Teareny Maybe

My jaw clenches first.

Then my chest and shoulders tighten.

Blood rushes to my face.

Anger follows — fast and hot.

When someone tries to rush me, my body reacts like someone is trying to control me. Like something is being taken from me. Part of me wants to shut down completely. Another part wants to fight. I’m not always sure which wins. Sometimes it’s both.

Last week, someone messaged me asking me to approve something that wasn’t even approvable yet. It hadn’t synced to my workflow. Approval was literally impossible.

But urgency showed up anyway.

Not because the thing was urgent… but because their timeline mattered more than mine.

And that’s the part that set my teeth on edge.

Urgency, when it isn’t real, is corrosive.

It teaches me that your sense of urgency can’t be trusted. That you’re willing to push pressure into someone else’s space just to keep your momentum going. And once that happens, anything labeled “urgent” (by you) after that loses credibility.

If everything is urgent, nothing is.

What really landed, though, was the assumption underneath it:

that I would bend.

that I would hurry.

that I would absorb the pressure so someone else wouldn’t have to.

I’m all for being supportive.

But I am not interested in being sacrificed.

This reaction didn’t come out of nowhere.

There was a version of me who jumped when people said jump. Who made other people’s timelines her own. Who believed being “good” meant being endlessly available and endlessly flexible.

What’s changed is that I finally believe my needs matter too.

And when someone pushes urgency into my space without pausing to see where I am… that’s when I bristle. Not because I’m difficult. But because I’m no longer willing to disappear.

I never expect people to drop everything they’re doing for me. I assume everyone has a life, a body, a moment they’re in. I don’t understand why that courtesy so often goes one direction.

Here’s something I’ve learned the hard way:

What people mistake for flexibility in me is often me allowing vulnerability.

Allowing problems.

Allowing things to be imperfect.

But being supportive does not mean being a fixer.

Your problem is still your problem.

Me listening does not mean I’m responsible for solving it.

Me caring does not mean I owe you my time, my urgency, or my nervous system.

If I were better at spell work (which is the point of calling it a practice), I think a “don’t rush me” spell would be helpful.

Nothing dramatic.

Maybe a pocket watch or a locket.

Something that opens.

Inside, a note that simply says:

My time is mine.

My pace is mine.

Urgency is not divine.

Right now, my practice is simpler than that. I go at my own speed. I let people wait. I don’t match energy just because it’s loud.

That, too, is a kind of magic.

I wish more people understood boundaries as basic courtesy. I don’t work for you. I just work. Period.

And I don’t owe anyone urgent energy. It costs too much.

If this resonates…

if you’ve ever felt that familiar clench when someone tries to make you move faster than your body allows…

consider this your permission slip:

You’re allowed to own your pace.

You’re allowed to support without fixing.

You’re allowed to let urgency pass you by.

Maybe write your own small spell.

Nothing fancy.

Just something that reminds you that your time, your timing, and your choices are yours.

Remember:

Urgency is not importance. And we don’t owe anyone a version of ourselves that burns out to keep them comfortable.