Slow Down, Love | Married Life and a New Chapter

An Unsustainable Rhythm of Life

Darkness engulfs the room, but my eyes reflect blue light from marketing spreadsheets. Somewhere in the distance, sleepiness blankets my eyelids and tugs at my fingers as they type away. The moon’s high outside the window, but my trance remains unbroken. I am lost in the illusion of productivity.

Lately, it’s been hard to keep up with my ever-expanding workload at this organization, but I pump out more deliverables. I’ve become quite efficient, but as soon as I master a new rhythm, a new expectation lands in my inbox, and I fall behind again.

I respond to the last few emails. Tonight, I press send because I’m too tired to care what others might think. Other times, it’s scheduled for the morning because 1:30 a.m. is an odd time to send an email.

I collapse into my dreams until my alarm sounds. After hitting snooze several times and finally scrambling to the bathroom, I realize there are only ten minutes until my first meeting. Brush my teeth. Brush my hair. Make coffee.

After the first couple meetings, it’s somehow already 11 a.m. I haven’t eaten breakfast or had any water yet. My stomach rumbles, and my head pounds.

After I eat, hydrate, and take my dog for a walk, I’m back at the screen. I work hard, only to be met with a negative comment from my boss. It’s subtle, but it sticks with me, and when I ask if she could elaborate, the conversation ends with my feelings being dismissed. 

I shut down emotionally and take another walk with my dog to process the words that were said to me. I journal about it and add it to the record I’ve kept for nearly a year — a running outline of micromanagement, lack of recognition, emotional invalidation, and blame-oriented communication.

Before I know it, I’ve spent an hour feeling frustrated and like I’ll never be enough.

I get more work done, then close my laptop for house duties and personal tasks. Running on fumes, I chug electrolytes, slap on my watch, and slide into my running shoes. Today’s schedule says 8 miles and 1,800 feet of vert. I only have the bandwidth for half of that, so I make the most of it. The sunshine makes me smile, and my strides remind me that I am strong and capable.

It’s 7:30 p.m. by the time I return home, and I remember I was supposed to go to the grocery store today. I order dinner from my phone while showering. Nino and I will go pick it up together; that’s been our routine lately. While my phone is open, I doomscroll on Instagram, and suddenly my screen stops working.

Oh yeah.

I’m in the shower.

My phone is wet.

We eat dinner at 9 p.m. That gives us enough time to talk about one thing that happened to each of us today and watch half an episode of our show.

Nino closes his eyes at 10:30 p.m.

I stare at the screen beneath the moonlight once again. Before I shut my laptop, I tally the hours I worked today.

10.5.

That number doesn’t include personal work or training.

I laugh out loud, recalling last week’s question, “How many hours do you actually work?” in response to me sharing that I feel like I can’t keep up with my workload.

I didn’t get to my unread text messages today, and I didn’t touch the pile of mail. Our floors and bathrooms are still dirty, and my trail running shoes are 100 miles overdue with no tread left on the bottom.

I can’t keep up with the rest of my life either.

I don’t have kids. I work remotely. I like my work. I love where I live. I love my people. And I love what I get to do in the mountains every day.

So why does the daily rhythm of my life feel like… this?

That question became the catalyst for everything that came next.

Married Life and a New Life Chapter

Nino and I bought a house in Utah the same month we got married, and this new chapter of life brought so much change and chaos all at once. It escalated into one of those awakening WTF are we doing? moments — a realization of how unsustainably we were living with our two demanding full-time jobs, the constant go-go-go lifestyle, and the inevitable addiction to stimulation that comes with never getting a break from screens.

There was little time to sit and breathe between activities, and suddenly, that wasn’t acceptable anymore.

I honestly love these pivotal moments in life. They’re equal parts getting slapped in the face and inhaling a breath of fresh air. I’ve taken the leap enough times to know that major life changes can transport me out of the current situation I’ve outgrown and onto a new path that feels in tune with who I am becoming.

Making a life-changing decision is one of the bravest, most empowering, and most supportive things you can do for yourself when you feel trapped, lost, or like you can’t keep up.

I keep learning how good change can be, because if we’re not changing our environments and circumstances to match our ever-evolving inner worlds, we’re not allowing room for our roots to grow.

We deserve new pots.

We deserve room to expand.

People have asked us with knowing smiles, “How’s married life? The same, right?”

Sure, considering Nino and I have been together since we were 22 and 23 years old. We know every inch of each other, and a piece of paper approved by the state of Colorado doesn’t change that.

Except somehow, it did.

Nino and I aren’t strangers to change or risk, but as fiercely independent people, we’d never gone through a major life transition while fully leaning into the mindset of we are one.

