Slow Is Not Behind
(This is my latest Substack article. Catharsis, Finding meaning, and Encouragement: the purpose of my writing)
No one signs up for this.
I don’t know a single person who would willingly choose to be sick for a long season, no matter what kind of “sick” it is. We all want relief from suffering. We want the breakthrough. We want the story to turn as quick as possible.
But the kind of healing that lasts must go deep. If anything, chasing speed and quick fixes can destabilize it. Healing pace is not driven by urgency or panic.
Quick change rarely builds new habits or new ways of living. It doesn’t teach your body that it’s safe to slow down. It may bring relief for a moment, but it doesn’t rebuild the foundation underneath.
Sometimes, in the middle of a hard day, we wonder:
What am I doing wrong?
Is God not there?
Do I need a new doctor?
Maybe I just haven’t found the right supplement.
Slow healing isn’t doing nothing. It’s not ignoring wisdom or refusing help. It’s simply refusing to panic every time something feels off. It means you stop interpreting every hard day as proof that you are doing it wrong.
Healing is more like falling in love and staying in love. The beginning may feel electric, but what lasts is built in the ordinary days; in small adjustments, consistent choices, and trust over time. It’s also like building wealth. Quick wins don’t create stability; disciplined habits do.
In the same way, healing asks us to seek wisdom without chasing every shiny fix and then to trust the process one day at a time. The problem is, we’re wired to believe that fast equals better. But when something changes quickly, it often disappears just as fast. We’ve all seen it: quick money that disappears, an intense fling that fades, a new plan that feels like the answer until the next flare reminds you nothing underneath has changed.
The 2-Degree Concept
The other day, a friend shared something with me called the “2-Degree Concept.” Instead of chasing dramatic breakthroughs, the goal is small, steady shifts… two degrees at a time.
In therapy terms, it’s not about fixing everything overnight. It’s about building enough stability that when something goes wrong, you don’t experience a total collapse; just a slight deviation.
When you build slowly, your nervous system doesn’t spike as high. Your crashes don’t crash as low. You don’t relapse into despair. You don’t outsource your stability to the next supplement, doctor, or promise of a miracle fix.
For years, one flare (or bed-ridden day) meant:
This isn’t working. I’m broken. Let’s start over.
And starting over can feel good; a total dopamine hit:
A new protocol.
A new doctor.
A new supplement.
There’s something about the new that gives us fresh hope, because going slow feels so boring. It often feels like it’s not working.
We like quick.
But when healing is slow, and a harder day comes, the inner voice shifts.
It becomes:
Okay. This is just a small bump.
I can manage this.
Stay steady. Adjust.
It’s not sexy at all.
It’s slow healing at work.
And here’s the gift:
Slow healing reduces the swing between hope and despair