The Question I Ask Before Giving Up
The Art of Slowing Down while honoring both your goals and your feelings
I slam my laptop shut. Whew. The weight of the day lies on my shoulders. It wasn’t the hardest workday, but I was craving… something. So I stayed in my office chair, clicked on the TikTok app–and, dopamine it is. I could feel the weight get heavier and heavier the longer I stalled.
I had set the intention to walk outside for at least one hour each day for the next ten weeks. Today was only day two, and already I was set to abandon that goal, say “whatever,” take off my workout clothes I’d put on earlier to “set myself up for success,” and start winding down. At 5:45 p.m.
My steps were sitting just under 2,000, while the goal was 10,000.
Thoughts spiraled after every TikTok video I watched, like an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other.
“You can just start tomorrow,” one voice said.
“If you go now, you’ll still have time to eat, shower, and get ready for the Love Island premiere,” another voice interfered.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been here. I thought about the month prior, and how I had the same battle: setting a goal, then feeling every fiber in my being say, not today, we’re exhausted.
So, what’s different now?
Last month, I had back-to-back weeks of not sleeping through the night. I’d wake up at 1 a.m. and stay awake until 5, then spend the whole day trying to function. My body felt flu-like and sore all over. On those days, I tried to work out anyway, which only made it worse. Rest was what my body craved. It was my body begging me to slow down.
That wasn’t what I was feeling now.
The night before, I got a beautiful eight hours of sleep. I’d eaten real meals. I drank my water. I was tired, but not sick-tired, not survival-mode tired.
I asked myself: was skipping the walk supporting my well-being or my comfort zone?
That question shows up a lot. In writing, when I’m not sure what I’m trying to say, but feel relief when the piece finally comes together. In hard conversations that feel uncomfortable in the moment, but bring peace on the other side.
Honestly, I wanted permission not to go.
I thought about what it means to honor my goals while also honoring how I feel. I remembered that moods are real, but not always our compass.
I thought, if I don’t do this, will I feel better or worse afterward? Will it deplete me or restore me? I noticed how my body felt. I could feel every version of myself begging for me to get up. I thought about how nice it was outside, and how I’d been inside most of the day, sitting in front of a computer screen.
You deserve to feel the sun on your skin.
Don’t let your workday win today.
Just one hour, Ry.
So, I got up and took a walk. I chose the perfect views around the waterfront. And after the first five minutes, I made a mental note: remember how good this feels. With every stride, the weight I’d been carrying began to lift. As the sun hit my face, I felt the vibration of the music in my earbuds spiral through my body, uplifting me as I sang along. The intentional deep breaths slowly regulating my nervous system. Smiling at the Black girl who passed by, on a solo walk like me.
Three miles later, I felt lighter, relaxed, and most importantly, proud.
There is an art to intentionally slowing down without abandoning your goals, and an art to honoring how you feel without letting every passing mood take control.
When we treat self-care as one small act of self-devotion, it’s evidence that says: I showed up for myself. There will be days when you don’t show up for your goal. That’s human. The invitation of self-devotion isn’t to bully yourself into perfect consistency, but to be honest about what you’re choosing instead.
Is the thing I’m choosing in place of the goal an act of care for my body and mind?
Or is it an escape?
Some evenings, self-devotion will sound like:
“I’m exhausted. My body is craving a long, hot bath and a 9 p.m bedtime. I’ll walk tomorrow.”
Other evenings, it will sound like:
“I’m uncomfortable, but not truly depleted. An hour-long walk is a loving choice I can make for myself right now.”
Both are acts of self-devotion.
Later that night, before getting into bed, my steps totaled 9,103. An older version of me would’ve run around my couch until I hit 10,000. But this version of me, the one who honors how I feel, knew that I showed up for myself today, just like I said I would, and that was enough.
The art of slowing down isn’t about abandoning your goals or abandoning how you feel. It’s about learning to tell the difference between honoring your well-being and staying in your comfort zone. It’s about choosing, as often as you can, to make even one small choice that feels like devotion to you and the person you’re becoming.
If this resonated and you're ready to dive deeper into self-devotion, my self-care workbook Creating Your Chapter Harmony was made for you.
