Mindfully Slow

Slow morning in my home office, tea, candles, and a good book

By Victoria (Tori) Martinez

Eyes open to gooey haze, morning thoughts wade through a foggy brain. Who knew a whole night’s sleep would bring no rest…

These first few lines from a recent poem I wrote connect me to the idea of slow living, being mindful of how my body needs to move, especially in the mornings. How we start our day can predict how our entire day will go.

Chronic Illness didn’t just change my routines; it rewrote my identity. I used to be the one who never stopped, always on the move, always chasing the next goal. Slowing down felt like losing a bit of myself. But as the pain settled in, I learned to listen, to honor the slow roll of mornings, to give myself permission to move gently, breathe deeply, and simply be. Hard lessons that I learned after chronic illness visited me and then decided to stay.

There’s grief in letting go of who I was. Sometimes, I miss her. But in this new rhythm, I’ve discovered a different kind of strength.

In the early morning, I roll, because there’s less people that come and go. Need more time for broken bodies to rise. Need more space for meds and machines. You know, those necessary things. I miss the old days when I was fun. Standing was easy and there was no pain. Now I’ve always got a cane…

I’ve learned that my value, our value isn’t measured by how much we do. Society has conditioned us to live an extrovert existence of constant motion, constant activity, constant achievement. To be loud, to be visible. This generation has grown up with the instant gratification of social media. We need to relearn how to live life.

I’ve found beauty in the quiet and still moments. In the extra moments spent in bed to meditate. In the gentle stretch of tired muscles. In the softness of linen sheets against my skin. These small acts of care are rebellion, my way of reclaiming worth in a world that moves too fast.

We need to remember that people are valuable because they exist. It shouldn’t matter what color they are, how many limbs are working, how much money they make, or what their gender it.  Helen Keller was deaf and blind, Nick Vujicic has no limbs, Temple Grandin is autistic and the list goes on and on. So many people with limitations, disabilities, and differences contributed to society and were valuable. So many more who aren’t famous and are still worthy because their differences are what makes us human.

So, my life today has become mindfully slow. This has taught me to cherish what is real – real food, real materials, real human connections. When you live with daily pain and manage a lifelong illness you pay attention to the little things, because in the end, they are everything.

You can purchase my poetry books here for continued inspiration, and validation.