The Wisdom of Slowing Down

Last weekend I attended a grief retreat in the North Carolina mountains. Being in nature continues to be one of the things that reliably helps regulate my nervous system. Fresh air, quiet trails, and the beauty around me make a real difference. 

Retreats have become a meaningful part of my transformation. For me, they feel like receiving years of therapy condensed into a few days. There is something powerful about being in a shared space with others who understand. This wasn’t my first transformational experience—over the past couple of years I’ve attended several retreats and intensives, some grief‑specific and some not, but each one has revealed something new about myself. 

I’m in awe of what I learn from people who are willing to be vulnerable, to share their stories, and of those that offer their gifts for healing. Taking time to reflect helps me feel close to my deceased daughter, Maria, even now. I returned home from this retreat mentally and physically exhausted, and I think that serves a purpose. It reminds me to slow down, integrate what I learned, nurture the wisdom that was offered, and stay grateful for the love and generosity of those I’ve met on this journey. 

Slowing down always brings me closer to Maria, and this retreat was no exception. It is still painful to accept that Maria didn’t have the life I hoped for her. And yet, I now feel certain she is at peace. Early after her death, I struggled when people said they were glad she was at peace. I encourage anyone to tread lightly with those words when wanting to comfort someone in acute grief. My instinct as a mother was that she needed to be physically beside me to be safe. Peace was not something I could feel for her in those initial days. 

With time—and with the guidance of wise people I’ve met along the way—I’ve come to believe that Maria is still with me, and that she is happy. Not because she died; I don’t believe she meant to die when she did. I think she simply didn’t use the tools she needed to navigate the forces around her and within her. I imagine it may have even caught her off guard. But now, I believe she has accepted what is, and she is guiding me as I develop those tools for myself and share what I learn with others. 

Accepting what is may be the hardest part of grief, but I’m learning that it’s also what allows me to grow into the next version of myself. 

Some may think it’s kooky to believe Maria is still with me, guiding me toward peace and happiness. To that I say: so be it. If it brings comfort, isn’t that what matters? In the end, almost every parent I know has said at some point, “All I want is for my child to be happy.”  I think it is reasonable to believe your child wants the same for you.

My next adventure will be a women’s retreat in Spain—a chance to rest, disconnect, and renew. A time to slow down, breathe, and simply be. I’m truly looking forward to it.  Slowing down and taking it easy has not been my typical rhythm, but little by little I’m learning to embrace it. Maria carried a fortune in the back of her phone case that read…Rest has a peaceful effect on your physical and emotional health. I’m beginning to see that this reminder is exactly what I need right now.