I remember sitting on my kitchen floor last spring, feeling like I couldn’t take one more decision. One more problem. One more anything. The overwhelm wasn’t just emotional—I felt it in my body, like gravity had suddenly doubled its pull.
And then I stopped fighting it.
When I Learned to Slow Down
I’ve spent most of my life believing overwhelm was something to overcome, to push through with more organization, more effort, more grit. But that day on the kitchen floor taught me something different.
Instead of scrambling to my feet, I stayed there. I breathed. I let the tears come. I gave myself permission to feel completely overwhelmed by the beautiful chaos that had become my life—career pressures mounting, relationships straining, legal complications tangling with daily responsibilities.
That moment changed everything for me.
I’ve learned that when everything feels too much, the kindest thing I can do is to stop. To breathe deeply. To move through my hours one minute at a time if necessary. The world won’t fall apart if I pause—but I might fall apart if I don’t.
What My Overwhelm Was Trying to Tell Me
Looking back, I can see that my periods of greatest overwhelm weren’t random emotional storms—they were intensive courses in self-discovery.
When my career demands felt crushing and I questioned my path, my overwhelm was trying to tell me: “You need to redefine success on your own terms.”
When legal issues drained my energy and peace, my overwhelm was whispering: “This challenge is reshaping your resilience in ways you can’t yet see.”
When interpersonal conflicts left me exhausted and heartsick, my overwhelm was shouting: “Your boundaries need honoring—both by others and by you.”
I missed these messages for years because I was too busy trying to outrun the feeling.
A Gentle Reminder in the Middle of the Night
Maybe this perspective on overwhelm feels new to you. Or maybe, like me, you’ve heard it before but need constant reminders.
I still wake up sometimes at 3:30 AM, heart racing, mind spinning with all the uncertainties ahead. In those dark, quiet hours, overwhelm can feel suffocating. My old instinct is to fight against it—to make mental lists, to worry harder, as if worrying were a solution.
But then I remember: this feeling is a messenger, not an enemy.
I’ve learned to place a hand on my heart during those sleepless nights and whisper to myself: “You’re being prepared for transition. This discomfort is the feeling of growth. Don’t resist it—listen to it.”
Sometimes the most powerful thing I can do at 3:30 AM isn’t to force sleep or solve problems. It’s to accept that change is coming and that my overwhelm is trying to prepare me for it.
Finding My Path Forward
Now when overwhelm visits—and it still does—I approach it differently. I sit with it. I get curious about it.
I ask myself: “What’s trying to emerge in my life right now? What am I being asked to release? What wisdom awaits me on the other side of this feeling?”
Sometimes I journal these questions. Sometimes I take a long walk without my phone. Sometimes I just lie on the floor and breathe until the mental static quiets enough to hear what’s underneath.
One Breath at a Time
I no longer see my overwhelm as weakness. I see it as evidence of my evolution.
When life feels chaotic now, I remind myself: This discomfort is temporary, but the wisdom it offers could guide me for years. I take it one breath at a time. One hour at a time. One decision at a time.
The clarity I seek isn’t waiting somewhere beyond the overwhelm—it’s waiting within it, if I’m brave enough to stay present.
And I’m learning to be that brave, one overwhelming moment at a time.