When the System Crashes Quietly

THE PULSE

This is what matters this week.

You don’t have to be in crisis for your nervous system to be overwhelmed.
Sometimes it happens in the middle of success.
When everything looks good on paper.
When you're riding the wave, getting it all done,
and even loving the momentum.

But under the surface, something begins to fray.
That was me, just this week.
I hit a wall—and the crazy thing is, I didn’t even see it coming,
when maybe I could have.

For weeks, I was lit up.
Creating, producing, expanding.
The ideas were flowing and I was riding the wave with intensity and joy.

But without realizing it, I stopped being a good steward of my energy.
I let my excitement override my instincts.

I ignored the quiet signals: the missing energy in my workouts,
the shallow sleep,
the 3am mental downloads that wouldn’t let me rest.

And then one night, as I climbed into bed, it hit me.
A crushing pressure around my entire body—like I was being squeezed and
had the wind knocked out of me all at once.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t emotional.
It was physical. Unmistakable.

Hours later, I woke up again—and the feeling returned, stronger.
My body was speaking loud and clear.
And this time, I couldn’t override it.

By morning, everything felt like too much.
The sound of my children arguing sent my heart into overdrive.
My husband’s frustration over a spill on the floor—something so minor—
spun me into a full-blown flight response.

Not because the moment was dramatic.
But because my system was already maxed.

This is why it matters:
Most women don’t realize what’s happening until they’re operating
from a stripped-down version of themselves.
The evolved, self-aware, emotionally intelligent part goes offline—
and what’s left is reactive, primitive, and volatile.

We normalize the warning signs.
We tell ourselves we’re just tired.
Or hormonal.
Or need to try harder.

But you can’t lead, love, or live from a system that’s running in flight mode.

That pressure in my body…
It wasn’t a panic attack.
It was a truth alarm.

The wisdom of my nervous system telling me—clearly and urgently—
something had to change.

THE DEEP TAKE

Where we go deeper—science, story, truth.

We often think of burnout as something loud.
A breakdown. A health scare. A moment when everything finally crashes.

But more often, it begins in silence.
Tiny acts of override.
A skipped meal. A smile you didn’t mean.
A gut feeling you ignored because there was too much to do.

The nervous system keeps the score.
Just like toxins in the body, it’s cumulative.

And when it’s overtaxed, it doesn’t always show up as chaos.
Sometimes it looks like high-functioning.
Like overthinking.
Like needing space from the people you love
because you feel like you might snap.

Biologically, your nervous system was designed to detect threat
and keep you safe.
And it’s brilliant at doing that.

But it’s not great at distinguishing between real danger
and a partner’s tone of voice.
Between being chased by a bear—and being three days behind on deadlines
with no childcare and a body that been on hyper-drive for weeks.

It responds the same way:
Tight chest. Racing mind. Snapped patience.

Or its opposite: complete shutdown.
Brain fog. Numbness. No energy left to care.

When your system stays in this state for too long,
your body starts rerouting energy to survival.
That’s not metaphor—it’s physiology.

Digestion slows. Hormones flatten.
Sleep becomes shallow, erratic, and unrestful.

Your emotional range narrows until your only options are:
irritability, overwhelm, or withdrawal.

But here’s the part no one tells women:
This isn’t dysfunction.
This is a system doing exactly what it was built to do—
without enough support to do it differently.

You don’t need to be fixed.
You need to be resourced.

And sometimes resourcing looks like calling off a launch.
Canceling a campaign.
Getting on roller skates for the first time since 9th grade
because you need joy more than strategy.

That’s what I did.
I paused the ads. Let the newsletter wait.
Took my girls skating (and it was more fun than I could have imagined).
Let the tears come when they needed to.
Went to bed early without watching TV—not just once, but several nights in a row.

And somewhere in the middle of that—I heard myself again.

Not the high-achieving, schedule-optimizing, goal-oriented voice.
The deeper one.

The one that reminded me:
You carry big energy. Steward it wisely.
Play more.
You’re allowed to feel good in what you’re building.

That’s regulation.
Not just soothing the system, but restoring clarity.
Letting your body lead you back to a rhythm that works.

Because nervous system health isn’t a luxury.
It’s the baseline for everything you want to create.

And if you’ve lost your clarity, your patience, your creativity—
You don’t need to do more.

You just need to come back into rhythm with yourself.

And if you don’t know what that rhythm is,
you’ve got to slow down long enough to 
be curious, explore, and find out what it is.

