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There’s a particular kind of overwhelm that doesn’t look like panic. It looks like hurry up. Hurry up and answer.
Hurry up and decide.
Hurry up and explain yourself before you lose the chance. For some of us—me included—this feeling runs deep. As a kid, I was a daydreamer. A doodler. A stop-and-smell-the-roses, get-lost-in-my-own-imagination kind of human. I could build entire worlds in my head and honestly preferred being there most of the time. I was also told—often—to hurry up. To just get it done. Deadlines were hard. Time felt slippery. And then, somewhere along the way, something flipped. The wondering stopped, curiosity faded. The dreaming quieted. And in its place came an intense drive to do and go. Along with it came this subtle, painful belief that I was a burden. That if someone spent time with me without a clear purpose, they were just being polite. Appeasing me. I remember waiting nearly two weeks to get five minutes with a boss whose calendar was always full. When I finally got in her office—with a deadline looming—I panicked. I rushed. I rattled off something incoherent and incomplete. She looked at me and said, “I have no idea what you just said.” I tried again. Same result. Then she said something that genuinely confused me, in the best way:
“Heidi, slow down. I have time. I want to hear what you have to say.” My attempt to be short and efficient actually made everything take longer. What she offered me in that moment wasn’t advice—it was connection. But knowing you can slow down and knowing how to slow down are two different things. Here are a few things that helped me: 1. Sit down together if possible.
Feeling the chair support my body settles the urgency to hurry and leave. 2. Pause before answering—anything.
Even if I know the answer. I might say, “That’s a good question.” The pause is for me. 3. Orient before, during, and after conversations.
I look around. Feel the space. Notice sensations—tight throat, heavy chest—without trying to fix them. Then I gently add something sensory: a smell, a small movement, a warm image. 4. Stay off my phone beforehand.
I don’t transition well. What I read sticks. 5. Stay attuned to the other person.
I let their words land. Especially the charged ones. Feeling first, responding second. 6. Breathe between sentences.
This was the hardest—and the most effective. Slowing my speech slowed my heart. And when I paused, I learned how to repair instead of rush. Slowing down isn’t about saying less. It’s about letting what matters actually land. And by that I mean- acknowledging that you feel it, noticing where it lives in your body, paying attention to what it does. This is your body’s personal messages to you- it’s your compass and your map. More on worthiness another time.
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