When I first sat down to write Take It Slow, I had a vision: a book that could inspire others to live more mindfully, to reconnect with themselves, and to redefine success beyond hustle and burnout. What I didn’t fully anticipate was how much I would have to walk that very path myself—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of self-reflection.
Let’s start with a confession. Writing this book was not a linear, smooth-sailing experience. It came with its fair share of internal roadblocks—some I expected, others I didn’t.
One of the biggest challenges? Impostor syndrome. That nagging inner voice whispered, “Who am I to write this book?” and “Will anyone actually read it?” Sound familiar? Despite years of experience as a coach and teacher, I still had moments of doubt that nearly made me close the manuscript and walk away. But every time I returned to the heart of the message—that we all deserve to live a life that’s more aligned, intentional, and fulfilling—I knew I had to keep going.
Then there was the other voice. The perfectionist one. The one that wanted every chapter to be flawless, every sentence to be perfectly crafted. I found myself spending hours editing instead of writing, tweaking and re-tweaking. Eventually, I realized: striving for perfection was the very opposite of what Take It Slow was about. So, I took my own advice. I paused. I breathed. And I reminded myself that progress, not perfection, was the goal.
And here’s the most beautiful reward: in writing this book, I started living it more fully.
Some days, I feel like I’m getting it “right”—I slow down, I’m present, I nourish myself with rest, mindful movement, and meaningful connection. Other days, I’m rushing, scattered, and have to gently remind myself to come back to the principles I wrote about. The truth is, slow living isn’t a finish line. It’s a practice. A daily invitation to return to yourself and your values.
But perhaps the most meaningful reward has been the feedback from early readers. Messages from people who felt seen and comforted. People who said, “This helped me realize I don’t have to do it all,” or “I finally gave myself permission to rest.” These responses touched me deeply, because that’s why I wrote this book in the first place—to create something that feels like a warm conversation with a friend who reminds you it’s okay to exhale.
Writing Take It Slow reminded me that growth can be gentle. That transformation doesn’t always come in big, dramatic shifts—it often begins with small, intentional choices: turning off your phone during dinner, saying no without guilt, stepping outside for a breath of fresh air.
If you’re curious about the book or the slow living journey, I’d love for you to join me. And remember, wherever you are on your path, it’s okay to begin again. Slowly.
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