Fighting fight or flight

I saw a meme recently that said something along the lines of, “My body doesn’t know the difference between running from a bear and answering a work email.”

I laughed…and then immediately thought, Well, that’s a little too relatable.

For most of my career, I worked in healthcare. Whether it was inpatient rehab or outpatient pediatrics, the pace was always fast. Between treatments, documentation, meetings, medical complexities, phone calls, and trying to stay on schedule, “go, go, go” wasn’t just part of the job - it became normal.

So normal, in fact, that eventually I realized I wasn’t just hurrying at work.

I was hurrying everywhere.

Driving.

Walking through the grocery store.

Having conversations.

Even when there was absolutely no reason to rush, my body still acted like there

was.

Looking back, I don’t think I realized how much urgency had become my default setting.

Then someone recommended The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry by John Mark Comer. Shameless plug: if you haven’t read it, I highly recommend it - especially as an audiobook. It feels less like someone lecturing you and more like someone sitting across the table having coffee with you.

That book made me ask myself a simple question:

How much of my life am I spending in unnecessary urgency?

Because the more I paid attention, the more I realized my nervous system seemed to treat ordinary moments like emergencies.

Not because there was actually a bear.

Just because my body had gotten really good at living like there was.

One thing we talk about often in occupational therapy is recognizing warning signs - those little clues your mind and body give you before you’re overwhelmed.

We help clients identify them all the time.

The irony?

I realized I hadn’t been doing it for myself.

So I started paying attention.

When I felt rushed, what was happening?

What did I notice first?

For me, it looked like feeling overwhelmed before the day had really even started. My thoughts felt scattered. My shoulders would tense up. My desk slowly became more cluttered. I stopped engaging in hobbies. I found myself less present in conversations because my brain was already moving on to the next thing.

None of those things happened overnight.

They were warning signs.

Then one day I noticed something that genuinely made me laugh.

I was driving.

The person in front of me was going…the speed limit.

You know, the thing they’re actually supposed to do.

Meanwhile, my body felt irritated, impatient, almost panicked - as if getting there thirty seconds later would somehow change my life.

The funny part?

I was ten minutes early.

Taylor…

What are we doing?

You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

There is no emergency.

So I gave myself a challenge.

Drive the speed limit.

Don’t worry about the people behind you.

Don’t speed up because someone else wants you to.

Just…drive.

At first it felt strangely uncomfortable.

But after a while, something surprising happened.

I noticed my shoulders relax.

I wasn’t gripping the steering wheel as tightly.

The tension in my body slowly started letting go.

And for a moment, there it was.

Peace.

Not because everything in my life had magically slowed down.

But because I had.

That realization changed something for me.

It made me realize peace isn’t always something we stumble into.

Sometimes it’s something we practice.

Since then, I’ve started looking for other places where hurry has quietly taken over.

One afternoon I looked at the mountain of dishes sitting on my counter and thought, Ugh. I’ll do them later.

Instead, I set a timer.

It took two minutes.

Two.

Apparently I’d spent more energy thinking about doing the dishes than actually doing the dishes.

My ADHD brain has a tendency to go ninety miles an hour until it feels like I’ve hit black ice. Suddenly everything that was manageable becomes overwhelming. The clutter grows. The mental tabs multiply. Everything starts feeling heavier than it actually is.

But slowing down - even for ten intentional minutes - has reminded me that not everything requires panic.

Not everything is urgent.

Not everything deserves access to my nervous system.

So maybe that’s my challenge for you this week.

Notice your warning signs.

Not your breaking point.

The signs that come before it.

Maybe it’s feeling impatient while driving.

Maybe it’s doom scrolling instead of resting.

Maybe it’s avoiding the dishes because they somehow feel bigger than they are.

Maybe it’s constantly feeling like you’re running late, even when you’re not.

Just notice.

Because once we notice, we can choose something different.

We can take a breath.

Drive the speed limit.

Wash the dishes.

Put the phone down.

Go for a walk.

Whatever helps remind your body that today…there isn’t a bear.

And if you’ve found something that’s helped you ruthlessly eliminate hurry - or maybe just taught your nervous system that not everything is an emergency - I

would genuinely love to hear about it.

I’m still learning too.

TK