The Slow Life We Built After Grief

There was a time when I thought slow living was simply about making life feel a little more beautiful. Morning coffee, cooking from scratch, long walks, holidays in Italy and dinner outside in the garden when the weather allows.

But over the last few years, I’ve realised that, for us, it has become something much deeper than that.

We didn’t choose a slower life because life was easy. We chose it because life had been heavy.

Grief has a way of changing the way you see time. After repeated pregnancy loss, there are parts of me that will probably never be quite the same. Grief takes things from you, but I also think it makes you incredibly aware of what is still here.

And for me, so much of what is still here is my family.

We are coming up to an anniversary that I know will always carry complicated emotions for me. Last year, we lost our fifth baby to pregnancy loss. That day was also my son’s sixth birthday.

I don’t think there is anything that can prepare you for experiencing one of your greatest heartbreaks on a day that is supposed to belong completely to someone you love.

But in that moment, I did what I needed to do for my son.

His world didn’t need to become heavy because mine was.

He knew nothing of the grief we were carrying that day. He just knew it was his birthday: a day of excitement, presents, cake and being six.

So we gave him that.

I think motherhood has taught me that grief and joy don’t always arrive separately. Sometimes they sit beside each other at the same table.

You can be heartbroken and still sing happy birthday. You can be grieving one child while making another feel like the most important person in the world. And you can carry enormous sadness while still creating a home that feels safe, calm and happy.

Perhaps that is where my version of slow living really began.

Choosing our family

For years, people have questioned why we often choose to holiday on our own or why we spend so much time together as just the three of us.

My husband has always said something that has stayed with me:

If we only get to do this once, we want to cherish it.

And I think our experiences have made us believe that even more.

We’re not trying to fill every weekend or say yes to everything. We’re not trying to create a perfect childhood or an endlessly exciting life. We’re simply becoming more protective of our time.

I don’t always say yes to my son. Slow living isn’t about giving him everything he wants. But I do think I’ve become much more conscious of giving him something that is probably far more valuable: our presence.

The country walks. The conversations in the car. Dinner outside in the garden. A slow morning at home. Watching him play while we drink our coffee. Our holidays in Italy, where somehow we all seem to exhale a little more deeply.

Those things fill our cup.

They might look incredibly ordinary from the outside, but after years when life has felt anything but ordinary, I think that’s exactly why I treasure them.

Creating a life that feels safe

I’ve spoken before about how slow living has helped me personally, particularly with regulating my nervous system after years of pregnancy loss.

But I’m beginning to realise that the life we’ve created isn’t only about making me feel safe. It’s about the atmosphere of our family.

It’s about creating a home where our child feels safe, a marriage where we protect time for one another, and a family where we don’t have to be constantly busy to feel like we’re living.

It’s also about creating a home where difficult things can exist without becoming the only thing that exists.

That feels especially important now.

We’re going through pregnancy after loss, and once again we’re living in that strange space where gratitude, excitement and fear can all exist together.

But our priorities have changed. Maybe even more than before.

Our family comes first. Our time together comes first.

And after years of waiting, grieving, hoping and trying again, I don’t feel the same pressure to keep up with everything happening around us.

Life has felt heavy for a long time.

I think we’re ready for it to feel lighter.

The glimmers are the life

Slow living, to me, isn’t an aesthetic. It’s a lifestyle and a mindset.

It’s recognising the tiny moments throughout an ordinary day that make your body soften: the first coffee of the morning, a country walk with our son, cooking something slowly, dinner together in the garden, sunlight coming through the kitchen, or packing our bags for another trip to Italy.

It’s sitting together at the end of the day, knowing that, right now, everyone you love is under the same roof.

They’re small things, but I’ve stopped thinking of them as the things that happen between the important moments.

They are the important moments.

Grief taught me that life can change very quickly. Slow living is teaching me what to do with the life that’s here.

And as we enter this new season as a family — different people from the ones we were before all of this began, but thankfully still sharing the same outlook — I think that’s what I want to hold onto.

I don’t need our life to be constantly exciting. I don’t need it to look full from the outside.

I want it to feel full from the inside.

Safe. Calm. Connected.

A life where we notice the glimmers while they’re happening.

Because after everything we’ve been through, I’ve realised that the quiet, ordinary moments we share as a family aren’t the small parts of our life.

They’re the life.

And for us, that’s enough.