The Art of Slowing Down: A Guide for Pregnant People

Wait. Stop.

Here's what no one tells you about pregnancy: your body will ask you to slow down, and the world will keep demanding you speed up. You'll be growing an entire human being while everyone around you expects you to keep performing at the same pace—same productivity, same availability, same energy. And somewhere in that impossible gap, you're supposed to figure out how to honor what your body needs while also, you know, surviving your actual life.

This article isn't here to shame you into slowing down. It's not going to tell you that if you just prioritize rest and set better boundaries, everything will be peaceful and perfect. Because let's be honest—some of you are reading this while working two jobs, caring for other children, navigating unsupportive workplaces, or living without the safety nets that make slowness possible. The cultural advice to "just rest more" can feel like one more thing you're failing at when your life doesn't allow for it.

So let's talk about slowness with our eyes open. What it offers when you can access it, what to do when you can't, and how to stop using "slowing down" as another impossible standard you're supposed to achieve perfectly.

What Your Body is Already Telling You

Your body has been trying to get your attention since the moment you conceived. That bone-deep exhaustion in the first trimester isn't laziness or weakness—it's your body redirecting enormous amounts of energy toward building a placenta, an entire organ that didn't exist before. The breathlessness in the third trimester when you climb stairs isn't lack of fitness—it's your lungs working with less space because your uterus is taking up room formerly occupied by other organs. The way you can't move as fast, think as clearly, or push as hard isn't failure. It's information.

But here's where it gets complicated. Your body is sending clear signals about needing a different pace, and your life might not care. Your job still has deadlines. Your other kids still need to eat dinner. Your bills still need to be paid. Your body's invitation to slow down meets the immovable reality of your actual circumstances, and something's got to give. Usually, it's you—pushing through, overriding the signals, doing what needs to be done because the alternative isn't really an alternative at all.

The emotional resistance to slowing down runs deep. We've been taught that our worth equals our productivity, that rest is something you earn after you've done enough, that stopping means you're lazy or uncommitted or not trying hard enough. Add pregnancy to this, and suddenly there's a whole new layer of guilt. You're supposed to be glowing and grateful and embracing every moment, not exhausted and resentful and wishing you could just lie down for three days straight. The fear of being seen as weak or incapable keeps so many pregnant people pushing past what their bodies are asking for, even when they have the option to slow down.

And then there's the terror of actually stopping. Because if you stop moving, stop doing, stop producing, you might have to feel everything you've been outrunning. The grief about what's ending, the fear about what's coming, the enormity of becoming someone's parent, the uncertainty about whether you can actually do this. Slowness creates space, and sometimes what rushes in to fill that space is overwhelming. So you keep moving, keep busy, keep your mind occupied with tasks and lists and forward momentum, because at least that feels manageable.

What Slowing Down Actually Means (And What It Doesn't)

Let's clear something up right away. Slowing down doesn't mean doing nothing. It doesn't mean letting your life fall apart or becoming someone you're not. It doesn't mean achieving some Instagram-worthy vision of a serene pregnant person meditating by a window with perfect light. And it absolutely doesn't mean shaming yourself every time you have to move at the world's pace instead of your body's pace.

What slowing down actually means is moving at your body's pace when that's possible, and not beating yourself up when it's not. It means choosing what actually matters and letting go of what doesn't—when you have the privilege of choice. It means saying no without guilt when you can afford to say no. It means presence over productivity in the moments where you have space for presence, and survival over everything else when that's what your life demands.

The danger here is that "slowing down" can become another impossible wellness standard. Another thing you're supposed to be doing perfectly that makes you feel inadequate when you can't. Another Instagram caption about self-care that ignores the reality that some people don't have selves to care for because they're too busy keeping everyone else alive. We have to talk about the privilege conversation, even though it's uncomfortable. Not everyone can take a nap at 2pm. Financial realities matter. Support systems vary wildly. Telling someone to "just rest more" when they're working multiple jobs to keep a roof over their head isn't advice—it's dismissal.

So as we talk about the value of slowness, we're also going to talk about what to do when slowness isn't available to you. How to find small pockets of presence in an overwhelmingly fast life. How to honor your body's needs within real constraints. How to stop using "slowing down" as another metric of whether you're doing pregnancy right. Because you know what? Sometimes survival is enough. Sometimes getting through the day while growing a human is the actual victory, regardless of how much you rested or how present you were able to be.

The Gap Between Ideal and Real

The wellness industrial complex loves to tell pregnant people to slow down, rest more, prioritize self-care. What it conveniently leaves out is that this advice assumes a level of privilege many people simply don't have. It assumes you have a job with paid leave, a partner who can pick up the slack, family nearby who help, financial stability that allows you to work less, or at minimum a life where slowing down won't result in actual consequences you can't afford.

Single parents working full-time don't get to just "slow down." People without health insurance can't risk losing their jobs by requesting accommodations. Caregivers who are responsible for aging parents or other children can't put those humans on pause while they rest. Folks working hourly jobs or gig work where not showing up means not eating—they're not choosing speed over slowness. They're doing what's necessary to survive.

This doesn't mean slowness has no value. It means we have to be honest about who has access to it and stop making it sound like a moral failing when someone can't achieve it. The pregnant person working two jobs until their due date isn't doing pregnancy wrong. They're doing what their life requires. The person who never gets to "nest" because they're too busy surviving isn't less connected to their baby. They're dealing with different circumstances, and those circumstances don't make them a worse parent.

If slowness isn't available to you right now, what is available? Can you find five minutes in your car before you go into work to put your hand on your belly and breathe? Can you turn off the podcast on your commute and just be quiet for ten minutes? Can you say no to one social obligation this month, even if you can't say no to the job or the childcare or the responsibilities? Slowness doesn't have to be all-or-nothing. Micro-moments of presence count. A few deep breaths between tasks count. Acknowledging "this is hard and I'm doing it anyway" counts.

The danger of wellness culture is that it turns self-care into another achievement, another thing you have to be good at, another way to fail. When "slowing down" becomes a mandate rather than an invitation, it stops being helpful. If you find yourself feeling guilty because you can't rest more, can't set better boundaries, can't achieve the peaceful pregnancy you see in other people's highlight reels—that guilt is not serving you. You're allowed to do pregnancy however your life allows you to do it. You're allowed to resent the advice to "just rest more" when rest isn't accessible. You're allowed to wish your circumstances allowed for more slowness without also feeling like you're failing your baby by not achieving it.

Slowing Down Through Each Trimester (When and Where You Can)

The first trimester hits like a truck. Suddenly you're exhausted in a way that sleep doesn't fix, nauseous in a way that food doesn't help, and you can't tell anyone why because you're not ready to share the news yet. Your body is doing invisible work—building a placenta, increasing blood volume, shifting hormones, creating the foundation for everything that comes next. This is real, biological work that requires enormous energy. It's not in your head. It's not laziness. It's your body prioritizing the most important work it will ever do.

But acknowledging that doesn't change the fact that you still have to show up to your job, take care of your other kids, and function in a world that can't see what's happening inside you. So you push through. You chug coffee until you remember you're supposed to limit caffeine, then you push through without the coffee. You sneak naps in your car during lunch breaks. You go to bed at 8pm and feel guilty about it. You survive, because that's what you have to do, and the exhaustion is relentless.

If you can slow down during this time, do it. Your body is literally building another human's life support system. Rest isn't indulgence—it's requirement. But if you can't slow down, if your life doesn't allow for it, you're not harming your baby. People have been growing babies while working fields, fleeing violence, surviving poverty, doing hard physical labor, for all of human history. Your baby is getting what they need even when you're not getting what you need. That's not ideal, but it's reality for many people, and it doesn't make you inadequate.

The second trimester often brings a surge of energy that feels like relief after the first trimester's exhaustion. This is the trap: suddenly you can do things again, so everyone—including you—expects you to catch up on everything you couldn't do for the past three months. Do all the things, say yes to everything, maximize this window of feeling human again. But just because you can doesn't mean you should. This energy isn't unlimited. If you burn through it trying to prove you're fine or catch up on work or deep clean your entire house, you'll have nothing left for the third trimester when your body will demand slowness whether you're ready or not.

But again, real life. Maybe you have to use this energy to catch up because falling behind has actual consequences. Maybe you need to work extra hours now to save money for unpaid leave later. Maybe you have other kids who've been watching too much TV while you survived first trimester, and you want to actually engage with them while you can. You get to make these choices. Just try, when possible, to make them consciously rather than automatically. Ask yourself: is this actually necessary, or is this me proving I'm still capable? Am I doing this because it matters, or because I think I should?

The third trimester makes the choice for you, eventually. Your body simply won't move at the same pace. Everything takes longer. Everything feels harder. Your breath is short, your back aches, your sleep is disrupted, and your patience is thin. Some people experience this as surrender, finally giving themselves permission to slow down because their body won't let them do anything else. Others experience it as frustration—wanting to do things they can no longer do, feeling trapped in a body that won't cooperate, resenting the limitations even while knowing they're temporary.

If you're still working full-time in your third trimester, still caring for other children, still doing what needs to be done despite your body's protests, you're not alone. So many people push through until the very end because they have no other option. This isn't noble suffering—it's just reality. Save your energy where you can. Ask for help when it's available. Lower your standards about what needs to be done. And on the days when you do none of those things, when you just keep pushing because that's what survival requires, know that you're still doing this right. Your baby is learning resilience from you already. That matters too.

Practical Ways to Slow Down (That Actually Work Within Real Life)

Let's talk about actual strategies that account for actual lives. Not Pinterest-perfect morning routines that require waking up at 5am to meditate, but real, messy, imperfect ways to find small pockets of slowness in an overwhelmingly fast life.

Morning routines don't have to be elaborate. If you can find ten minutes—just ten—to sit with tea or coffee before you have to perform for anyone, that's slowness. It might mean waking up slightly earlier, or it might mean lowering your standards about what breakfast looks like so you're not rushing to make something perfect. Even five minutes of putting your hand on your belly, feeling your baby move if they're big enough yet, acknowledging "we're doing this together"—that counts. And if you can't even find five minutes because your toddler is screaming or your shift starts at 6am or your morning sickness makes everything impossible? Then you skip it. No guilt. You're doing what you can with what you have.

Work is where slowing down often feels most impossible, especially if you're in an unsupportive environment or a job that doesn't allow flexibility. Setting boundaries sounds great in theory—leaving on time, not checking email after hours, asking to reduce your workload. In practice, not everyone can do these things without real consequences. If you can advocate for yourself at work, do it. Request accommodations if you're eligible. Talk to HR about what's available to you. But if your workplace is rigid, if asking for help would jeopardize your job, if you're barely hanging on and can't risk rocking the boat—then your strategy isn't about boundaries. It's about survival.

Survival at work during pregnancy might look like taking bathroom breaks to sit down for three minutes. It might look like eating lunch at your desk instead of working through lunch, even if that means staying later. It might look like doing the absolute minimum required and not one thing more, even if that's not your usual standard. It might look like job searching for something better while knowing you might not find it before the baby comes. You're not failing by not achieving work-life balance during pregnancy. You're navigating a system that wasn't designed to support pregnant workers, and that's on the system, not on you.

In relationships, teaching people your new pace requires communication, and that communication works better when you're specific. "I need help" is hard for people to respond to. "I need you to handle dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays" is something they can actually do. "I'm overwhelmed" is vague. "I need you to take over bedtime with the toddler three nights a week so I can rest" is actionable. But this also assumes you have someone to ask, someone who's capable of helping, someone who responds to requests without making you feel worse for asking. Not everyone has that.

