I DON'T HAVE MORE TIME— SO I'M CHOOSING BETTER HOLDS
I keep looking for more time like it's something I misplaced.
As if the right plan will reveal a hidden pocket in the day. As if I could finally feel calm if I could just get ahead.
But I don't have more time.
I have the same hours I've always had—only now I feel the cost of how I fill them. Midlife does that. Not dramatically. Just steadily. Like a truth you can't un-know.
What's changed isn't the clock.
It's my capacity.
There was a version of me who could carry an unreasonable amount without collapsing—mostly because she didn't notice she was collapsing. She lived in "fine." She kept going. She called it responsibility. She called it competence.
And she was competent.
Just not always counted in her own life.
Because here's what I'm finally willing to admit: I don't actually lose time. I lose myself inside time.
I overfill the day. I push past the signals. I keep gripping things that aren't mine to hold. And then I'm surprised when I feel resentful, foggy, depleted, or oddly angry at the wrong thing.
The real issue is that my life gets held by whatever is loudest, most urgent, or most guilt-producing.
So lately I've been practicing a different question—one that doesn't require motivation or a personality overhaul:
What am I holding today? And is it a good hold?
A hold is anything I'm gripping mentally or emotionally:
tasks I'm carrying
expectations I'm trying to meet
conversations I'm rehearsing
worries I can't put down
commitments I agreed to without checking my actual capacity
even "self-improvement" projects I'm using to avoid the discomfort of my real life
Some holds are necessary. Some holds are meaningful. Some are inherited, reflexive, outdated. And some are just pain with paperwork.
I used to treat all holds like they were morally equal.
If it was on the list, it deserved my nervous system. If someone needed something, it deserved my best self. If I was behind, I deserved pressure.
That mindset doesn't create progress. It creates chronic bracing.
So here's what I do now when everything starts to feel urgent:
I sort what I'm holding into three simple piles:
YES — This is a good hold. Clean. True. Supportive of my actual life. NO — This is a bad hold. Guilt-based. Fear-based. Self-abandonment as the entry fee. NOT NOW — This matters, but not today. Reality gets a vote.
The biggest change for me has been letting "Not Now" be real.
Not a polite lie. Not a parking lot I ignore. A real container—so everything doesn't become "Now" and I don't live in permanent urgency.
Because when I don't name "Not Now," my day fills itself with noise.
And the quieter truth is this: when I'm dysregulated, I reach for holds that give me a hit of control—busywork, fixing, over-explaining, over-preparing. I confuse movement with safety. I confuse urgency with importance.
When I'm regulated—even slightly—I can feel the difference between what matters and what's just loud.
So the practice isn't "get more done."
The practice is: stop letting dysregulation choose my priorities for me.
Some days, choosing better holds looks like:
one close-loop thing instead of ten half-starts
eating before I hit 10/10 and call it "fine"
delaying a conversation until I can be present
letting a text sit unanswered because I'm not available for instant access
choosing rest without turning it into a reward
None of it is glamorous.
But it's how a life becomes livable again.
Truth line: I'm not behind. I'm overheld.
If you want it, I made the one-page Yes / No / Not Now sorter I use when my brain is loud and everything feels urgent. It's not a productivity tool. It's a clarity tool. A companion page for choosing better holds without punishing yourself.
If you're new here: this is what I mean by returning to self—ordinary moments, honest noticing, and small choices that don't require self-abandonment. Start here: Why 55 Houseplants.
