When the Smallest Things Feel Impossible đź’
There are days when I feel like I’m drowning in things I need to do—and none of them are big things.
They’re small, everyday tasks. The kind of things most people probably do without a second thought.
A simple phone call.
A five-minute appointment.
A check-in.
A reply.
And I can’t do it.
I think about it every single day—sometimes every hour—but I just… don’t.
And the more I don’t do it, the heavier it gets.
Until the weight of something as tiny as calling Toyota financing feels like I’m carrying a mountain on my chest.
I don’t know why.
I really don’t.
It’s not that I don’t care.
It’s not that I’m lazy.
It’s not that I’m incapable.
It’s that somewhere between my mind and my body, something just… gets stuck.
And here’s the part that makes it harder:
The people around us—family, friends, coworkers, bosses—will look at us and say:
“Why haven’t you done it?”
“Why can’t you just do it?”
“It’s not that hard.”
And every time I hear those words, it doesn’t help.
It just makes me feel worse.
Because the truth is:
I don’t know why I can’t do it.
I don’t have an explanation that would make sense to anyone—including me.
But if I really dig deep, I think I do know something.
I once had a job where I lived under constant pressure. It didn’t matter how fast I worked, how hard I tried, or how much I gave—it was never enough.
I was constantly being asked:
Where is it?
Why isn’t it done yet?
Why didn’t you do it better?
I could never move fast enough, think sharp enough, be good enough. I would type with someone literally standing over my shoulder. And when my human fingers typed letters backwards—as humans sometimes do—he would shout the mistake at me.
As if I didn’t already know I had to fix it. As if I wasn’t already breaking under the pressure of trying to be perfect. I was told “your so great 95% of the time, why cant you get that other 5%?”, Ugh it haunts me.
And here’s what nobody tells you:
That kind of constant correction, that kind of never-enoughness, it burns itself into you.
Even after the job ends.
Even after the people are gone.
It leaves you with this permanent feeling that someone is always watching, always waiting for you to mess up—so they can pounce.
So when someone asks me why I can’t make the call?
Why I can’t just do the simple thing?
It’s because my nervous system still thinks I’m under siege. It doesn’t matter how calm things look on the outside. On the inside, I’m still fighting the ghost of every voice that told me I wasn’t enough.
And sometimes that fear shows up as paralysis. Not because I don’t want to move—but because I can’t.
Because my system is still locked in survival mode, even when the danger is long gone.
I finally scheduled my MRI—but not because I made the call.
They called me.
And it went fine. Of course it went fine.
But I couldn’t do it myself.
And I’m still sitting here trying to understand why.
The truth is:
I’m overwhelmed.
I’m frustrated.
I’m confused.
I’m angry at myself in a way that feels endless.
But I’m also still here.
I’m still breathing.
I’m still showing up for my life—even when it looks messy, broken, or incomplete. So instead of sitting with this overwhelming discomfort, anxiety, fear, a little panic maybe - I thought I would write this blog. I can’t be the only one who feels this way. So I am here, with you.
Sometimes the bravest thing we do is keep going when everything inside says to shut down.
Sometimes survival isn’t about the big things—it’s about the tiniest acts of living that pile up until they feel unmanageable.
So if you’re carrying the weight of invisible pressure—if you’ve ever felt frozen by the simplest task—please hear me:
You are not lazy.
You are not broken.
You are not alone.
Your body is still trying to protect you from things it doesn’t even know how to name.
One thing at a time.
One breath at a time.
One phone call—or not—at a time.
And you know what? That’s okay too.
With Love,
Dana & Nicky
