Lately I’ve been thinking about how stress doesn’t always announce itself with dramatic moments. More often, it slips in quietly and sets up camp. For me, it started back in early September when I began working on my promotion portfolio. I expected the fall to be busy—after all, fall semesters always are—but I didn’t expect the continuity of it. It felt like I’d stepped onto a treadmill that just kept speeding along. Not overwhelming, not crushing, just… constant.
And here’s the strange part: once you’ve been in that mode for long enough, your brain gets used to it. It starts to expect the next push, the next deadline, the next thing that demands your attention. That’s exactly what I’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks. When I finally reach a moment where I can relax, my mind pops up like an anxious stage manager asking, “Okay—what’s next?” Even when there isn’t a next.
For example, this afternoon I only have choir practice and grocery shopping on the docket. No emergencies. No looming projects. A quiet weekend ahead (Well, as quiet as the weekend before Thanksgiving can ever be). And yet I caught myself scanning for something stressful out of pure habit. It’s like part of my brain is still bracing for impact even when the storm has passed.
If you’ve ever lived through a long stretch of work, caregiving, emotional load, or any season where you had to stay “on,” you might recognize this feeling. It’s the leftover adrenaline talking. The stress-response cycle hasn’t finished its lap, even though you have.
🌱 Here’s the reminder I’m giving myself—and maybe you need it too:
It’s okay to slow down.
You don’t have to be preparing for the next hard thing.
Your nervous system needs time to believe you’re safe again.
Sometimes the most important work we do is letting ourselves come back to baseline. Not out of laziness or avoidance, but out of respect for the body and mind that carried us through everything we just did.
So if you find yourself scanning the horizon for danger when the path ahead is actually clear, take a breath. Step off the treadmill. Notice the stillness. Remind yourself that it’s real.
And let this be permission—yours and mine—to treat recovery as part of the journey, not an afterthought.