Maybe we’re not stressed because life is busy

Within seconds the weather changed. I had seen the dark clouds, but they still felt far away. I quickly checked outside for pillows, laundry, or anything that could blow away, but everything seemed fine. On the first floor, where the renovation is still ongoing, I knew the old windows - and even the frames themselves - would probably become a problem. But there wasn’t much I could still do.

Then suddenly, while I was quietly painting walls, the storm hit.

The rain came in horizontally through the windows, whether there was glass in them or not. Water pushed through every crack in the old wood. Chairs outside were flying across the garden. Even my new dining table was lifted by the wind and luckily landed just next to my car.

Fifteen minutes later, the wind disappeared, but the rain continued. Water was everywhere. The room I had just painted was flooded. I started cleaning up while feeling frustration rise about the damaged table, the walls, and the floor.

And then I realized something uncomfortable.

The storm outside wasn’t actually the problem.

What exhausted me was how quickly my entire nervous system moved into stress, control, panic, and mental noise. Within minutes I had completely lost connection to myself.

And honestly, I think that is where many people are living now almost permanently.

Not in physical storms.
But in constant inner storms.

The pressure never really stops.
Work pressure.
Financial pressure.
Social pressure.
Information pressure.
Pressure to keep up.
Pressure to stay relevant.
Pressure to perform wellness while secretly feeling exhausted.

And because everyone around us lives the same way, we started calling this normal.

But the body does not experience it as normal.

Over the past few years, I’ve heard more and more people quietly admit the same things:

“I don’t want to work under this pressure anymore”
“I feel tired all the time.”
“I feel disconnected from myself.”
“I keep functioning, but something feels deeply off.”

And increasingly, the numbers reflect exactly that:

• 72% of US workers report moderate to high workplace stress

• 76% of Gen Z employees report burnout symptoms or emotional exhaustion

• Around 60% of European workers say stress is common in their job

• Nearly half of Europeans report emotional or psychological strain within the past year

• Anxiety, burnout, and depression continue to rise across almost every age group

But maybe the most confronting part is this:

Most people are still fully functioning while slowly disconnecting from themselves.

They go to work.
Reply to messages.
Keep producing.
Keep scrolling.
Keep distracting themselves.
Keep optimizing themselves.

Not because they are lazy or weak.
But because slowing down enough to truly feel what is happening inside has become uncomfortable.

And this is where I think many conversations around stress and self-care stay too superficial.

Because learning how to regulate your nervous system matters.
Breathing matters.
Stillness matters.
Gratefulness matters.

But not so you can return to a life that is already draining the life out of you.

That is the part we rarely talk about honestly.

Many people are using self-care to recover just enough to continue tolerating lives they already know are misaligned.

A career they no longer feel connected to.
A relationship that quietly exhausts them.
A nervous system overloaded by constant stimulation.
Days filled with productivity, but completely disconnected from meaning, joy, or aliveness.

And after a while, the body starts speaking.

Through exhaustion.
Through anxiety.
Through numbness.
Through irritation.
Through feeling emotionally flat.
Through waking up tired no matter how much sleep you get.

Not because the body is failing you.
But because it is trying to tell you something.

Storms reveal weak structures.

And sometimes exhaustion is not the problem to fix.
Sometimes it is the signal that something deeper is no longer sustainable.

Yesterday reminded me of how fast the mind moves into control when life suddenly becomes chaotic. But it also reminded me that presence is not something we practice once life becomes calm again.

Presence is the practice during the storm.

So after cleaning the water, I stopped for a moment and returned to a few simple things I know help me reconnect.

First: slow the body down.

Not the mind.
The body.

I sat down and consciously slowed my breathing.

Long inhale through the nose.
Slow exhale through the mouth.

Again.
Again.
Again.

Not to stop the storm.
But to stop myself from becoming the storm internally.

Then I shifted my attention back to what was still okay instead of only focusing on what had gone wrong.

Yes, the table was damaged.
But nobody got hurt.
The house was still standing.
The dead tree didn’t fall on any house
And strangely enough, the air felt lighter afterwards.

Gratefulness is not pretending difficult things are positive. It is refusing to let worry dominate your perception.

Because in a life that is stressful we often forget to stop and reflect: am I still in the right workplace for me? Am I still happy with the actions I take and the life I live? Am I passionate about the direction I am going?

So I did take that moment. And more gratefulness came over me, realizing the venture I am on. Grateful for being able to build and share this place,

Those moments of breath, stillness, reflection, even if they are only short, reconnect yourself again. Presence.

Back to work, but only doing one thing at a time, mindful.

Clean the floor.
Open the windows.
Dry the walls.
Move the chairs.
Make tea.

Simple actions bring the nervous system back into the present moment.

And maybe that is part of what this period in society is really asking from us now.

Not endless distraction.
Not more information.
Not becoming better at coping.

But becoming honest enough to ask:

What exactly am I adapting myself to?

Because sometimes the storm is not the problem.

Sometimes it simply exposes the things in life we were already struggling to hold together.