If you're doing this alone, or with an unsupportive partner, or without family nearby, then asking for help looks different. It might mean hiring help if you can possibly afford it—even just once or twice. It might mean accepting offers from acquaintances you barely know because you're desperate enough. It might mean lowering your standards about what a clean house looks like or what counts as dinner. It might mean surviving alone and being angry about it, because that anger is valid even if it doesn't change your circumstances.

At home, the work is never done. There's always more laundry, more dishes, more things that should be cleaned or organized or dealt with. The revolutionary act isn't doing it all while pregnant. It's deciding what actually needs to be done and letting the rest go. Truly, deeply, without guilt—letting it go. The dust can wait. The organizing project can wait. The deep cleaning can wait. If you have the energy and you want to do it, fine. But if you're doing it because you think you should, because you're afraid of judgment, because you can't stand the mess even though you're exhausted—that's worth examining.

And if letting it go isn't possible? If the mess makes you more anxious than the exhaustion, or if you have people in your life who will make comments, or if your living situation requires you to keep things a certain way? Then do what you need to do to survive your circumstances, and stop expecting yourself to also be zen about it. You can clean the house while resenting that you have to. Both things can be true. You're allowed to do what's necessary without also achieving enlightenment about it.

What Gets in the Way (And What to Do About It)

The productivity trap runs deep in our culture, and pregnancy doesn't give you a pass. If anything, the pressure intensifies—you're supposed to prepare perfectly while also proving you're still capable of everything you did before. Your worth becomes tangled up with how much you can still accomplish, how little you complain, how gracefully you handle the physical challenges. The truth is that your value has nothing to do with your output, but knowing that intellectually doesn't make it feel true emotionally.

Here's the complicated part: sometimes you do have to produce to survive. Your job requires output. Your family requires care. Your bills require money. The cultural message that you're more than your productivity is beautiful and true and also doesn't pay rent. So you're stuck between knowing you're valuable beyond what you produce and also needing to produce to survive. That tension doesn't resolve neatly. You just have to hold both truths and do your best.

The comparison game gets vicious during pregnancy. Other pregnant people who seem to be doing it all—working full-time, exercising regularly, eating perfectly, glowing, never complaining. Instagram shows you their highlight reel and your brain tells you that's the standard. You're failing because you can barely shower, let alone meal prep and do prenatal yoga and have a beautifully organized nursery. But you're comparing your reality to their edited version. You're comparing your everything to their best moments. And even if they really are doing all those things, their circumstances are not your circumstances. Their support system, their job flexibility, their energy levels, their mental health, their other responsibilities—none of it matches yours exactly.

Your pace is your pace. Your constraints are your constraints. The person doing prenatal yoga every day might not have two other kids at home. The person with the perfect nursery might have family money you don't have. The person who seems to have it all together might be falling apart in ways you can't see. Or maybe they're genuinely doing fine, and that's okay too—it doesn't make your struggling wrong. There are as many ways to be pregnant as there are pregnant people. You're allowed to do it your way, at your speed, with your resources.

But here's where it gets tricky: what happens when "slowing down" becomes another thing you're supposed to do perfectly? When you start feeling guilty about not resting enough, not setting good enough boundaries, not prioritizing self-care adequately? Then the wellness advice has turned toxic. You're now stressed about not being relaxed enough. You're now feeling inadequate about your inability to achieve slowness. The irony would be funny if it weren't so exhausting.

If you find yourself in a wellness-shame spiral—feeling bad about not meditating, not doing enough self-care, not slowing down the way you think you should—stop. This article, all the advice about rest and slowness and honoring your body, it's an offering, not a demand. If it doesn't fit your life right now, if it makes you feel worse instead of better, if it's become one more way to measure yourself and come up short—let it go. You're not failing pregnancy by surviving it imperfectly. You're just being human.

