Last week’s blog was about you not being stuck, but perhaps simply being at capacity.
Capacity is your ability to handle pressure, disagreement, uncertainty, responsibility — without your body reacting as if something is wrong.
And pushing harder doesn’t increase capacity.
Training does.
If you understand physical training, you already understand this. You don’t build muscle by maxing out every day. You build strength through progressive load, proper recovery, fuel, and repetition. Your nervous system works the same way.
I’m sharing this not because my story is unique, but because I see versions of it everywhere — especially in high achievers who have built strong lives and still feel something tightening underneath.
If you’ve ever wondered why you can be disciplined and self-aware and still find yourself snapping, bracing, or numbing, this conversation is for you.
For a long time I relied heavily on grit. I could push. I could override discomfort. I could buck up and get the job done. I could stay “on.” I could keep moving even when my body was signaling otherwise.
That grit built real things.
It built my body.
It built my businesses.
It built high performing teams.
It won awards.
And for years, I assumed that because it produced results, it must also be expanding my internal capacity.
But over time I began to notice that while grit could carry me through pressure and help me perform under stress, it wasn’t necessarily changing how my body experienced pressure.
I could accomplish more and still feel tight internally. I could grow externally and still react in kneejerk ways when something felt uncertain or out of my control.
You can understand your wiring and still react.
You can know the pattern and still tighten when pressure hits.
Because capacity isn’t cognitive.
It’s physiological.
High Achievers Love Mindset Work
I do too.
I’ve taught high performance for years, and mindset work is good work — it changes lives.
I wrote The North Star Method from that place — discernment, clarity, vision, decision-making. For many of my clients, it has become a foundational framework for thinking differently and choosing more intentionally.
But mindset is only part of the work.
You can “understand” your wiring and still react.
You can “know” the pattern and still get pulled into it.
Because capacity isn’t just cognitive.
It’s psychological.
And it lives in the body.
Capacity Is Trained Like Strength
If you’ve trained your body, you understand progressive overload. You don’t grow by going to the limit every day. You grow by training at the edge of your current ability — and recovering well.
Emotional capacity works similarly.
It expands through small repetitions of staying present with discomfort without immediately escaping it.
Capacity being physiological doesn’t mean you need a new routine. It means you need to pay attention to how your body is responding in real time.
For me, that has meant noticing the moments where I feel that internal tightening — the subtle clenching in my jaw, the quickening of my tone, the urge to control something small and meaningless.
Those signals are information. They’re not character flaws. They’re cues from the nervous system telling me something feels unsafe, even when nothing actually is. (In therapy, I learned that it is a trauma response to old wiring).
And if capacity is built the way strength is built, then the real question becomes: what are the reps?
Not dramatic breakthroughs.
Just small, consistent reps.
Staying in a conversation without defending.
Sitting with an uncomfortable feeling instead of distracting yourself.
Taking a breath before you respond when you’re irritated.
Not firing off the email immediately.
Letting someone be wrong without pointing it out.
Feeling boredom without reaching for your phone.
Not pouring a drink just because the day felt heavy.
This is the training.
Where Alcohol Was Shrinking My Capacity
As I’ve been doing deeper therapy and trauma work — talk therapy, somatic work, trauma processing — I began to understand more clearly how I had been managing discomfort for years.
Alcohol was part of that.
It wasn’t about whether I drank daily or occasionally. It was about cumulative impact. Years of introducing a toxin into my nervous system, even in socially acceptable amounts, adds up. As we get older, those things matter more. Recovery changes. Tolerance changes. Sensitivity increases.
And more importantly, I began to see how I used alcohol.
It was a fast way to shift my internal state.
To quiet discomfort.
To soften the edge of anxiety.
To step out of boredom.
To get out of my head.
Sometimes even to feel more connected to the people in my life.
And it worked really well — until it didn’t.
Therapy helped me see that pattern clearly. It helped me recognize how often I reached for relief instead of sitting with what was underneath. Alcohol wasn’t the root issue. It was the strategy.
But because alcohol is a substance that builds tolerance and dependence over time, I had to be honest about what I was watching happen.
What used to be occasional became more regular. What used to be one glass sometimes became two or three. The shift wasn’t loud — it was gradual. And that’s what makes it dangerous.
And once I saw that, I had to make a decision.
I stopped drinking on December 2.
This is still unfolding. I’m still learning what it means to feel everything without numbing or altering my mind.
There are moments where boredom produces anxiety.
There are evenings where I can feel the pull to take the edge off.
There are situations where I would previously have reached for a drink just to relax, or even check out.
But what I want now is presence.
I don’t want fog.
I don’t want to be in an altered state.
I don’t want to dull discomfort.
I want to be fully present with myself, with God, with my husband, with my children, with the people sitting across from me.
And what I’ve noticed, steadily, is that my nervous system is getting calmer.
Steadier.
What I’ve noticed is this:
I’m less irritable. I’m not snapping. I’m not as impatient. I’m not as sensitive or overreactive — not at night, and not the next day.
When I was drinking, even moderately, there was often a residual edge. A shorter fuse. Less tolerance. And it makes sense — alcohol doesn’t clear from your system overnight; it actually takes days for the nervous system to recalibrate.
Without that repeated disruption, I feel clearer. More present. More even.
And I can feel that expanding my capacity — my capacity to stay present, to think clearly, to respond instead of react.
I’m here for all of that.
Therapy Clarified It. Practice Is Rewiring It.
I started therapy later in life than most people — just a few years ago — and I’m grateful I did.
Talk therapy helped me see patterns I had normalized for decades. Trauma work helped me understand why my nervous system reacted the way it did. It gave context to my hypervigilance. It helped me separate strength from survival. And slowly, it helped me realize something deeper:
I don’t need crutches anymore.
I don’t need to override my feelings.
I don’t need to numb them.
I don’t need to manage them with distraction or altered states.
It is actually safe for me to feel what I’m feeling.
That realization didn’t happen overnight. It happened through conversations, through processing, through sitting with memories and responses I had outrun for years. Therapy didn’t “fix” me. It gave me awareness. It gave me language. It gave me permission to stop performing strength and start building it differently.
And I do recommend it — especially for high achievers who are used to solving everything on their own. It’s not the only tool. But it’s a powerful one.
Insight, though, is only the beginning.
Capacity doesn’t expand because you understand your wiring. It expands when you begin responding differently in real time.
That’s where daily practice comes in.
The first half of my life was built on drive.
This half is about building from depth and discernment.
If You’re Feeling Stretched Right Now
If you feel maxed out, reactive, or brittle, the better question may not be:
“How do I push through this?”
It may be:
“What would help me increase my tolerance for this moment?”
Or “What would help me handle this in a healthier way?”
Remember – Capacity doesn’t grow through force.
It grows through training.
One rep at a time.
If You’re Ready to Go Deeper
If you’re in a season where your life looks successful on paper, but you know something deeper is being asked of you — not to achieve more, but to recalibrate — I am opening space for a limited number of private 1:1 clients.
This isn’t therapy.
And it isn’t hustle coaching.
It’s mentorship for high achievers who want to build from regulation instead of adrenaline, and who are ready to increase internal capacity as intentionally as they’ve built external success.
You can apply for a complimentary consultation here:
