How Moving to the Countryside Changed My Life

A Journey of Slowing Down, Simplicity and Self Understanding.

Nearly 50 years into this life, and my thoughts have turned to just how much the move to the countryside has helped me - not just with the obvious health benefits of a more outdoorsy sort of lifestyle, but with the deeper, soul-level shifts that have transformed how I live, work, and understand myself.

For years, I was constantly trying to fit into a world that moved too fast, was too loud, and was too full of distractions. The normal. On the outward surface I handled it really well, but internally I felt constantly exhausted and not really in control.

I didn’t know back then that my brain was wired differently. It has been a shock to very recently discover I have ADHD (undiagnosed), and I had no idea that the endless to-do lists, overwhelming commitments, and societal expectations were never going to feel easy or natural to me.

For years I simply just plodded along, going through the motions, trying to live up to others expectations, and striving for a life that resembled that of most of those around me - because that’s what I thought was the ‘right’ way to adult.

Then a forced house move in 2012 would unknowingly transform my world.

Finding our way to the quietness of the countryside has led to the uncovering and discovery of myself. The peeling back of layers that I didn’t even know were there, the unmasking of my true self, and the revealing of who I am beneath the weight and disguise of normality, routine, rush, and busy.

Here, I am able to exist in a way that doesn’t feel like a daily battle in my head.

I am able to gently flow with the rhythm of the day as it unfolds, to adapt to my own level of energy, find my own focus, and work with my health struggles.

Now I awaken to birdsong rather than alarms, and my days are structured around animals needing to be fed rather than places to be, timetables and meetings. My routine is guided by the brightening and fading of natural light rather than the reading of the clock.

I am able to build routines around my natural rhythms rather than forcing myself into structured days that don’t fit. I can embrace my bursts of hyperfocus and allow myself to flow into creative work when inspiration strikes. And when my busy brain is screaming and I’m struggling with its noise, I can pause, step outside, breathe in fresh air, find stillness and solitude, and reset.

I can watch the sun rise and fall in silent peace, listen to the sound of the wind dancing her way through the trees, and notice even the tiniest, most subtle changes of my surroundings.

And in doing so, in being gifted the ability to be so present, I have been able to really take notice of myself.

Without the constant chaos of a world moving too fast, I have learnt how to move at my own pace. I have come to understand myself, to nurture the parts of me that once felt out of place, and to embrace the way my brain works rather than being embarrassed or apologising for it.

I am no longer trying to keep up but instead feel the most beautiful contented calmness.

The rhythm of nature naturally encourages slowness and still.

The seasons don’t change in a hurry, birds don’t rush their songs, and the trees don’t hasten their growth. I spent so many years feeling like I was constantly behind, always chasing, always running, always overwhelmed. But out here, in the quiet, I finally feel able to breathe.

The Unexpected Gift of Solitude

I always knew that the countryside would offer a level of peace, but I didn’t expect just how much I would revel in the joy of doing my own thing, in my own time, in my own way. There is something profoundly freeing about not having to answer to the rush and chaos of the modern world. I have found a deep comfort in my own company, in the stillness, in the way time seems to linger rather than racing past.

As a child I often preferred to be wandering and daydreaming alone. As an adult once living alongside a 24/7 busy road, there was always something competing for my attention - be it child, friend, neighbour or passer by. The continuous hum of cars, the beeping of horns, the engines of buses at the bus stop, the shouts and antics of the school crowd, or the singing of merry drunks leaving the opposite pub - there was never a moment of peace.

Here neither conversation nor attention is constantly demanded. The tranquility of nature doesn’t pull me in a hundred different directions at once. She allows me to just be. To sit beneath a tree and watch the clouds roll on by. To walk through damp earthy scented fields wrapped within the morning mist and to listen - to really listen - to the world around me, and to myself.

Without the constant noise and urgency, my frantic ADHD brain has been allowed to rest a little, even soften and relax.

The quiet and slower pace = my healer.

And I must mention the true blackness. The real darkest of night dark. The gazing upon starry skies above without polluting light sources or surrounding sound is truly mesmerising - if you are ever able to experience it, please do.

Here, there are times that I can actually hear my own thoughts without them being drowned out by everything going on around me.

And I can be me. Fully and freely, without the feeling that I must mould myself into being something more acceptable or productive.

Nature, she does not care what clothes I appear in nor how I wear my hair.

A life that finally feels like mine.

The countryside has a way of teaching you what truly matters.

I used to feel guilty for not being able to keep up, for struggling with things that seemed effortless for others, and for not living up to expectations. But out here, none of that actually matters.

What matters is presence and finding what makes your own heart sing.

For me (other than my family of course) this is noticing the diamond glisten of frost on a cold morning, the first buds highlighting a new season, the way the light shifts and creates shadows throughout the day. The finding of joy in the simplest, most mundane ordinary things - perhaps whilst kneading dough, tending the garden, reading a book, or stitching old fabric into something new.

Living simply and intentionally has allowed me to strip away the unnecessary noise and to focus on what brings a real genuine contentment. It has given me permission to move at my pace, to embrace my quirks, and to live in a way that feels right.

And with that, comes a happiness that radiates from within.

As I approach 50, I feel more content and accepting of myself than ever before.

Whilst the world is telling us to keep pushing, striving, and do more, I have found that for me true fulfilment comes in just being, and with spending time intentionally, not just going through the motions.

The countryside didn’t just give me a new place to live.

It gave me the space to become me.

And I realise, with a definite certainty, that this is where I was always meant to be.