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Foreign. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to truly rest? Especially when you are exhausted? Like your body is tired, but your mind keeps reaching for noise. More tasks, more scrolling, more distractions. Your mind jumps around. One minute it's trying to organize something and then the next it's trying to plan and clean and fix and optimize. What? What is it with that word optimize? Something else that needs to be figured out. Something else that has to get done. And maybe from the outside, for the most part, it just looks like you're being really productive, responsible, driven, capable. But what if the thing that's in the way for us getting our much needed rest isn't just busyness or the to do's of life? What if it's an unnamed unspoken fear of what we might feel, what we might face when things finally get quiet? Because oftentimes the things that we aren't prepared for is that slowing down finally means hearing ourselves. And that can feel incredibly vulnerable. Welcome back to don't cut your own banks, the podcast for high functioning humans with big feelings who are trying to make sense of what's happening inside them without needing to become a completely different person to do it. I'm Danielle Ireland, a therapist, speaker and storyteller, and someone who thinks that there are a whole lot of deeply capable people quietly carrying more than anyone realizes. This is part two of our three part series. You were never meant to live like a machine. And really quickly, before we dive in, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for being here and I really mean that. There are millions of things competing for your attention every single day. And the fact that you're spending a little bit of your time here with me, reflecting on your life, your heart, your relationships, your humanity, I don't take that lightly. And if these conversations have been meaningful for you, one of the simplest ways to support the show is to simply follow or subscribe wherever you're listening. It genuinely helps the podcast grow somehow because of the algorithm interwebs. It also helps more people find these conversations. And it makes sure you never miss an episode in this series. Okay, now back to the important stuff. In part one, we talked about how exhausting it can be when you secretly believe feeling overwhelmed or burnt out means you're failing. But today I want to talk about something that I think sits underneath burnout for so many people. The fear of slowing down. The fear of stillness. The fear of what might rise to the surface when we finally stopped moving for long enough to hear ourselves clearly. And before we go any Further, I just want to say this. There is nothing weak about this, nothing broken about this. This is not a defect, not a flaw. Trust me. It is incredibly common. But the fact that it's common doesn't mean you were meant to carry it forever, and it definitely doesn't mean that you're supposed to carry it alone. I think that this is an incredibly natural response to living in a world that rewards us for overriding ourselves in deeply unnatural ways. I know that I'm falling into this very process that I'm talking about when I do one very specific thing. And it's ironic because this is also a tool that I've made that I talk about every podcast, a process that I believe in deeply. When I avoid journaling, I know that I'm avoiding facing a hard truth. And sometimes. And I'll give myself some grace here, sometimes I'm just not ready to process it. And sitting with an emotion, taking a pause, taking a beat, taking a break, maybe we could call it avoiding. That may also be a part of my emotional process. I'm gonna give myself a lot of compassion and grace here. But I know this for sure when I look at my journal on my bedside table, or if I do this, if I carry my journal around with me throughout the day from room to room, but I never write in it. It's like my subconscious tell of I need to process something, but I'm just not processing it. It's like carrying my emotional support water bottle with me. You may have heard that clink just then, if you're not watching and you're listening, but it's like carrying my water bottle around with me all day and not actually taking a drink and just going for more coffee. It's like there's a part of me that knows what needs to be done. A part of me knows what I need to do to take care of myself. And I'm just. I'm just not doing it. And the theme of what this episode is all about is if I sit long enough, and particularly if I sit down with my journal, because that's just about a relationship between me and me, I may have to face a truth that will feel uncomfortable in facing it. Because what I also know about myself is once I understand and know the truth, I then do something with it. And I may not be ready to face what that is, but I recognize the tell. So I want you to think about where that might be coming alive for you in this process as we continue exploring together. The other thing that comes up for me, too that I just thought of when I avoid journaling is I'll give myself really convincing reasons why I don't have time. I'm very busy. There's always a to do list. I'll put it off for the next morning or put it off before bed, but I'm always very convinced of why I don't have time. And I think a lot of us have become so accustomed to constant stimulation that we really we barely notice it. It doesn't even register. Podcasts while driving, TV while folding laundry, checking emails while eating, or just stealing bites off our kids plates, scrolling while also watching a show or listening to something while falling asleep. And listen, I am not saying this from some enlightened mountain cabin elsewhere. I am in this too. I do this too. But. But I've started noticing lately how quickly I reach for noise the second things get quiet. Started wondering how much of my constant movement and busyness isn't actually about productivity. How much of it