Why slowing down is not passive: How texture activates your inner rhythm

The final days of the year always bring with them a certain hush, don’t they? A soft kind of invitation to exhale, to retreat from the swirl of the world, to sit quietly and begin listening inward. And yet, even in this quieter season, many of us find ourselves resisting the stillness. We tell ourselves we must finish this, accomplish that, tidy up our lives before the clock strikes midnight on December 31st. But what if this slowing down - this gentle deceleration - was not a sign of laziness or passivity, but instead a profound act of rhythm-making?

This is a topic very dear to me, and one that has taken root slowly through years of observing, creating, and simply being with people - especially those who feel the world a bit more deeply.

As someone who comes not from a scientific background, but from the world of art and touch, I’ve come to understand something beautiful and powerful: Texture has a rhythm of its own. And when we learn to feel that rhythm - through our fingertips, our breath, our being - we begin to reawaken a kind of inner knowing that modern life often asks us to forget.

The myth of passivity in stillness

There’s a strange cultural belief that slowing down equals doing nothing. That softness means weakness. But have you ever watched the way a tide pulls back before it crashes with force? Or the way a tree goes still in winter, conserving all its energy, preparing for the great bloom of spring? Stillness is not passive. It’s preparatory. It’s listening. It’s alignment.

For highly sensitive people - those whose nervous systems are wired to pick up on the subtleties, the undercurrents, the emotional whispers - slowing down is often not optional, but necessary. Yet many of us resist it. We’ve internalized messages that rest must be earned, that productivity defines our value. I’ve lived that too. And I’ve learned that when I don’t slow down, my art suffers. My body becomes tense. My intuition - usually so loud in my palms - becomes hard to hear.

But here’s where it gets interesting: slowing down doesn’t mean stopping. It means tuning in. And texture, quite literally, helps us do just that.

Texture as a portal to the subconscious

Many of you who’ve followed my work know that I use texture as part of a multisensory healing practice. When we touch textured surfaces - especially those we’ve created ourselves through painting, sculpting, collaging - we’re not just engaging our sense of touch. We’re activating deeper layers of awareness. There’s a rhythm to texture. A grain, a pattern, a vibration. And when you place your fingers gently on a textured artwork and pair that sensation with a spoken affirmation, something shifts.

I’ve observed this again and again, in myself and in others: touch brings language down from the mind into the body. The affirmation no longer floats around as a well-meaning idea - it settles. It integrates. It roots.

Therapists I’ve talked to have shared how clients - especially those with trauma or sensory sensitivities - respond differently when the body is invited into the process through texture. The resistance softens. The nervous system, often guarded, begins to open just a little. For some, it’s the first time an affirmation feels true.

Isn’t that something?

Rhythm is regulation

One of the most overlooked aspects of texture, I’ve found, is how deeply it connects to rhythm. Not just musical rhythm, but the natural, physiological kind: breath, heartbeat, circadian flow. Texture gives us something to pace ourselves against. When you trace a raised line in a painting slowly, your breath often follows. When you press into a soft surface with intention, you begin to notice how fast or slow you're moving. It’s a mirror.

And for those of us who struggle with regulation - who sometimes feel too much or too fast - this mirroring is powerful. You’re no longer just thinking about calming down. You’re feeling it. You’re doing it. You’re regulating yourself, not by force, but by connection.

This is especially true for highly sensitive people, whose nervous systems are often in a delicate dance with overstimulation. Traditional talk-based methods or affirmation practices can sometimes fall flat or even increase internal resistance. But when texture enters the scene, something changes. We return to the body. We return to rhythm.

Creativity as self-regulation

Over time, I’ve come to see the act of creating as a form of self-regulation - especially when that creation involves texture. There’s a rhythm to brushing thick paint onto canvas, to tearing paper and gluing it in layers, to shaping clay with your hands. Each action invites a breath, a pause, a choice. It’s not about achieving a perfect final piece. It’s about being with yourself as you create.

And when you layer in words - gentle, present-tense affirmations that speak to who you’re becoming - while your hands are engaged in texture, it becomes a ceremony. A private dance between your nervous system and your spirit. A reclaiming.

This is why I’ve come to believe that slowing down through texture is not a retreat from life, but a re-entry. It gives us the rhythm we need to meet the world not with tension, but with presence.

A ritual for the end of the year

Although my new year-end ritual freebie isn’t quite ready yet, I want to leave you with the seed of it. You don’t need much to begin. Just a textured surface - a painting, a piece of fabric, a bark, even handmade paper. Something that speaks to your fingertips.

Set aside five minutes. No phone, no goals. Just you, your hands, and your breath. Place your fingers on the texture. Breathe in. Speak a simple, kind phrase aloud. Perhaps:

“I allow the year to settle.”
“I honour the pace my body asks for.”
“It is safe to soften.”

Repeat slowly. Let your breath guide you. Let the texture hold you.

You may notice your shoulders relax. You may feel your heartbeat steady. You may find tears come unexpectedly. This is good. This is rhythm returning.

For the therapists, the artists, the sensitive souls

Whether you work with clients or simply with your own inner world, I invite you to see texture not as decoration, but as a doorway. A way in. A rhythm keeper.

It is not passive to slow down. It is not indulgent to listen to your hands. It is not foolish to want to feel the world deeply. You are not behind. You are arriving.

As we step into the final chapter of this year, may we do so not in haste, but in harmony. May we choose rhythm over rush, and texture over tension. And may we remember, together, that soft does not mean small.

It means strong.