It’s a Stress Response
I used to think urgency was how things got done.
Deadlines. Pressure. That low-level hum of you should be doing more.
What I didn’t realize for a long time is that urgency isn’t fuel for me.
It’s a threat signal.
When urgency enters my body, my shoulders rise. My breath shortens. My thinking narrows. I don’t become productive; I become vigilant. I stop listening. I stop sensing. I override myself.
That might look like motivation from the outside.
And using urgency as a motivational tool may seem like the way to go.
But… from the inside, it feels like bracing for impact.
Some people may thrive under urgency. I don’t. And I’m finally done pretending that means something is wrong with me.
Urgency asks for speed at the cost of discernment.
It rewards reaction over intention.
It treats rest like a delay instead of a requirement.
And when you’ve been trained (culturally, professionally, domestically) to respond quickly, saying no to urgency can feel like failure. Or laziness. Or irresponsibility.
It isn’t.
For me, refusing urgency is a form of care. It’s how I protect my nervous system so I can actually think, decide, and create with integrity. Slow, intentional planning isn’t indecision. Pausing isn’t avoidance. Regulation isn’t optional.
It’s the condition under which I do my best work.
This doesn’t mean nothing gets done.
It means things get done without damage.
I’m learning to notice the difference between a true need and a manufactured rush. Between what matters and what’s just loud.
Urgency is persuasive. It promises relief if you just move faster. But relief that only arrives after self-abandonment isn’t relief. It’s a temporary ceasefire.
I’m not interested in living that way anymore.
I want a life built at a pace my body can trust.
I want work that doesn’t require me to override myself to sustain it.
I want decisions made from clarity, not cortisol.
If that looks slow from the outside, I can live with that.
Because from the inside?
That feels like safety.






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