may actually be about not wanting to fully feel my own exhaustion. Because sometimes staying busy feels safer than looking at what's driving it. It feels like when my daughter wants to keep the lights on and she'll keep kind of fidgeting and taking the blankets off and she'll keep talking to keep herself from falling asleep, there's often a deeper part of her that just isn't ready to be alone in her room. So she seeks a little bit more connection and a little bit more stimulation to delay sleep. For us, if we keep moving, we don't have to fully sit with what we're carrying in the moment, which could be grief, loneliness, uncertainty, disappointment, overwhelm, unmet needs. Motion can feel like relief, though temporary even when it's also quietly exhausting us. Often I'm chasing this feeling of completion. Like I need to feel like everything required of me is completely done enough for me to safely rest. When every time I've been here before, I know that the relief actually comes when I honor what I feel in need first. And then the to do list falls into place. It actually makes me think about an acronym that I learned through my husband. It's called halt. Are you hungry, angry, lonely, or tired? And so often I will push my to do list, push my tasks, and push myself through my hunger, through my loneliness, through my exhaustion so that I can I don't feel like I'm chasing earning it, but on some level I know that that's a part of it. Like I It's not time for me to take a break because I haven't gotten these things done. But. But what I know to be true and when I say no, I mean a deeper knowing is that honoring those needs, those basic needs like rest, that really shouldn't be negotiated away. That when I honor those needs, the things that need to get done, the priorities, they become clearer, the path forward becomes clearer, the execution becomes clearer, less filled with mistakes. I'm much more self aware and tapped in and tuned in to the bigger picture than when I'm spiraling down the rabbit hole of busyness. And because the hard thing about slowing down can be is that the feelings that we've been avoiding tend to catch up to us there. And I think a lot of deeply capable people are carrying emotions that they've never really given themselves space to feel. Not because they're doing anything wrong or have done anything wrong, but because life moves really fast. Responsibilities pile up, people continue to need things from us, and somewhere along the way we learn how to become functional instead of connected. I've sat down with clients for a therapy session, for example, who have delayed grief from divorces that finalized five years ago, or widowers who went through the year long process of finalizing all of the logistics and paperwork that comes with death. Something, by the way, I don't think is talked about often enough, the paperwork with death, but only to realize on the other side, along the way of managing that process for their whole family, they never grieved. And sometimes on the softer side of these challenges, we finally get quiet. And then we realize how lonely we've been, or how overwhelmed we've been, or how long we've been operating in survival mode. For so long that we have forgotten what a deep breath feels like. And that realization can feel incredibly tender, like standing in front of yourself without any armor on. Which may be why so many of us reach for movement instead. Like noise or productivity or stimulation. Again, not because of laziness or weakness, but because our nervous systems have learned that staying in motion feels, in a way, safer than being still. I remember a story, a moment in my life that I come back to when I start to really convince myself I can't slow down or I don't have time to slow down. I think about when I miscarried my first pregnancy, and I've talked about it before on the show, and I've even dedicated an episode to sharing, and I'll say more in real time, the fullness of what that experience was. But the part that I'm bringing into this context here is in the early days and the early aftermath of that grief and that processing I experienced for about three days, three, maybe four, true silence in my mind for the first time, maybe ever. Certainly for the first time since I had been a young adolescent person with an internal dialogue. And there was something even in that pain that I can see, or could see at the time and I can look back and see now. That was so beautiful in a way, certainly a gift to be fully present in my life, to be fully present with my experience and my body. And there was no noise. It was painful, yes. And also in its own way, it was peaceful. And I bring that up not because I don't wish that upon anyone. And I certainly don't ever want to have to experience a loss like that to know that piece. I don't believe that they have to go hand in hand. In my case, that just happened to be the vehicle that the lesson came through. But I remind myself, because experience is a more powerful teacher than words can be. Because it's imprinted in my body, it's imprinted in my nervous system. But it is evidence that I cannot refute, that I can't deny that whenever I start to get into that old pattern of convincing myself that I can't slow down, there's too much to do, there's not enough time and not enough of me to go around that I can challenge that punishing voice that's trying to make me push through this moment. And it feels, in its own way, like a mini rebellion. It's this gentler invitation that I can center myself in my own story. That when, whenever I allow myself to remember that silence is possible, presence is possible. Even in the midst of a massive to do list, even in the midst of production and the need to optimize that stillness is possible. And it's always available to me. And I wish I could articulate the how of this better for you, but I'm probably, because I'm still processing it myself, challenging that voice a little bit that says you can't stop until you drop. You have to push