In Defense of Slow Work
A love letter to the long game
I've been reflecting on what it really takes to build a life, a business, and a body of work that can hold you, especially when things change. This is a meditation on trusting the slow simmer. The unglamorous, sometimes frustrating, always sacred process of becoming.
Hope it lands.
– M
In a world obsessed with speed, I’ve learned to honor the simmer. I often call myself a crockpot, and I say that as a badge of honor. Because when it comes to the things I care about most, I don’t want them fast. I want them deep.
That doesn’t mean I lack urgency when it comes to deliverables—I absolutely bring the heat when it’s time. But we’ve got to get exponentially better at recognizing that most of the good things in life aren’t projects to be rushed. They’re processes to be lived.
This week, I’ll wrap up my first full “coaching year,” having worked with hundreds of individuals over hundreds of hours. The year before that, hundreds of hours of training. And before that? Over a decade of therapy. All of this? Slow work. And it’s the best work I’ve ever done.
Please trust me when I say this isn’t a brag about productivity (we’re off that). This is a meditation on deliberateness, intentional pace, depth, and the kind of transformation that lasts.
We want fast returns on everything.
I took a class, now I’m an expert.
I put up a website, where are my sales?
I did a photo shoot, and now I’m wondering why I don’t feel more legit.
But what you really want (results and confidence) doesn’t come from optics. It comes from time in the work.
I have deep trust in the long game because I know that slow work doesn’t mean no work at all. Slow work demands that you do the right thing, over and over, without forcing anything to bloom before its time.
That’s a muscle, and once it’s built, it changes how you move. You stop rushing the process because you’ve seen what patience can produce: confidence that isn’t borrowed and clarity that doesn’t waver.
Sometimes that looks like:
Sitting with a question without needing to answer it right away.
Holding a boundary and staying with how hard it feels to stand on business.
Saying “I don’t know yet” without shame.
Revisiting the same story from new levels of awareness.
I’ve had quite a few clients ask me this week how I’ve been able to walk away from my business, or how I seem to pivot so easily. For the record, it’s not easy. But I’ve built something deeper than a brand or a business.
People think I pivot easily, but what they’re seeing is what happens when you move with clarity. My shifts aren’t sudden; they’re the result of years of slow inner work that make the next step obvious.
I know what it’s like to show up and podcast for years, for free, with no immediate return. No amount of ad money can repay me for what I’ve built: the truest army known to woman. A community that shows up when I whisper. No amount.
I’ve shared stories, lessons, the work, and the cheat codes I paid for in time, money, and mistakes. I know not everyone feels like they can afford to give that much away for free, but I’ve never worried about that.
Because I don’t operate from a place of scarcity, I operate from belief.
I trust that what’s meant for me won’t miss me.
And I trust that when you give from a place of alignment, the return may not be immediate, but it always comes back multiplied.
I don’t need a panel of people to approve the way I’m healing, working, or serving. I trust myself. I trust the slow simmer. And if it takes a little longer? That’s fine—I’m not trying to be done. I’m building a life that can hold me. My God, this life has held me.
I often say we have to build our capacity for waiting—or more specifically, for the feelings that come with waiting. This won’t take forever, but it will take some time. And when you become someone who can hold what’s coming, you stop letting fear talk you into quitting too soon, grabbing what’s easy, or being deceitful just to avoid the discomfort.
For me, that meant having nothing significant to announce and sitting in uncertainty when I craved clear answers. But the longer I stayed with the not-knowing, the clearer I became.
You wait—not passively, but powerfully. Because you know what’s coming is worth the time it takes to arrive.
Slow work changes your nervous system. Your habits. Your identity.
Slow doesn’t always mean stuck. Sometimes you’re simmering.
And at all times, it’s sacred.
Because you can rush the look, but you can’t rush the root.
And what if simmering is how you build a life that doesn’t fall apart the second something changes?
Ready to move from rushed to rooted?
I offer a small number of coaching spots each season. If this spoke to you, we might be a fit. Learn More About Coaching
About Me
I’m Myleik Teele, an entrepreneur, coach, and community builder. Over the past decade, I have built, scaled, and closed CURLBOX, creating a blueprint for modern brand-building and cultivating thriving communities both online and in real life. Now, my focus is on helping people—from high-level entrepreneurs and executives to those simply trying to create a life that feels good—play bigger while actually enjoying the journey.
If you’re ready to grow without the pressure to be perfect and build a life that truly feels like yours, you’re in the right place. You can also find me on Instagram and my podcast, where I dive into life, business, and everything in between.
"Because you can rush the look, but you can’t rush the root." #IYKYK
How does it feel to have done the work and become a wise one at such a young age? They say, it's the quiet one you have to watch out for.
I felt this !! I just wrote something about giving ourselves permission to pause, to breathe, to let “no” be a complete sentence. Thank you for this