
The new year has a way of sneaking up on us.
One moment we’re packing away Christmas decorations, and the next we’re being asked—loudly, repeatedly, and sometimes aggressively—what our goals are, what we’re changing, and how we plan to improve ourselves in the next twelve months.
But if I’m being honest, every year I enter January with the same quiet thought:
This is the year I slow down.
And every year, life somehow speeds up anyway.
This past year was no exception. I had a baby. We moved our family to Kansas. I stepped away from a career and became a full-time stay-at-home mom. Life didn’t just accelerate—it transformed.
So this year, instead of chasing resolutions or overhauling my life, I’m choosing something different.
I’m choosing slow living in the new year—not as a trend, but as a practice. A return to the way our ancestors lived. A commitment to sustainability, nourishment, and intentional rhythms that actually support real families living real lives.
If you’re craving less pressure and more presence this year, you’re in the right place.
We live in a culture that rewards speed.
Fast food. Fast results. Fast productivity. Fast answers. Even rest has become something we try to optimize.
But our bodies—and especially our homes—were never designed for constant urgency.
Slow living in the new year isn’t about doing less for the sake of it. It’s about doing what matters at a pace that allows us to stay grounded.
Our ancestors lived seasonally. They cooked from scratch because there wasn’t another option. They reused, repaired, and shared resources—not because it was trendy, but because it made sense.
Somewhere along the way, convenience replaced wisdom.
And many of us feel it in our nervous systems, our kitchens, and our constant sense of being behind.
Last year didn’t gently invite me to slow down—it insisted.
Becoming a mother again changes everything. Moving states uproots familiarity. Leaving a career reshapes identity. And suddenly, the things that once filled my days no longer fit.
There was grief in that. Relief too. And a lot of learning.
Slow living in the new year, for me, starts with honoring that transition instead of rushing past it. It means accepting that growth doesn’t always look like hustle. Sometimes it looks like staying home, cooking real food, and learning to be present in the ordinary.
Let’s be clear: slow living is not a perfectly curated kitchen or an Instagram-worthy sourdough loaf.
It’s practical. It’s imperfect. And it meets you where you are.
This is especially important for moms. Sustainability that only works in theory doesn’t actually serve families.
Our ancestors didn’t wake up one day and decide to live sustainably.
They lived that way because it was practical, resourceful, and deeply connected to community.
Slow living in the new year means borrowing that wisdom—without romanticizing hardship.
You don’t have to do all of it. You just have to start somewhere.
If there’s one place where slow living in the new year becomes tangible, it’s the kitchen.
Food is daily. Rhythmic. Repetitive in the best way.
When we simplify what we eat—focusing on whole foods and non-toxic ingredients—we reduce decision fatigue and reconnect with our bodies.
This isn’t about “clean eating.” It’s about real food that supports real life.
One of the biggest barriers to slow living in the new year is guilt.
We see zero-waste homes, perfectly stocked pantries, and beautifully labeled jars—and assume we’re failing if we can’t replicate that.
But sustainability isn’t all-or-nothing.
Living sustainably should feel empowering—not exhausting.
I’ll be honest: the dream of opening a refillery and organic bulk store has grown bigger than I ever imagined.
Sometimes it feels exciting. Other times it feels overwhelming.
And that’s okay.
Slow living in the new year doesn’t mean abandoning big dreams. It means letting them unfold organically.
Right now, that looks like learning, planning, writing, and building community through this space. It looks like trusting that small, consistent steps can lead to meaningful change.
Our ancestors didn’t build overnight either.
If you’re wondering where to begin, here’s a gentle starting point.
Your meals. Your cleaning products. Your schedule.
Just one.
Weekly meal rotation. Monthly pantry restock. Seasonal resets.
You’re allowed to learn as you go.
Read. Experiment. Ask questions. Adapt.
Slow living is a practice, not a destination.
Choosing slow living in the new year is quietly countercultural.
It says no to urgency.
No to constant consumption.
No to shame-based wellness.
And yes—to nourishment, sustainability, and rooted living.
It’s not flashy. It doesn’t promise instant transformation. But it builds something lasting.
This year, I’m not trying to reinvent myself.
I’m returning to what feels true:
If life keeps speeding up, then slowing down becomes an act of intention.
And if you’re here—reading this, nodding along—I hope you’ll join me in choosing slow living in the new year, one simple step at a time.
No guilt. No perfection. Just the quiet pursuit of a life that feels rooted, nourishing, and real.
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