through the pain. Allowing yourself to center yourself in your own story is, I think, the most beautiful expression of self service that is possible. Because by centering yourself, what you're saying is that your experience is real and that your emotions are information and honoring them and acting on that, that authenticity, it's undeniable. It may not be convenient, it may not be comfortable, but it's not deniable. And I guess my wish for all of us in not just this moment, but in this conversation, in this miniseries and this work is that we can trust the wisdom of our knowing and our bodies and our feelings to honor what it is we really need. And where I feel and where I see many of us feel challenged the most is honoring that. It's okay to slow down and honoring what you need when you need it, and trusting that your energy will come back, your zest for life will come back, your creativity will come back. But it's also okay to slow down too, and maybe choosing it before it brings you down. And I also think, speaking of brings you down, I think that so many of us confuse collapsing out of exhaustion and rest all the time. A lot of my early days as a speaker were talking to companies about how to help their employees get the most out of mental health days. These people weren't choosing rest, they were collapsing out of exhaustion and then feeling tremendous guilt for it, and then were trying to just get back and work the next day. Because when we are exhausted, sometimes collapse is the only thing our nervous system knows how to reach for, to reset itself. Doom scrolling for hours, numbing out, dissociating into television, emotionally shutting down. Sometimes that might be what survival looks like. And I've actually have told a client not so long ago that was navigating a major medication change, that when she wakes in the middle of the night, her comfort TV show might be the best thing for her in that moment. She's somebody, for example, who has, I'll say, a very rich yoga practice, a very strong meditation practice, and was feeling so ashamed at even the thought of turning on her TV to help dial down the noise in her mind at night. But I want to just remind everyone, within this context, there is a hierarchy of needs. And the fact that your needs change, they change. And just a gentle reminder within all of this that I'm sharing, there's context that's specific to you. There's also a hierarchy of needs. And the fact that you change means that your needs change too. And they can change as often as you like. But collapse is altogether different than restoration, because rest is not just absence of work. Rest is the presence and connection. Connection with yourself, your body, your breath, your emotions, your needs, your pleasure and delight, connection with your life. I think a lot of people are not just tired from doing too much. I think they're tired from being disconnected from themselves for too long. So here's a current example of how I'm trying to really be present in centering my needs right now. It is a real commitment to make and eat a full hot breakfast for myself. In the morning, it's no small thing. And I find that I feel so much more connected to my body. My kids are seeing me sit and eat, not stealing bites while they're brushing their teeth or brushing their hair or shaking a protein bottle while I'm also loading the car. This one little, seemingly small commitment has actually created a hundred mini shifts that support me in the morning and subsequently support me throughout the rest of my day. Another small commitment that's actually really not that small, but it sounds simple to say is every time I've been walking by my husband, I either touch him in some small way or I stop and hug him every time I walk by him. And, and I haven't made this big declaration and I haven't required that he make the same commitment. But when I'm starting to spin in my mind, one of the things that grounds me is actually touching living things, Whether that means like hands in the dirt, planting, touching plants, my pet, my kiddos. But my husband lately has just been such a source of comfort that life in particular has been lifing hard these last couple weeks. And not in the like heavy grief sense. I mean, everyone's healthy, we're doing well. But I'll say in the logistics and the just logistical load of life in the last couple weeks, it has been a lot, and we've been passing by each other a lot, but we haven't been able to be present with each other. And by the time it's time for sleep, we're both just like head hits the pillow and we're done. And this little, little, tiny commitment has helped nurture that part of us as adults, but also as husband and wife and partners. That element that is so unique to our relationship, which is that affectionate touch and honoring that has also felt really grounding and centering and helped me feel tethered to my life rather than sort of like flinging around like a helium balloon. So where does this fear of being still actually come from? I think it's especially challenging for people whose worth has become quietly tied to usefulness. Wayne Dyer has talked about the ego sounding like, I am what I do, I am what I have, I am what I look like, I am what other people think of me. And that really makes me think, if your identity has been built around helping, producing, fixing, achieving, holding everything together, then stillness can feel incredibly uncomfortable or even impossible. Because if you stop doing, who are you? And I think so many deeply capable people carry this hidden fear that if I stop proving my value, will I still be worthy of love and belonging, which is such a painful thing for anyone to carry. And I would encourage anyone who felt tingles with that last part to consider checking in with the work of my dear friend from afar, Brene Brown. Virtually everything she writes and talks about is addressing this very shame, Love and belonging. Something I wrestle with that I'm not super proud of is the tug in my heart