The Rebellion of Slow Living in a Fast-Paced Westernized World

A deeper, trauma-informed look at slow living—Is it really all it’s cut out to be?

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A small Carolina Wren flits about in the corner of my backyard.

It’s a lovely Spring day, full of beauty and promise—a gift, I feel, in the midst of the chaos I have felt this week. My nervous system feels burnt to a crisp—its edges curled up, smoking, black and charred.

Much like the ambulance that just flew by, its sirens blazing, piercing the quiet of the moment and all the beauty—life can feel just as abrupt, unexpected and laced with panic. One moment building to the next till control slips completely out of our fingers—the expectations, the not-enoughs, the needs—they can start to feel unending and completely overwhelming, till a collapse is imminent.

Yet the Carolina Wren hops atop her tiny little birdhouse in our backyard, undeterred as the blazing sirens fade off into the distance. The house she presides over is so small and tucked away, I didn’t notice it when we purchased our home five years ago. And when I did, I almost tore it down.

But, I am glad I didn’t. The Carolina Wren is a bit of an uncommon bird here. She is a beautiful russet color, with a light orange tummy and a stripe of white across her brow—such an incredibly tiny body that lets forth the most gorgeous call. Every once in a while, I am graced with her song and I cherish every moment of it.

Such is the beauty and need of slow living: pausing to see, take in and exhale. So many of us were raised in circles of performance—to be a human doing instead of a human being. So many of us, fight the muscle memory of being productive in order to earn our right to existence.

What might life feel like if we moved from sirens and a panicked nervous system to something more like the wren—hopping calmly atop her home, unbothered by the noise? Could we begin to cultivate a nervous system that receives, enjoys, and exercises the long-lost muscle of allowing goodness to enter our bodies, hearts, and minds?

And for those who have survived trauma or are recovering from harm, could slow living be a quiet invitation to soft and meaningful healing?

Or is just another trend wrapped in capitalized calm?

Recently, I’ve come across some pretty valid arguments against the slow living.

And while it can be challenging to look at both sides of a coin, I think it the best way forward. Equanimous and unbiased curiosity might just be a fundamental perspective—a vital tool to opening the door to the kind of awakening in life we all desperately crave: a true understanding of ourselves, the world around us and our place in it.

So, here’s where we’re headed:

We’ll begin by walking through three common arguments against slow living. Then, we’ll take a deeper look at what slow living actually means—through a lens of presence, intention, and a bit of my own perspective. From there, we’ll touch bottom—diving into the heart of it all with a trauma-informed lens.

Finally, we’ll rise back to the surface and return to those arguments: Are they valid? How do we move forward from here? Could slow living be a meaningful shift for many of us—or is it just another trend (like we said before) wrapped in capitalized calm? The conclusion might just change your mind.

Let’s begin our descent.

[Carolina Wren] Photo by Patrice Bouchard on Unsplash

Three Arguments Against Slow Living

While slow living has gained popularity as a gentle, intentional antidote to hustle culture, not everyone is fully on board—as we’ve touched on before. In fact, some voices are quite vocal in their critiques. As I’ve explored the idea more deeply, I’ve come across arguments that are both compelling and challenging—offering important nuance to the conversation. Let’s take a closer look at these three arguments against slow living:

Is it a lifestyle rooted in privilege?