Last week I had a meltdown. I had just crossed the finish line on a new program’s landing page, which had been extremely tedious. I was ready to exhale and take a moment to celebrate its successful completion. But within minutes, I realized that something I had done had triggered an error on every other page of the website. And I couldn’t figure out how to fix it.
It was like finishing a race and then getting tripped.
In the past, I would’ve done what I’ve always done: shut down the part of me that was angry, tired, or grieving the loss of that celebration, and just kept going. Thought faster. Pushed harder.
Because that’s what high-functioning people do, right?
Oh, I've kept going many times. And something far more damaging happened each time I did. I abandoned myself and the wisdom I might have gained from that moment.
I have a powerful mind. Yet here’s the truth: I was trying to outthink overwhelm, and that doesn’t work.
Overwhelm isn’t just a mindset—it’s a physiological state.
It’s what happens when your nervous system gets flooded and your body sends out the SOS: too much, too fast, too soon.
Trying to solve overwhelm by thinking harder is like trying to mop up a flood with a single tissue. The spiral tightens. We feel stuck, confused, and reactive. And we start believing the story that we are the problem, when really, our system is just maxed out.
I stepped away from my desk. Jarrod was in town that day, and we were working together.
I shared that I was overwhelmed.
I asked for a hug, gave myself a few minutes to cry, and took some deep breaths.
(And lucky me—holding space and not trying to fix things in moments like that is one of Jarrod’s superpowers.)
Then I went outside and took 15 minutes to set up a tiny fairy garden that my son had given me for my birthday.
I’m not trying to live a life where I’m never overwhelmed. That’s impossible.
But by physically stepping away, taking deep breaths, allowing myself to cry, and receiving a hug, I was able to move out of my mental world and back into my body, which helped regulate my nervous system.
That created a pause.
And in that pause? That’s where choice lives. That’s where clarity returns.
That’s where you remember: this is just one of the waves of this brilliant life. And today I have the tools, practices, and the people who can help me ride those waves.
This is the real work. Not bypassing the hard moments, but learning to meet them with more presence, grace, and care.
If you’re in the spiral, you’re not alone. Take one breath. Then another. That’s where the shift begins.