when I see my kids reach for their dad instead of me, or leap with delight for their grandparents and then wave goodbye to me. Grinning ear to ear, I can feel in one moment almost desperate for help, and then also know intimately the small part of me that's afraid. Do they not love me as much? Am I not the favorite? Almost like I want everyone to be loved, but like, am I the favorite? There. There is this tender risk in being supported that what you might discover is that you weren't as wholly necessary as you thought. One of the more common experiences for anyone experiencing grief is the recognition that the world is somehow still spinning without your loved one, without your pet. And when we step out of the role we've once played for so long, then lies the feeling that if I'm not as necessary, will I still be chosen? And the fear of not being chosen, of not being wanted. I think that need I need you often gets conflated and confused with I want you regardless of your usefulness. And I think the shift happens in this doorway where we're avoiding what might actually contain the information we need. But underneath the exhaustion, there might also be grief that needs witnessing, anger that needs honesty, needs that need acknowledgment, longing that needs space and curiosity, pain that needs compassion. And I know that that can sound overwhelming potentially, but this is where the healing really starts. Not fixing yourself, not optimizing yourself, but in learning how to gently listen to yourself again, like someone worthy of care. Because you are. And I want to be really clear that this doesn't have to mean blowing up your whole life and every routine and every relationship dynamic. Sometimes reconnection starts incredibly small. Taking one deep breath before answering someone sitting outside for two minutes without your phone, drinking your coffee while it's still hot, or listening to one song without multitasking, asking yourself, what do I need right now? Tiny moments where you stop abandoning yourself. Tiny moments where you return to yourself. That's where this starts. And this is exactly why I created the Treasured journal. Because so many people are moving so quickly throughout their lives that they barely have space to hear themselves clearly anymore. The journal was never meant to be just Another thing to do perfectly. It was meant to help you reconnect with your own voice again. And wrestling a walrus for little people with big feelings, a children's book I wrote came from that same place, too. Learning how to stay with big feelings instead of fighting yourself for having them. It changes everything. If you've been listening to this series and thinking, okay, but how do I actually start reconnecting to myself? That is exactly why I built the Bangs Club. It is not therapy. It's not a therapy replacement. And it's not just more content, it's a softer place to land. For those in between moments where you're trying to reconnect with yourself in real time, connect some of these concepts from episodes in your real life. There are voice note meditations, guided reflections, journaling prompts, and deeper companion pieces designed to help you gently practice slowing down enough to hear yourself safely. Every Wednesday on Substack, you can find it all in the show Notes. Check out the Bangus Club and I'll see you there. These are the very conversations I wish more workplaces, leadership spaces, caregiving professions, and women's groups were having out loud. Because so many deeply capable people are quietly running themselves into the ground while everyone around them keeps calling them successful. And getting to have these conversations together in rooms filled with actual humans, making eye contact through speaking events, workshops and retreats. It's genuinely some of the most meaningful work I get to do. And if you want to learn more about how you can work with me, check out my website, also linked in the show notes. So if you take nothing else from today, let it be this. Your constant movement does not make you more worthy, and slowing down does not mean you're failing. I think a lot of people have spent years staying busy enough not to fully feel how overwhelmed, lonely, or tired or disconnected they've become. And if that is true for you, you are not broken, you are not lazy, and you're not failing. You might just be tired of carrying so much alone. And before you go, I want you to leave with one question. What have you been staying busy enough to not feel? Just notice what comes up in the next episode. This part three of this series, we're gonna be talking about something that I think so many people desperately need. The idea that you don't have to earn your rest, that your body is not betraying you with its needs, that your needs are not evidence of weakness. But there may be a gentler, softer, more connected way to move through your life. And actually, in the spirit of this entire series, and practicing what I am preaching a little bit more. I'm giving myself a much needed pause next week. So Part three of youf Were Never Meant To Live Like a Machine will actually be coming your way in two weeks on June 15th. So next week, June 8th, I'm gonna be resharing one of my favorite conversations with my dear friend of the podcast and my coach, lashelle Wootton. This episode is packed with truth bombs and love bombs and some genuinely great stories, including ones involving Ms. Mary J. Blige and Usher, which honestly feels like enough of a reason of its own. But more than that, this is an episode about permission, about worthiness, about becoming more honest with yourself. And it felt really aligned with everything we've been talking about in this series. So I can't wait for you to hear this episode or revisit it. And then I will be back with part three of this miniseries on June 15th. You were never Meant to Live like a Machine. I am really glad you're here and I'll see you next time, but in the meantime, put down the scissors and don't cut your own bangs.