I don’t know if I could have fully surrendered to that label until we were literally viewed as one by the legal system. Or maybe the shift came when we bought a house together.

Before, I carried guilt when Nino had to take care of me. Pride when I could provide for myself. A tendency to keep score to make sure I was giving just as much as he was, so we could feel like equals.

But our ceremony in the woods, that piece of paper, and the home we now own together somehow made it feel second nature to view the two of us as one. To make decisions on behalf of our household and our family, not so much on behalf of our individual selves.

My shoulders have dropped, and the guilt, pride, and scorekeeping slipped right off.

Nino and I measure the value each of us brings into our home across a spectrum of factors: happiness, time, space, inspiration, health, finances, peace, nourishment, caretaking. Some days I have 20% to give, and Nino carries the other 80%. Some days, it’s the opposite. But at the end of each day, we’re an amazing team. 

We’ve known how to support each other for a long time. When to hold steady while the other is volatile, chasing dreams, making a pivot, or trying to heal.

And I suppose getting married and buying a house together has indeed made life feel different. Because now, when we make decisions, it’s not for Nino and for Jessi. It’s for our family. For the three of us — Nino, Rue, and me — and the home we care for together. My mind and heart feel calm in this mindset, with this new language we get to use. 

Husband. Wife. Us. Ours. Family. Home. Household. One.

And in this new mindset and life chapter, I don’t see the point in grinding through a job that no longer brings our family the nourishment or stability we need. There are two of us to share household duties, and we’ve asked ourselves enough times:

At what point do two incomes drain the remaining time and energy we need to spend on everything else?

And if two full-time jobs are wearing us down, what’s the point in making more money just to spend more money on conveniences that get us through the day?

And soo my decision, fully supported by Nino, to quit my full-time marketing job and return to part-time business ownership was surprisingly easy.

Slow Down, Love

After I put in my two weeks at my marketing job in April, I immediately jumped back into business ownership with an incredible opportunity for a friend in the Salt Lake City running community — work that demanded a lot of time and effort right away.

But when that opportunity ended, and the high of getting to practice my craft for my favorite community faded away… Everything got quiet.

I found solitude.

Space.

Time.

I happily answered unread texts and began catching up on house projects. I started writing for myself again. I bought new trail running shoes. I remember to hydrate and eat breakfast every day. Our fridge is full of nourishing food. Our floors and bathrooms sparkle.

I’m leaning into the peace that the slower seasons of part-time, self-employed work can bring.

I am not here to work myself into the ground or take every opportunity that comes my way, especially if it doesn’t feel right. I am here for the community that feels like home — the trail running community — and for work that aligns with my heart and soul.

And when nothing does? That means peace, rest, training for races. It means taking care of my home and my family.

A lot of people live the life I described at the beginning. That grind and nonstop stimulation are deeply normalized in our culture.

Some people don’t have a choice — the hustle is just what it takes to survive.

Some people seem able to sustain that pace while still feeling healthy.

And some people are like me. Lucky enough to have a choice. Sensitive enough to feel everything. Self-aware enough to know what is and isn’t sustainable. And brave enough to make a change.

Society, the media, our opportunistic American culture — they want me to push harder and say yes to everything, constantly optimizing.

But my natural internal rhythm wants to move more slowly and mindfully through this world. I am deeply sensitive to my environment, the words spoken around me, people’s energy, and the deeper meaning behind seemingly simple things. 

I can work hard, but I cannot work hard at everything. So, I have to take a step back, let go, and focus on what matters most.

I don’t believe humans are meant to live in a perpetual state of brain fog, fatigue, and fight-or-flight. I’m over the addiction to stimulation and I don’t want to mindlessly reach for the screen to numb out.

I want nature. Raw human feelings. Presence and real human touch. More life beyond screens.

For those of us privileged enough to choose our hard, let’s not forget to choose our gentle, too.

We deserve peace and boredom.

Space to breathe.

Moments where we can vividly remember the taste, the smell, the sounds, the scenery, and how it felt.

Slow down, love, and truly live.

Our Elopement Photographer

Madeline J Studios was our incredibly talented, kind, elopement photographer, and took all the photos in this blog post. You can find more of our wedding photos on my Instagram page. 

Maddy has an honest, friendly, relaxed energy and made our day so special! She is so very creative and thoughtful when it comes to her craft, and Nino and I felt so at ease, giggly, and happy in her presence. Our dog Rue adored her, too! She helped guide our self-solemnized ceremony gracefully and captured our wedding story perfectly and authentically. Lots of love and gratitude for Maddy, and we 100% recommend you check out her website!