The Art of Slowness: Why We Don’t Rush Childhood

By Destiny Iniguez, M.Ed.

I used to think “slow down” was something people said when they didn’t have four kids, a full schedule, and a cup of coffee that’s been reheated twice. But somewhere between drop-offs, deadlines, and the sound of milk dripping off the table, I realized the hurry had become my default setting.

The more I studied child development, and honestly, the more I paid attention to my own children the clearer it became: when we rush, we disconnect. From ourselves. From them. From what actually matters.

Slowness isn’t indulgence; it’s regulation. Every time we tell a child to move faster, answer quicker, or “keep up,” their nervous system hears danger. Their body shifts from curiosity to survival. Child psychiatrist Dan Siegel calls this “integration”, the process of the brain linking experiences so learning actually sticks. Without time, that integration doesn’t happen. The child might comply, but inside, their body is bracing.

Neuroscientist Bruce Perry says it straight: the brain organizes from the bottom up. Regulation before reasoning. But most of us parent upside down, we demand logic from a nervous system that’s lit up like a fire alarm. The more cortisol runs, the less empathy and impulse control we get. The rushed child might perform, but they’re not at peace.

And truthfully, neither are we.

We think we’re modeling responsibility, but half the time our tone is telling a different story. They may not understand our words, but they read our faces like a textbook. They learn our speed. They mirror our stress. They inherit our nervous systems.

The Myth of “Behind”

One of the most damaging lies modern parents buy into is the idea that our kids are behind—behind in reading, behind in math, behind in milestones, behind someone else’s timeline.

Development doesn’t move in straight lines; it moves in spirals. Every child has their own tempo , periods of stillness, then sudden bursts of growth. As David Elkind warned in The Hurried Child, when we speed kids through those natural rhythms, we trade depth for display. They learn to perform, not to connect.

A child who reads early might not comprehend deeply. A child who sits quietly might be suppressing curiosity. We’re so busy trying to make sure they’re “ahead” that we miss who they already are.

The irony is that we rush them through childhood and then spend the rest of our lives wishing we could slow it down.

What We Lose When We Rush

When we parent in a constant state of “hurry up,” our children’s bodies don’t know it’s about time management. They think it’s about safety. Chronic rushing keeps their stress response, the fight-or-flight system, switched on.

Psychologist Stuart Shanker calls this the “hidden cost of stress.” Every demand, academic, emotional, or social, draws from a child’s same energy pool. When that pool stays empty, they don’t stop caring. They just stop coping.

And the consequences sneak in quietly:
• Anxiety that looks like “defiance”
• Sleep issues
• Low frustration tolerance
• A perfectionism that’s just fear wearing makeup

We see it in our homes, in classrooms, and in the mirror. We see it in the clenched jaw and shallow breath we all pretend not to notice.

But when families slow down, even a little, everything changes. Heart rates drop. Breath evens out. The part of the brain responsible for empathy and regulation, the prefrontal cortex, comes back online. Connection returns.

It’s not magic. It’s biology.

What Slowing Down Looks Like

Slowness doesn’t mean stillness. It means moving through your day like you mean it. It’s rhythm instead of rush.

It looks like leaving white space on the schedule so life can happen between the lines.
It sounds like laughter echoing through a messy kitchen instead of a to-do list echoing in your head. It feels like pausing before reacting, not because you’re calm, but because you’re choosing to be conscious.

Try this:

• Protect one slow pocket a day. Five unhurried minutes, morning snuggles, bedtime giggles, or sitting in the car with no agenda. That consistency rewires safety.

• Stop narrating urgency. Instead of “We’re late!” try, “We’re leaving soon. Let’s do this together.”

• Let them help. Yes, it’s slower. But pouring milk and tying shoes are lessons in independence and peace.

• Create rituals. One breath before leaving, one song before bed. Rituals tell the body: you’re safe now.

• Go outside. The earth has a better sense of timing than we ever will.

Coming Back

Some mornings, I still move too fast. I bark orders, spill coffee, and apologize before I’ve even buckled my seatbelt. Some nights, I collapse in bed and promise myself I’ll do better tomorrow. And that’s okay.

The goal isn’t perfection; it’s return.

Every time we come back to slowness, we teach our kids how to recover from the rush. How to regulate. How to start over.

Because slowing down isn’t falling behind it’s catching up to what matters.

Take the breath. Lower your shoulders. Let the moment be what it is. The dishes can wait. Childhood can’t.

Slowness isn’t stillness. It’s presence.
And presence is how childhood and parenthood are meant to be lived.

References

Siegel, D. J., & Bryson, T. P. (2011). The Whole-Brain Child: 12 Revolutionary Strategies to Nurture Your Child’s Developing Mind. Random House.
Perry, B. D., & Szalavitz, M. (2006). The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog: What Traumatized Children Can Teach Us About Loss, Love, and Healing. Basic Books.
Shanker, S. (2016). Self-Reg: How to Help Your Child (and You) Break the Stress Cycle and Successfully Engage with Life. Penguin.
Elkind, D. (1981). The Hurried Child: Growing Up Too Fast Too Soon. Addison-Wesley.
Center on the Developing Child, Harvard University. (2017). Toxic Stress Derails Healthy Development.
National Scientific Council on the Developing Child. (2010). Persistent Fear and Anxiety Can Affect Young Children’s Learning and Development.