The Deeper Work: What Slowness Makes Space For (When You Have the Space)

When you do have moments of slowness, even brief ones, they can offer something you can't get while rushing. Connection with your baby, for one. Feeling their movements when you're not distracted by seventeen other things. Putting your hands on your belly at a stoplight and talking to them in your head, building relationship before you've even met. Even in your busiest days, these tiny moments of connection are available. Your baby doesn't need hours of your focused attention. They need you, however you come, in whatever moments you can offer.

Slowness also makes space for processing the enormousness of what's happening. You're becoming a parent. Your entire life is about to change in ways you can't fully imagine yet. Your identity is shifting. Your relationships will shift. Your body is transforming. Your freedom is ending in some ways and beginning in others. That's a lot to hold, and when you're moving at full speed, there's no room to feel it. So it waits, all that emotion and fear and excitement and grief, until you finally stop. And then it hits you all at once, often when you least expect it.

If you never get the space to process all this before your baby arrives, you'll process it after. Postpartum is when a lot of people finally have to feel everything they were too busy to feel during pregnancy. That's not ideal, but it's also not a disaster. You'll figure it out. You'll cry while nursing at 3am, or while watching your baby sleep, or in the shower when you finally have two minutes alone. The processing happens when it happens. It doesn't have to be on a schedule.

Listening to your intuition requires quiet, and quiet might be in short supply right now. But even in brief moments—in the shower, driving alone, lying in bed before sleep—you can check in with yourself. What does your body actually need right now? What feels right about your birth plan? What are you afraid of? What are you excited about? Your intuition knows things your thinking mind doesn't have access to yet. When you can, listen. And when you can't, trust that you'll figure things out as they come. You don't have to have all the answers before your baby arrives.

When You Can't Slow Down—And That's Okay

Let's just name it plainly: sometimes surviving is thriving. Sometimes getting through your pregnancy while working full-time, caring for other kids, managing health issues, navigating unsupportive relationships, or dealing with any number of hard things—that's the victory. You don't also have to do it gracefully. You don't have to maintain a positive attitude. You don't have to feel grateful every moment. You can be exhausted and resentful and counting down the days, and you're still a good parent. Your baby doesn't need perfect. They need you, however you come.

There's something important about acknowledging that keeping going is its own kind of strength. The cultural narrative says that slowing down and listening to your body is wisdom, and it is. But pushing through when you have no other option? That's also wisdom. That's also strength. Your baby is learning resilience from you already. They're learning that sometimes life is hard and you do it anyway. They're learning that love doesn't require perfect circumstances. Those are valuable lessons, even if you didn't choose to teach them this way.

If your pregnancy has been relentlessly busy, if you've worked until the day you delivered, if you've had no time for nesting or preparing or any of the things people say you're supposed to do—your postpartum will require some adjustment. You can't keep that pace with a newborn. Newborns don't care about your to-do list or your deadlines or your need to be productive. They move at their own pace, which is slow and unpredictable and entirely non-negotiable. That transition will be jarring if you're coming from months of override.

But you'll adapt. People always do. You'll figure out how to slow down when your baby gives you no other choice. It won't be comfortable at first. You'll probably struggle with the lack of productivity, the unmeasurable work of caring for a newborn, the way your worth isn't tied to output anymore. But somewhere in those exhausting early weeks, you might discover what slowness has been trying to teach you all along—that being is enough. That your presence matters more than your productivity. That you're valuable even when you're not accomplishing anything. Your baby will teach you this, probably more effectively than any article could.

Slowing Down as Preparation for Birth (While Being Real About It)

Labor requires surrender. That's not romantic imagery—it's practical truth. You can't rush birth. You can't control it through willpower or perfect preparation. You can only show up for each contraction, each opening, each moment as it comes. If you've practiced slowing down during pregnancy, if you've learned to breathe through discomfort and trust your body's timing, that might help. Or it might not. Some people who never "practiced" have beautiful, straightforward births. Some people who did everything right have hard births. There's no direct line between perfect pregnancy and perfect birth.

