I didn't rush this time

I was late by 5 min.

It was my first time swimming in years, and I reeaaallly didn’t want to miss any of the dedicated slot. I was excited (!!!) and nervous, with a thrill through my veins, looking forward to spending time in the water.

Nervous because of body issues, and I didn’t know whether I’d be comfortable enough with other people around. It was also my first time in a public pool.

My first instinct? To speed walk… huff and puff within minutes like a tea kettle unable to finish the full whistle, sweat like a pig, and hurt my whole body (I feel like a 29-year-old in a 50-year-old body writing this).

But a few seconds in… something in me deeply whispered:

Breathe. The pool isn’t going anywhere. It’s okay if you’re a few minutes late. The world isn’t gonna blow apart. You have enough time. Also, you’ve already paid for the membership, and you’re gonna come every day, aren’t you?

And just like that… my shoulders and back dropped.

As soon as they did, I felt the pain… because of how much I had scrunched it up. Like honeycomb paper crinkling and expanding.

Only then did I begin to walk slowly. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Breathing deeply. Letting the air cool my sweat.

Letting go of the pressure.

Something beautifully transformed after that.

Music in my headphones finally reached my brain enough for me to enjoy the walk. I started to notice rays of sunshine hitting the road, shops, and pillars. People going about their morning chores; kids catching school buses, husbands and wives dropping their spouses off at the metro for work, shops opening up, temple gongs, the aroma from breakfast spots…

It was scintillating.

And what do you know…

I was only 3 min late, and had the best possible swimming session ever.

The non-rushing transferred to the pool, too (it took a minute, but it did). For the first time, I was supremely aware of all my body movements, my breathing, light hitting the bottom of the pool, water enveloping my body… gosh, it was amazing!

I went slow, no doubt… but I didn’t care. Perfecting my technique lap by lap, and being solely aware of the movements was the only thing going on.

I also got an extra free session!

I swam for almost 50 min, without taking more than a 30-second break in between! Unheard of for me! I felt like I had reached the moon and the stars that day!!

(I did pass out for 3 hours after returning, but that’s not the point)

Eeeeeekkkkkk!!!!

All because something deep within guided me to breathe. To slow down. To just be.

Crazy, isn’t it?

Have you heard that phrase, “I’ve never seen a relaxed woman”? Yup, that used to be me.

Ever since I can remember, I was either at 0 or 100%. Nothing in between. I would either not move at all, or move at jet speed. Constantly flinging through extremes in all aspects of life. And as thrilling as it was in one way, it was also bone-tiring.

As an adult, I now understand that it’s a massive part of my neurodivergence.

The weird thing is that I do horribly with pressure. I become more clumsy, forget the basics of things, say the wrong stuff… It’s like tumbling down a hill before I can comprehend what’s happening and then think of the repercussions.

I don’t believe my nervous system ever felt safe enough to move slowly, as though something was always chasing me from behind.

But… in the past few months, a fundamental shift has occurred.

I think, without realising, I was done abandoning myself in small and big ways—to make myself more palatable to others, or to succumb to some made-up external expectation.

Gosh, it feels so good writing that.

I was exhausted with the chasing. Tumbling. Passing out of exhaustion. Rinse and repeat.

I just didn’t want to do it anymore.

I was done.

Last week, a deeply miraculous incident occurred.

I was still washing vessels and had lost track of time. And I had just 5 min left for my first session with a new soul client.

I hadn’t prepared my workspace, filled my water bottle, grounded myself, or even washed my soapy hands.

Initial instinct?
Again—full-blown panic. Rushing through everything until my hands became jittery. Tumbling.

When I sat with it later, the primary cause seemed to be this: I didn’t want them to think I didn’t respect the space enough to be on time. Especially on the first day.

Usually, that’s where I have no checkpoint. And that first tumble creates a chain reaction—guilt, shame, sometimes despair. Like quicksand—once you step in, it’s hard to get out.

But here, within seconds of the initial reaction, a voice from deep inside whispered:

It’s okay. Breathe. Take your time. Your people will understand.

Oh damn… it felt like that one moment gave me permission to just be.

My shoulders sagged. My body stopped going into overdrive.

I immediately informed them of the delay and started my pre-session routine (they were completely understanding🥹).

Unapologetically. With a calmness I don’t know where I pulled from. Fully in my power.

There was only a tinge of remorse. But no guilt or shame.
And that surprised me the most.

It was like the absence of a long-standing friend… who had quietly drifted away. Or like a piece of skin from a dried wound just falling off without you even noticing.

It wasn’t uncomfortable.
It felt… normal.

Because I genuinely knew that I had done everything to work through my time blindness (even set an alarm), but a series of situations just led to this.

These are the moments that show me how much I’ve grown. Not when I’m in my own head doing the work… but when I interact with the world and see if it holds.

It felt radically liberating.

And it became so clear in that moment… my energy when I enter a space matters more than I sometimes remember. If it’s even slightly off, the session takes longer to settle.

Every time.

Not surprisingly?

We had a beautiful, deep, magical session.

I’ve struggled with time blindness for as long as I can remember.

Somewhere deep down, I believed that if I was just fast enough, apologetic enough, focused enough… I could make up for it.

But I’ve realised I can’t.
And I don’t want to either.

When I do that, it feels like chasing a bus I’ll never catch.

Just out of reach.
Always out of reach.

But what if the bus never existed?
What if I never needed to chase at all?
Who is it really serving?
What’s the point?
Why the need to be perfect?

(I don’t intentionally forget things. I just do. And over the years, I’ve built systems to help myself.)

I always believed that being this person meant I was selfish.
That I didn’t care.
That if I slowed down, people would think I didn’t respect them… didn’t love them…
And they would leave.

But something else happened.

The more present I was, the more I could actually be there.

And even in the moments where I wasn’t perfect… nothing broke.

In fact, something deepened.

There have been so many moments like this—stacking one on top of the other—building trust in myself and in my relationships.

Also?? The more I give myself permission—and receive it from others—the better I’m getting.

How cool is that?

Is this how the other half lives??

It’s crazy how something so small…like not rushing for a few minutes…can change the entire texture of an experience.

I’m noticing it more and more now.
In the way I walk.
In the way I enter spaces.
In the way I meet people.

It’s subtle.
But it’s everywhere.

I’m still getting used to it…But I’m finally not running anymore.