Slower, Wealthier, Happier

I can remember waking my husband up—shaking him out of his sleep, saying, “Hey, get up. It’s time for you to get up. You need to get moving. Let’s go.”

We were probably about three to five months into being married. Still newlyweds. Still figuring it all out.

My husband? He’s always been a “let your body rest so you can be your best self” kind of man. He believes in giving your body what it needs. He will sleep, wake up slow, stretch, sip his coffee, and ease into his day with intention.

Me?

I was the complete opposite. I was a “hustle hard, move fast, grind early, sleep when you’re dead” kind of woman. That’s how I was raised. That’s what I saw modeled. That’s what felt familiar. I grew up around women who made things happen—not by slowing down, but by pushing through. Always pushing through.

Even after getting married, I was still that girl.

Still carrying the weight of “go” in my bones. Still afraid that marriage would slow me down. Still trying to prove I hadn’t lost myself.

The truth is, I didn’t want being married to change me. I didn’t want saying “I do” to make me softer. I was afraid that soft meant weak. I was afraid that rest meant unproductive. I was afraid that if I stopped pushing, the whole thing—my whole life—might fall apart.

It would be years before I could fully understand what my husband meant when he said, “You can rest.”
Years before I stopped seeing that as a threat.
Years before I stopped seeing him as the problem when I was the one operating in a cycle I couldn’t see clearly from the inside.

Back then, I didn’t know that slower actually wins the race.

And here’s the hard part to admit:
I pushed him so often, so frequently, that it disrupted his sleep cycle. For real.
He never fully recovered from that.

And I’m still sad about it. I carry that.

But it taught me something.

That girl I was? She was operating entirely from survival mode.

It didn’t matter that I had a partner now. Didn’t matter that I wasn’t alone anymore.
I was still carrying the weight like I was.
Still hustling like everything depended on me.
Still afraid that if I slowed down, I’d lose everything.

I didn’t trust that I was supported.
I didn’t trust that things would be okay if I stopped moving.
I didn’t even trust myself to rest.

Because rest, in my world, used to mean danger.

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The Turning Point: Fear

That fear is sneaky. It doesn’t show up screaming. It shows up disguised as responsibility.
It shows up sounding like wisdom: “You’ve got to stay ahead.”
It shows up sounding like strength: “You can handle it all.”

But it’s fear.

Fear of relying on someone else.
Fear of being soft.
Fear of losing control.
Fear of becoming someone unfamiliar.
Fear of stepping into a new version of yourself—especially when that new version doesn’t hustle the same way the old one did.

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The Cycle of Survival

Survival mode was my home.

I was always on. Always doing. Always preparing for what might go wrong.
And what that did was keep me locked in the same cycles:

• Feast to famine.
  
• Hustle to crash.
  
• Get ahead just to fall behind again.
  
• Pour out, burn out, repeat.
  

I didn’t know anything about trauma back then.
Didn’t realize how much I had endured.
Didn’t know how disconnected I was from my own body.
Didn’t understand that my constant motion was a trauma response.

That constant alertness?
That stay-ready energy?
That refusal to slow down?

It was never about drive.
It was about survival.

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But This Is What Ready Looks Like Now

Today?

Ready looks different.
Ready feels softer.
Ready sounds like, “I’ll get up when my body tells me it’s time.”

Even now, as I write this, I’m sitting in Starbucks.
I brought a beautiful cup with me—the one I sip from in the morning because it makes me feel calm and grounded.
I let myself wake up when my body was ready.
No alarm. No urgency. No panic. Just peace.

I live slower now.

And I want to say this loud for the women who still feel trapped in that survival rhythm:

Slowing down is not laziness.
Slowing down is not falling behind.
Slowing down is choosing to live—not just perform.

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Slower, and Still Winning

Slowing down gave me back me.

It gave me time to hear my own thoughts.
It gave me space to ask better questions.
It gave me the clarity to build a life that isn’t based on survival, but on intention.

Slowing down gave me permission to let go of the performance.
It gave me a new relationship with money, work, and even my husband.
It gave me the space to heal. To choose. To evolve.

I’m still growing.
Still shedding.
Still unlearning.
But now I’m doing it from a place that feels sustainable. And slow. And sacred.

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Let’s Talk About It

So I want to ask you something.
What fear is keeping you in survival mode?
What part of your life would soften if you gave yourself permission to slow down?

Drop it in the comments.
Say it out loud.
Give yourself the truth.

And if you want to be in a room where women like you are doing that same work—learning to slow down, create wealth, and live joyfully—come join us inside Wealthy Women Conversations on Facebook. It’s a space where we’re unlearning hustle, together.

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#SlowerWealthierHappier
#SoftLivingIsSuccess
#BlackWomenDeserveEase
#ThisLifeFeelsLikeMe
#SurvivalIsNotTheGoal