In our fast-paced world, every minute feels precious. We're glued to to-do lists, screens, and back-to-back schedules, yet somehow, there's never enough time.
And no matter how we juggle tasks or streamline our days, that familiar rush lingers—we simply can't fit it all in.
For two hectic years, that was my reality. Email alerts, constant calls, and overflowing calendars dictated my every move.
A quiet inner voice urged me to stay on track, but I was perpetually late.
Six years ago, I was blessed with a laid-back daughter who savors every moment—like stopping to smell the flowers.
Heading out? She'd carefully select her sparkly bag and crown.
Rushing to an appointment? She'd insist on buckling in her stuffed animal.
Grabbing a quick bite? She'd chat with an elderly woman who reminded her of Grandma.
Short on time for a jog? She'd beg to pet every passing dog from the stroller.
Day starting at 6 a.m.? She'd methodically crack eggs and stir breakfast.
Source: handsfreemama
My relaxed daughter was a gift to my task-obsessed self, but I couldn't see it. Tunnel vision from a busy life blinds us—the next checklist item is all that matters, and anything else feels like wasted time.
Whenever she veered from my plan, I'd think, 'We don't have time.' So, 'hurry up' became my mantra to the light of my life.
My days began and ended with it:
'Hurry up, we're going to be late.'
'We'll miss everything if you don't hurry up.'
'Hurry up and eat breakfast. Hurry up and get dressed.'
'Hurry up, brush your teeth, and bed.'
Those words rarely sped her up, yet I repeated them—maybe more than 'I love you.'
The truth stings, but it heals, drawing me closer to the patient mom I aspire to be.
One pivotal day, everything shifted. At the park with my eldest, she snapped at her little sister: 'You're so slow!' Arms crossed, sigh—hearing my own echo in her made my stomach drop.
I'd become the bully pressuring a child who just wanted to soak in life.
Eyes opened, I saw the toll my frenzy took on them both.
Voice trembling, I met their gazes: 'I'm sorry for always rushing you. I love how you take your time—I want to be more like you.'
Surprise flickered, but my youngest beamed with quiet approval.
'I promise to be more patient,' I said, hugging my curly-haired joy.
Ditching 'hurry up' was simple; cultivating patience? That took work.
Source: handsfreemama
I built in buffer time for outings, accepting occasional lateness during these precious years.
On walks or errands, she led the pace. When she'd pause to explore, I'd silence my mental clock and join her wonder.
I discovered new expressions, the dimples in her hands, crinkles in her smile. I noticed how strangers lit up from her chats.
She'd spot ladybugs and blooms I missed. My 'whistleblower' taught me these gifts are rare—slowing down revealed her as medicine for my hurried soul.
Three years ago, I vowed to decelerate, shedding trivial pursuits for deeper living.
My youngest keeps me on track—like on our holiday bike ride.
We paused for ice cream. She sat mesmerized by her cone.
Suddenly, worry clouded her eyes: 'Mom, do I have to hurry?'
Tears welled—old scars linger.
Her expectant gaze forced a choice: wallow in past regrets or celebrate today's change.
I chose presence.
Source: handsfreemama
'No rush, honey. Take all the time you need,' I whispered. Her face glowed, tension melted.
We chatted about ukulele dreams, shared silences savoring sights and sounds.
Expecting her to finish alone, she offered the last spoonful: 'Saved it for you, Mom!'
That sweet gesture sealed our lifelong pact: time given yields richer moments, sweeter bonds.
Source: handsfreemama
No more 'no time' for:
It's saying 'no time to live.' Pausing for simple joys is true living.
I've learned from the world's top expert on embracing life fully!
Original article from Hands Free Mama.
