You are allowed to be more than one thing

As I am writing this, I find myself thinking about how easy it is to believe that we have to fit neatly into one version of ourselves. Perhaps it is because I have been reflecting a little more than usual lately. Watching different conversations unfold, meeting family, noticing the different ways people see life, and quietly asking myself what feels true to me. It made me realize something.

For so much of my life, I thought I had to choose who I was. As though I needed one clear identity. One path. One way of living. But the older I become, the more I realize that none of us are meant to fit inside such small definitions. I can be deeply content with the life we have created here while still longing for something new to grow. I can be a mother who treasures slow afternoons with my children and a woman who feels excited about building a business from the heart. I can crave quiet mornings with a cup of tea and still love spontaneous adventures when they come. I can feel incredibly grateful and still carry sadness over something I have lost.

None of these things cancel each other out. They simply exist together. And perhaps that is what being human really looks like.

I sometimes wonder if we have been taught to simplify ourselves a little too much. To believe we should have one answer when someone asks who we are. One career. One personality. One way of thinking. As though we are meant to remain the same throughout our lives. But when I look at nature, nothing stays the same. The seasons change. The weather shifts. Flowers bloom, rest and bloom again.

Why would we be any different?

Perhaps we are not meant to become one fixed version of ourselves. Perhaps we are meant to keep unfolding. To keep discovering new parts of ourselves as life changes around us.

One thing I have found especially comforting is remembering that our feelings are not our identity.

There have been seasons where I have felt uncertain. Seasons where I have questioned myself. Seasons where I have struggled. But none of those seasons became my permanent home. They passed. Just as joyful seasons do.

I think we sometimes become afraid of what we are feeling because we assume it says something about who we are. If I feel lost, perhaps I am lost. If I feel unmotivated, perhaps I am lazy. If I feel sad, perhaps something is wrong with me. But feelings move. They ask to be acknowledged, not turned into an identity. Maybe this is one of the quiet gifts of slow living (or perhaps a more accurate namne would be Intentional Living, or Present Living). It gives us enough space to notice these things and to separate the emotion or experience from identity. To stop defining ourselves by one emotion, one role or one chapter of life. To become curious instead. To allow ourselves to be mothers and dreamers. Professionals and artists. Confident and uncertain. Strong and deeply sensitive. Not because we are inconsistent. But because we are wonderfully, beautifully human.

I also think we fear to much what others would think about what we feel or express or go through in life and so we tend to hold back or push our emotions down, because not everyone will understand, accept, show support and honor you. Some people will project, question, make it about them or turn your experience into something that it is not, but then they are not your people (I wrote more about this in another post I made a while back if you are curious "The quiet art of choosing your people").

As I have been writing this piece, I realized something that surprised me. Even though I genuinely love the philosophy of slow living and it has changed my life in so many beautiful ways, I had quietly started placing myself inside another box. Without even noticing it.

Somewhere along the way, I had begun believing that because I value slow living, I should always be calm.

Always present. Always sitting with a cup of tea. Always reading a book. And while I truly love those moments, they are not all of me. I also love going for a run. I love traveling and discovering new places. My home is usually loud having three boys + all there friends over. I love when our home is filled with friends, neighbours and children running through the garden. I love laughter, conversation and adventure. I also have a big spectrum of emotions, I feel deeply and I love to express that freely, sometimes through singing when I´m alone at home or dancing around the kitchen to loud music. And suddenly it clicked. Slow living was never asking me to become one particular version of myself. It was inviting me to become more fully myself. To make space for every part of who I am. To rest when I need rest. To create when inspiration comes. To seek quiet when I long for stillness. To embrace joy, movement, playfulness and connection when life naturally calls for that too. But also allow mysel to withdraw and spend more time alone during seasons of shredding layers.

Perhaps slow living has never been about moving slowly in particular. Perhaps it has always been about moving honestly - intentionally. Allowing ourselves to live in rhythm with our own seasons instead of someone else's expectations. And maybe that is where freedom truly lives.

Love,

Stina