My Body Was Asking Me to Slow Down. I Have to Listen.

I spend a lot of time encouraging other people to pay attention to themselves. To notice when they are overwhelmed, honor their limits, and make room for rest. This week, I was reminded that knowing these things and practicing them are two different things.

Earlier this week, I ended up in the emergency room with severe dehydration after a month of moving too fast. I also experienced a serious panic attack. I was with people who had never witnessed me having an active panic attack, and that added another layer of fear. I felt vulnerable, scared, and exposed at a time when I needed to feel safe.

There is something particularly unsettling about being in distress around people who do not understand what is happening. You may want reassurance but struggle to explain what you need. You may be trying to make sense of your own experience while also noticing everyone else’s reactions. Being someone who usually manages, supports, and keeps things moving does not make those moments any less frightening.

I received treatment for dehydration and was discharged in time to make my 6 a.m. flight. Because I was traveling, getting to the airport and continuing the trip became the next priority. But once I was aboard the plane, I fainted. I cannot say exactly what caused that moment, but I know how it felt to me: my body was begging for respite, and I could no longer keep moving as though I was okay.

Looking back, I have to ask myself how often I make room for everything except recovery. How often does “I can manage” become a reason to keep going? How often do I assume that because I can fit something into my schedule, I have the capacity to carry it?

As a counselor, I am not exempt from the patterns I help others recognize. I can understand the importance of boundaries and still overextend myself. I can encourage rest and still negotiate with my own need for it. This experience reminded me that self-awareness requires an ongoing response. Recognizing that I am doing too much means I also have to be willing to change something.

For me, that means being more honest about my capacity, leaving space between commitments, and allowing recovery to have a place on my calendar. It also means accepting care without feeling that I need to explain away my vulnerability or quickly return to being the person who has everything handled.

Perhaps you recognize yourself in some of this. Maybe you have been moving from one responsibility to the next, promising yourself that you will rest when things settle down. It may help to pause and ask: What am I noticing in myself? What have I been putting off? What could I make room for today?

I am sharing this while I am still learning from it. I do not have a perfectly balanced routine to offer or a lesson I have already mastered. I have an experience that frightened me and a responsibility to respond to it with care.

My body was asking me to slow down. I have to be a better listener.