. I learned that hospitality isn't about perfection; it's about care. It's about showing up, even when no one is watching, and doing the job with pride. I learned that every position matters, every department is connected, and dignity exists in every task when you give it your best. I didn't remain silent or invisible for long. I worked my way into the night auditor role, where numbers meet responsibility and trust is earned hour by hour. From there, I stepped into the front desk finally face to face with guests, doing the very thing I was told I could never do. I proved not only that I could handle it, but that I excelled. I became a night manager, then a front office manager, and then an assistant general manager. Each role brought new challenges, longer hours, heavier expectations, and louder doubts from those who continued to underestimate me. But I never underestimated myself. For fifteen years, I showed up. I learned every side of this industry. I failed, I grew, I adapted, and I led with empathy born from experience. I didn't erase who I am to succeed; I embraced it. My Tourette's and ADHD didn't disqualify me from leadership; they sharpened my awareness, my compassion, and my resilience. Today, after nearly two years as a General Manager at Candlewood Suites, an IHG property, I stand as living proof that limitations placed on you by others are not prophecies; they are obstacles meant to be outworked. I didn't just climb the ladder. I built it step by step, role by role, shift by shift.