Years ago, I worked for a boss who loved chaos.
He thrived on backchannel conversations and 11th-hour pivots. There was an unspoken hierarchy — an “inner circle” of favorites who always had the early info, the ear of leadership, and the benefit of the doubt — and I was in it.
Which meant I got the early heads-ups. The private Slack pings. The unspoken permission to speak up in meetings.
It also meant I saw exactly how people outside the circle were treated — sidelined, second-guessed, or slowly pushed out.
And if I’m being honest? I played along.
I told myself it was just politics. I convinced myself I was being “strategic.” But deep down, I knew it was messed up.
One time, I tried setting a small boundary. I tried to leave at 5pm. Just 5 o’clock…on a Friday.
As I packed up my bag, my boss looked at me and said:
“Bankers’ hours, huh?”
The room went quiet.
Message received.
I stayed. Not just that night — but for a long time after, even as my gut kept screaming this isn’t right.
It wasn’t until I left that job that I realized how much it had rewired me. How much I’d normalized anxiety as ambition. How deeply my nervous system had adapted to being “on” all the time — scanning for the next fire, watching my back, overthinking every vague calendar invite.
At the time, I thought I was performing at a high level. Now I know I was just surviving in a high-stress system.
🔌 Unplugged Truth
Let’s be honest — slowing down in theory sounds lovely. In practice? It can feel terrifying, or sometimes impossible.
Especially when you’ve been conditioned to believe that being busy = being valuable.
That urgency = importance.
That calm = lazy.
But here’s the truth no one tells you:
You can’t slow down until you feel safe.
Not just physically safe — but psychologically.
Safe to say no.
Safe to take a breath.
Safe to not jump every time someone says “we need this ASAP.”
If you’re stuck in a toxic culture, your nervous system doesn’t know the difference between a deadline and a threat. That pit in your stomach when your boss says “can I grab you real quick?” That hit of adrenaline at every Slack ping? That’s not normal. That’s survival mode.
And survival mode is not a growth strategy.
🧯 Sh*t That Helped
Here’s what helped me rebuild my sense of safety — and finally slow down without falling behind:
I Measured Energy, Not Just Output
If I finished the day feeling depleted, wired, or resentful, I didn’t call it a win — even if the to-do list was crushed. That shift helped me recognize what environments were actually supportive.
I Stopped Justifying Boundaries
I learned to say things like “That time doesn’t work for me” or “I’ll need to circle back tomorrow” without offering a 3-paragraph excuse. Spoiler: People who respect you don’t need the footnotes.
I Noticed the Micro-aggressions
Comments like “must be nice to log off early” or “we need team players right now” are red flags — not feedback. If you’re being punished for protecting your capacity, that’s not a team. That’s a trap.
I Asked: Who Benefits From the Chaos?
Because often, someone does. And it’s not you.
🖊️ Closing Thought
Slowing down isn’t just a time management strategy. It’s a nervous system repair job.
It’s how we start to trust ourselves again after years of living in fight-or-flight, ignoring red flags, and calling burnout “high performance.”
And sometimes, it takes stepping outside the chaos to realize how loud it really was.
So here’s the question I’ve been sitting with lately — maybe it’s one you need too:
What’s one sign your body gives you when it’s time to slow down — and are you listening?
Until next time,
Dina