What matters more than practice is flexibility. Can you meet what's actually happening instead of what you planned for? Can you let go of expectations when reality shows up differently? Can you trust your care providers or your body or something bigger than yourself when everything feels out of control? These are the skills that serve you in labor, and you can develop them through slowness during pregnancy, or through survival during pregnancy, or through neither. You'll find them when you need them, because birth has a way of revealing capacities you didn't know you had.

Postpartum will demand slowness whether you're ready or not. Newborns move at their own pace, which is glacial and all-consuming. They need to eat every two hours. They sleep in random intervals. They don't care that you have things to do. The fourth trimester is its own season of surrender, and it's coming regardless of how well you prepared for it. If you've practiced slowness during pregnancy, maybe the transition will be gentler. Or maybe it will still be shocking, because nothing really prepares you for the particular slowness of newborn time. Either way, you'll figure it out. You'll learn to move at baby pace because you won't have a choice.

You're Already Doing Enough

Here's what we need you to hear: however you're moving through pregnancy—fast or slow, gracefully or messily, with plenty of rest or barely any—you're doing it right. Your circumstances don't determine your worth as a parent. Your ability to slow down doesn't measure your connection to your baby. The pregnant person working two jobs until their due date loves their baby just as much as the person who spent months preparing peacefully at home. Different circumstances, same love.

If slowness is available to you, it offers real gifts. More presence, more connection, more ease. If you can access it, try it. Notice what changes when you stop rushing. Notice what you hear when you're finally quiet. Notice how your body feels when you honor its pace instead of overriding it. Those moments matter, and they're worth creating space for when you can.

But if slowness isn't available, if your life doesn't allow for it, if you're surviving more than thriving right now—you're still doing this beautifully. You're growing a human while also keeping your life from falling apart. That's enormous. That's worthy of respect. You don't also have to be zen about it. You can be tired and resentful and counting down the days, and your baby will still be loved. They'll still be wanted. They'll still have everything they need, because they have you.

The art of slowing down during pregnancy isn't really about achieving perfect slowness. It's about noticing what your body needs, honoring it when you can, and forgiving yourself when you can't. It's about finding small moments of presence in a life that might not allow for large ones. It's about recognizing that there are many ways to grow a baby, and all of them count. Fast or slow, busy or restful, struggling or sailing—you're already enough. Your baby already has what they need most, which is you, exactly as you are, doing exactly what you're doing. That's the real art: trusting that you're already doing it right.

If you're looking for pregnancy support that honors your reality—not just the ideal version but the actual, complicated, beautiful reality of your life—reach out to Nets at Fruit of the Womb through the contact page. Whether you need midwifery care, craniosacral therapy, or doula support, Nets offers whole-being care that meets you exactly where you are. No judgment about your pace, no pressure to do pregnancy perfectly—just grounded, compassionate support through this transformation.

Frequently Asked Questions

How do I slow down when I have other kids who need me constantly?

This is one of the hardest realities of pregnancy—your body needs rest, and your other children need you present, and there's no easy answer for how to do both. The truth is that you probably can't slow down as much as you could if this were your first pregnancy, and that's okay. Your kids are learning something valuable by watching you navigate pregnancy while still showing up for them, even when you're tired. Slowness with other kids looks different. It might mean sitting on the couch and reading books instead of taking them to the park. It might mean more screen time than usual while you rest, and releasing the guilt about that. It might mean asking your partner or family to handle bedtime so you can go to bed early, or hiring a babysitter even for a few hours so you can truly rest. If those options aren't available, then slowness becomes micro-moments—breathing deeply while your toddler plays, putting your hand on your belly while you push the swing, acknowledging how hard this is while also doing it. You don't have to do this perfectly. You just have to survive it, and your kids will be fine. They're learning that sometimes bodies need different things, that life has seasons of more and less capacity, and that love shows up even when it's tired. Those are good lessons, even though you didn't choose to teach them this way.

