The Courage to Slow Down

Over winter this year, I hit a burnout that genuinely scared me. Not the “wow, I’m tired” kind — the kind that makes you wonder if you’ll ever actually feel like yourself again. Most mornings I woke up and couldn’t find my spark, let alone the motivation to face the day ahead. I remember thinking, What if I don’t come back from this one? And that fear sat in my chest in a way I couldn’t ignore.

It was a full body–mind–spirit exhaustion you can’t mindset your way out of. The kind you can’t outwork, out-plan, or out-hustle. My body had slammed the brakes, and I was still trying to keep running — which, looking back, feels like the real madness.

Burnout isn’t just exhaustion.
It’s the body’s final attempt to get your attention.

Coming out the other side, I made myself a promise in August — a new way of showing up in my life and in my work:
presence, productivity, sustainable energy flow.

Less is more.
Slow is fast.

These became my compass words & phrases. Not resolutions — just reminders of how I wanted to move.

And how has that landed you ask? It’s been a hard pill to swallow.

Shortly after making that promise, I raised my rates substantially. It had been years since I’d adjusted them to match inflation, and even longer since I’d really acknowledged my capacity and the value of my craft. It was terrifying. Fewer bookings started coming through, and my business brain went straight into panic mode:
“Maybe you moved too fast. Maybe it’s too risky. Maybe you should change them back.”

But underneath the fear, there was a truth:
I wasn’t willing to abandon myself again.

So I held the line. I honoured the promise to myself. I’ve been doing this work — in photography and coaching — for years. I know the depth I bring. When you start out as a creative full time, your boundaries are either loose or non-existent. You say yes to everything because you have to survive. You grind because you don’t have a financial cushion. You hustle because rent doesn’t pay itself. That was me for years — from massage therapy to going full-time creative — always figuring it out, always taking leaps of faith with no safety net.

I’m grateful for where I am now. I finally reached a crossroads where I could say, “No. I want to work less, create more, and yes — generate more wealth.” Because the nature of my work is intimate, emotional, energetic. Whether I’m hyping you on one of the biggest days of your life, witnessing your beauty through the Rewild Portrait Experience, or walking beside you on your healing journey — it all requires my full presence. And the editing, the storytelling, the art I deliver… it is art. I don’t take it lightly. And I can’t pump out this level of work as if I’m in some creative sweatshop. Not only am I short changing my clients on what I'm delivering, but that’s how I lose myself — and I refuse to do that anymore.

So things had to change.
The shift took time to settle.
My nervous system had to catch up.
But now, it’s finally starting to feel safe.

Here’s the real truth though: my life is still full.
I still have retreats, wonderful clients, business projects, photography, coaching, newsletters, launches, tours, travel, deadlines — everything. From the outside, nothing looks “slow.”

But on the inside? Everything is different.

I’m showing up to the same commitments, but I’m no longer abandoning my body to meet them. I’m letting myself sleep in after big weekends. I’m taking slow mornings when I can. I’m leaving my headphones at home on walks. I’m not checking emails the moment I wake up. I’m taking river dips for nervous system resets. I’m giving myself scruff-nugget cuddles, soft and silly moments with Pierre, and evenings where I don’t push myself past empty.

It’s not about removing things from my life —
it’s about letting my body catch up to my life.

Some days I don’t have time to get to the river or the ocean. Some days I do, and when I do, I make it happen. That flexibility has become part of my healing. These pockets of slowness rebuild my capacity. Not in big dramatic ways — but micro-moment by micro-moment. That’s how this new rhythm is being wired into me.

And that’s the part no one talks about:

Most healing isn’t dramatic.
It’s cumulative.
It’s subtle.
It’s unglamorous.
And sometimes really fucking frustrating.
But it works.

What I keep coming back to is this:
We all have shit to do. We all have responsibilities, bills, families, businesses, dreams. Life doesn’t pause just because we’re tired.

But the real question isn’t, “How much do I have to do?”
It’s: “How present am I while I do it?”

My burnouts over the last 20 years have taught me that presence determines the quality of my days — not the length of my to-do list. Presence is what shapes my longevity, vitality, resilience, and really, my enjoyment of being alive.

And when I say longevity, I’m not talking about living forever. I’m talking about the quality of the days I get to live earthside. I want to adventure, to be wild, to be free, to be limber and flexible and full of joy. I want to move with ease. I want to walk through the hard times with resilience I’ve built through meaningful yarns, therapy, reflection, and humility.

Slowness doesn’t mean stopping.
It means not abandoning yourself while you move.

And that’s the difference I’m choosing for this season of life.

If you're in a chapter where you’re scared you won’t “bounce back,” or your system is struggling, or you’re resisting the rest your body is begging for — you’re not failing. You’re not broken. You’re not behind.

You’re being asked to return to yourself.

To remember that your dreams matter.
To remember that if you can’t see your future vision yet, it doesn’t mean you don’t have one — it just means you need space to hear it.
And to create anything meaningful, you first have to create space within yourself.

The constant hustle shrinks us.
It keeps us small.
It traps us in a cage we actually hold the key to.

So start small.

One presence-filled moment at a time.
One nervous system breath at a time.
One small act of care, for yourself, at a time.

It all counts.
It all builds.
It all matters.

This week’s blog is for anyone who’s been afraid they wouldn’t come back — and is slowly, steadily learning that they can.

🌿✨

Over and out.

From my wild heart to yours ❤️‍🔥,

Kass

P.S. The photos in this piece are from one of my favourite places to slow down — Te Aka Treehouse — a West Coast gem that always brings me back into my body, my breath, and the wild rhythm of nature.

And if you’re craving your own reset surrounded by inspiring wāhine…
we still have a few spaces left on our Rewild Waitata Bay Retreat — a full-body, full-heart immersion into creativity, adventure, meaningful connection, nature, and nervous system restoration.

Or join me for your own private Rewild Portrait Experience — part healing session, part ceremony, part homecoming. A chance to meet yourself again in the wild.