This is self-leadership.
The rest can quite literally wait.

IN REAL LIFE

What it actually looks like.

Rebuilding your energy doesn’t require a master plan.
It requires a relationship—with your body, your pace, your capacity.

Here’s what resourcing looked like for me this week—
and how to reset your rhythm when your system’s been in overdrive:

—

 ➤ Cancel something without explaining it to death.
Your nervous system doesn’t care how polished your launch assets are.
I paused my ad campaign because I didn’t have the energy to do it well.
It didn’t require a full breakdown to justify—just a moment of honesty.

What would it feel like to have more time and space?
And if I’m calling the shots (because I am),
then what do I actually want to create?

Protecting your energy before depletion sets in isn’t indulgent—it’s intelligent.

—

 ➤Do something that makes absolutely no sense on your calendar.
I went roller skating with my daughters on a Wednesday afternoon.
No productivity. No outcome. Just joy, movement, and full-body laughter.
The kind of thing you don’t realize you’ve been starving for
until you’re in the middle of it.
I asked myself, “What if I like this? What if this is fun?”
And I decided to find out.

Play is medicine.
It softens the rigidity that burnout builds and keeps you in the present moment.
It brings levity to your mind, restores connection to your heart,
and reawakens your spirit’s sense of wonder.

—

➤ Let your body complete the stress cycle.
Crying is not a breakdown—and it’s certainly not weakness.
It’s biology.

The tears didn’t come because something was wrong.
They came because my system was releasing what it hadn’t had time to process.

We often try to explain our emotions when what they actually need
is permission—to rise, to move, and to clear.
Tears, shaking, stillness, breath—these are all biological pathways for regulation.
When you allow them, you come back to wholeness
without needing to dissect why you left.

—

➤ Go to bed before your second wind kicks in.
Screens off. Lights low. No numbing. No “just one more thing.”
This week, I gave myself 9:30 bedtimes like it was my job—and in a way, it was.

Ayurveda teaches that if you miss the natural sleep window around 10 p.m.,
the body catches a second wave of energy meant for detoxification—
and redirects it toward productivity instead.
So you stay awake, wired, exhausted—and call it insomnia.
True restoration starts before you feel tired.

—

➤ Let your body—not your calendar—set the pace.
Hand on your heart. Eyes closed.
What do I need right now?
Not later. Not after the inbox is cleared.
Now.

For some people, the answer comes quickly—a yes, a no, a very specific nudge.
For others, it’s slower. A sensation that unfolds. A rhythm that can’t be rushed.
Both are valid. Both are wise.

Whether the answer comes in a flash or over time,
your inner guidance deserves space to be heard.

—

There’s no virtue in seeing how far past your limit you can go.
The deeper strength is in recognizing when you're nearing it—
and choosing to return to yourself sooner.

The more you practice this and follow through for yourself,
the greater your awareness becomes.
You’ll catch the signals sooner.
You’ll rebound in two days instead of two weeks.
You’ll come back online and start living from a resourced, lavish place.

Life will still happen.
Recalibration will always be necessary.

Be the woman who knows how to fill her own well—and drink.

FROM THE WELL

What’s supporting the rhythm.

One thing that’s supporting me right now.

→ Breathwork – Spiritual Practice by David Elliott

This is the breathwork I return to when I’ve pushed too far, spun out,
or simply feel disconnected from myself.
It always brings me back into my body.
It calms my system and gives me a sense of knowing that almost nothing else does.

Guided and simple—yet profoundly potent.
If you’ve been feeling dysregulated or distant from your own center,
this is a practice worth trying.

→ Listen on Apple Music
→ Listen on Spotify

This breathwork is done lying down. It’s meant to build over time—start with the Introduction and the 7-minute practice for a few days before moving to
the 14-minute track, and so on.

THE LAST WORD

One final truth to take with you.

You don’t have to lose everything to learn how to listen.
You can notice the signal before the spiral.
You can pause before your body forces the shutdown.
You can course-correct with small choices that bring you back into rhythm.

This is what it means to lead from your center.
To make decisions from a resourced place.
To create from alignment instead of adrenaline.

There will be seasons when you move fast.
And seasons when the only wisdom is to slow down and feel what’s true.

You won’t always catch it in time.
But the more you practice, the sooner you’ll notice.
And the faster you’ll return—not just to function, but to fullness.

→ Start with breath.
Start with rest.
Start with telling yourself the truth.

That’s the medicine.

Until next week…

Be well. Be fierce. Be lavish.