What if my job absolutely doesn't allow slowing down—what then?

Some workplaces are rigid, unsupportive, or actively hostile to pregnant workers. If you're in one of these situations, first know that this isn't your failing—it's a systemic problem with how we treat pregnant people in the workforce. If you have any ability to advocate for yourself, start with understanding your legal rights. Pregnancy discrimination is illegal, and you may be entitled to reasonable accommodations under the ADA or state laws. Sometimes just knowing your rights and mentioning them can shift how your employer responds. But if you've tried and your workplace won't budge, or if advocating for yourself would jeopardize your job in ways you can't afford, then your strategy is survival, not ideal wellness. That means doing the absolute minimum required at work and not one thing more. It means taking every break you're entitled to, using sick time if you have it, and saving your energy for what's legally required rather than going above and beyond. It means letting go of any guilt about not being the perfect employee right now—your body is doing something more important than any job. And it means, if at all possible, looking for something better. Not everyone can job hunt while pregnant, but if you have any capacity to find a more supportive workplace, even for after your baby comes, that's worth the effort. In the meantime, you're not failing. You're surviving a system that wasn't designed to support you. Your baby is still getting what they need, and you're still a good parent, even though your workplace is making everything harder than it needs to be.

How do I deal with the guilt about doing less and disappointing people?

Guilt during pregnancy is real and relentless, especially for those of us raised to believe our worth comes from serving others and never letting anyone down. Here's what helps: distinguishing between real harm and disappointed expectations. If you say no to hosting Thanksgiving because you're exhausted, no one is actually harmed. Their expectations are disappointed, but that's different from harm. Your body's needs during pregnancy are real and physical. Other people's preferences about what you should be doing are just preferences. You're allowed to prioritize the real physical needs over others' preferences, even when those people are family, even when you love them, even when disappointing them feels terrible. Practice saying "I'm not able to do that right now" without explanation or apology. You don't owe anyone a detailed justification for honoring your pregnant body's limits. The guilt will probably still show up—that's normal. But you can feel guilty and still say no. Both things can happen at the same time. Over time, and especially after your baby arrives, you'll learn that people who truly care about you want you to take care of yourself, and people who are angry that you're setting boundaries weren't really supporting you anyway. That's painful to discover, but it's also clarifying. Your real support system will understand. The people who don't understand were never going to be helpful postpartum anyway, so you might as well find out now. And for what it's worth, you're teaching your baby something important by setting boundaries—that their needs matter, that bodies deserve respect, that saying no is okay. Those lessons start before they're even born.

Is it normal to feel anxious when I actually do slow down and rest?

Absolutely normal, and more common than you'd think. When you finally stop moving, everything you've been outrunning catches up with you. The fears about labor, the grief about what's ending, the overwhelm about becoming a parent, the uncertainty about whether you can actually do this—it all rushes in the moment you're finally still enough to feel it. For many people, staying busy is a coping mechanism. It keeps the anxiety at bay. So when you try to rest, paradoxically, you feel worse because you're not distracted anymore. This is why "just relax" is such useless advice. Relaxation isn't comfortable when what's underneath the busyness is terror. If this is happening to you, it helps to name it. "I feel anxious when I slow down because I'm not used to feeling my feelings, and there are a lot of big feelings about becoming a parent." Just naming it can sometimes ease it slightly. It also helps to know this is temporary. The anxiety won't stay this intense forever. And sometimes you need support to process what's coming up—therapy, a support group, honest conversations with your partner or friends. The anxiety isn't wrong information. It's your nervous system trying to process something enormous. You don't have to make it go away. You just have to be willing to feel it, which is hard but possible. And on the days when you can't tolerate it, when the anxiety is too much and you need to stay busy to cope? That's okay too. You don't have to force yourself into slowness if what you need right now is distraction. There's no wrong way to survive pregnancy. Do what you need to do to get through, and trust that you'll have time to process everything later if you need to.