It didn't feel like urgency at first. It felt like inspiration and aliveness.
That electric pull when an idea grabs you and won't let go. I sat down to solve one small sound issue with an audio I was creating. Just a quick fix, I told myself. Hours dissolved. Then days. Little Lucy would worm her way beneath my arm, head emerging, looking up at me, the only thing that could break the spell. Only then would I notice my hips aching from sitting too long, the hot flashes from overriding my body's signals, the way I'd forgotten to eat regularly and move.
This is hyperfocus. For those of us wired this way, it's both a superpower and a trap. Everything else falls away. The world narrows to this one thing that feels so important, so urgent, so close to being solved. Just one more tweak. One more attempt. One more hour.
But my body knew better. It kept whispering: This doesn't need to be finished today. You can trust yourself to come back to this. You can step away, and it will still be here.
I ignored it. Because hyperfocus feels like purpose. It feels like you're finally doing what matters. Until you realize you've been chasing a ghost.
When Flow Becomes Flood
There's a difference between riding momentum and being swept away by it. I know this intellectually. I teach this to my clients. Yet here I was, day after day, believing the lie that if I just solved this one technical problem, everything else would fall into place.
The high-achievers I work with know this pattern intimately. They are visionaries, quick-starts, people who can see three moves ahead and feel the pull to make it real right now. They mistake the adrenaline rush of constant motion for productivity. They confuse the drug-like high of hyperfocus with being in flow.
But flow doesn't leave you depleted. Flow doesn't demand you sacrifice sleep, ignore your body, or abandon everything else that matters. Flow is sustainable. This other thing, this compulsive urgency masquerading as inspiration, burns through you like wildfire.
What's happening beneath the surface is a neurochemical hijacking. Hyperfocus floods the brain with dopamine, creating a reward cycle that can become genuinely addictive. Our nervous systems aren't designed for the chronic activation we've normalized in this culture. We're built to flood with stress hormones when there's a real threat - a mama bear with cubs in the forest, an actual emergency, as her priority is to protect her babies. I need to move away, and quickly. Then we're supposed to discharge that energy and return to baseline. Instead, we live in a state of manufactured crisis, treating every project deadline like a matter of life and death.
The Seduction of Now
The most insidious part isn't the physical cost, though that's real enough. It's how urgency hijacks our judgment. When I'm locked in that hyper-focused state, everything feels critical. The sound issue that's been nagging me becomes the one thing standing between me and success. The project that could wait becomes the project that must be finished tonight.
This is where trauma patterns masquerade as productivity. The nervous system, dysregulated from chronic stress, interprets any unfinished task as a threat. The mind creates elaborate stories about why this particular thing must be completed now, why waiting is dangerous, why stepping away means failure.
I see this with my clients constantly. One entrepreneur spent a solid year trying to fix something that needed to be let go of, convinced that if it had worked before, it would work again, and that changing course would be disastrous. By not pivoting sooner, he wasted a ton of money and energy.
I see them burning through weekends, chasing solutions to problems that aren't actually urgent. They'll sacrifice relationships, health, and perspective for the illusion of progress. They'll mistake exhaustion for dedication and call it success. All while this culture applauds them for their grinding.
When Urgency Is Real
True urgency exists, of course. When your child is hurt. When someone is attacking you. When the house is on fire. These moments demand immediate action, and our bodies know the difference. Real urgency has a clean quality to it - sharp, focused, temporary. It doesn't last for days or weeks. It doesn't require you to override your basic needs.
For visionaries and quick-starts, there's also the urgency of inspiration; those moments when an idea lands and momentum is everything. The difference is in how it feels in your body. Inspiration energizes. False urgency depletes.
Real urgency moves through you and resolves. False urgency becomes a loop, feeding on itself, creating the very stress it claims to be solving.
The Body Knows
My body tried to tell me. The tight shoulders. The shallow breathing. The way my eyes burned from staring at the screen too long. The sleep that wouldn't come because my mind was still racing with solutions.
When I override these signals, I know I'm out of alignment. When I ignore my dog's needs for attention. When I eat while working, when I tell myself I'll rest after this one thing is finished, these are red flags, not dedication.
The body doesn't lie. It knows the difference between sustainable engagement and compulsive pushing. It knows when we're running on stress hormones instead of genuine energy. It knows when we're using productivity as a drug to avoid sitting with what's actually here.
The Medicine
My antidotes are simple but not easy to implement when I'm in that hyperfocus, urgent mode. Walking in the forest with little Lucy. Stretching my body out of its computer-hunched position. Cooking a delicious meal and enjoying it undistracted on my porch. Drawing something with my hands instead of solving problems with my mind.
Lucy enjoying the forest. ©2025. Carla Royal.
The most radical medicine is trusting that it doesn't need to be finished today. That I can step away and return. That my worth isn't tied to how much I complete or how fast I solve things.
Some problems only resolve when you stop trying to force them. Some breakthroughs come in the shower, on a walk, in conversation with someone you love. The very thing you think you need to push through might be asking you to slow down.
The forest teaches this. Things grow in their own time. Seasons can't be rushed. What wants to emerge will emerge, but not on the timeline your urgency demands.
Your body knows this, too. It's been trying to tell you all along.