The quiet sticky feeling that stops us moving forward
A gentle reflection on that overwhelm feeling we feel when we are under time pressure and the sticky moments that stop us from moving forward.
Dear Beezee Bee,
It has been one of those weeks for me. How have you been?
There are days when overwhelm feels less like a storm and more like a slow‑creeping honey glue, coating the inside of my hive. I wake up with good intentions, but the moment I open my laptop or glance at my long road ahead with my thesis writing, the tightness inside my chest tightens. My thoughts clump together. My breath shortens. Even the simplest next step feels strangely too difficult to bear, as if my wings forget how to lift me. It’s quiet and subtle, no one else notices, just me, in that very moment when it stops my whole hive from moving forward.
“Stress is being the weeds. Overwhelm is being blown” ~ Brene Brown
Sometimes overwhelm doesn’t surface in obvious ways, it compresses. It tightens the edges of the morning before the day has even begun. I make time to sit down with freshly brewed cup of tea to review my book chapter regularly since receiving it back from the reviewers. The time is ticking, knowing exactly how little time I have before it needs to be submitted, and time in the day doesn’t change. The school bell buzzes and disrupts the quiet productive day again. The clock feels louder than my thoughts. Every sentence I try to read flies away from me, blurring at the edges, as if my mind is trying to move through thick honey goo. I can feel the pressure of the minutes slipping away, each one tugging at my breath, making my chest feel smaller, tighter. It’s not that the work is impossible, it’s that the window to do that work feels too narrow and shrinking every day.
That shrinking window, my whole inner hive starts buzzing loudly like an internal storm awaiting to surface. My thoughts clump together, my focus scatters, and the urgency to “just get it done”, the hard timeline makes everything feel faster than it should. I’m aware of the kids’ bags are now by the door, afterschool hungry tummies have arrived, the lunchboxes that need washing, the dinner that needs cooking and the mental countdown has begun… 1…2….3…4…5…now “Hi mummy I am home”. The sweetness of their voices fills my heart, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
However, the page I’ve written… well…I guess it is good enough for now… press send… with cringing feeling and sticky knots in my stomach.
It’s as if I’m trying to hold two worlds at once the deep, quiet thinking my book chapter needs, and the relentless ticking of the clock. If only time would melt away and the concept of time would disappear.
The Experience
This week I caught myself spiraling before I had said good morning to the kids.
I opened my laptop to read; I saw the list of readings and immediately heard my inner hive voice talk in a convincing manner: Oh no I am behind. I am too old for this. I am going receive more critical feedback that is so difficult to hear. It was automatic, almost rehearsed.
It is like an imposter voice that creeps in, at the right moment and time.
Instead of trying to silence it, I did something micro, so micro it felt almost silly. Really!
I put my hand on my chest and said, out loud but softly, “I’m learning. I’m allowed to be new at this.”
It took three seconds.
It did not fix the moment.
But it interrupted the spiral just long enough for me to just …. breathe.
That breath interrupted my spiral and reminded me in what direction my thoughts needed to flow:
Inward — toward my own creative center, where I keep discovering new language, new metaphors, new ways of seeing myself as a learner and a guide.
Outward — toward the people I am building for, the midlife learners and the younger visions of me, who will feel these ripples as invitations, not instructions.
Forward — toward the next intention, the next idea, the next micro action that changes the whole course of the day.
The Gentle Practice
The gentle gestures that helped me rewrite the stories in my head, that were there to tell me when I was tired, stretched, or scared are also scribbled in my journal with a green ink pen but live me every day. I work on rewriting my stories in my head on daily basis, gently, intentionally and lovingly.
I remind myself that I am in the right place, at the right time doing what my heart desires to do;
This is the sentence I repeat when I feel behind: “I’m moving at the pace my life allows me to move.”
The one minute of grounding before I open my laptop: feet on the floor, one slow inhale, one slow exhale I say to myself “I am capable, keep going”.
A question I ask myself when the guilt creeps in: “What would I say to my children if they felt this way?”
A small celebration at the end of the day: A smile that says “I had a great day”
If you wish to fly in a little deeper, this is a great YouTube video to watch that shares years of research into a fun and relatable cartoon.
On a closing studio note, I used to think changing my thinking was impossible. It turns out my life needed gentle moments that reminded me I’m not failing and this is all part of the human experience.
Feed your learning mojo, keep on buzzing through these readings:
