Your Nervous System Doesn't Care That It's Nearly Christmas
I was staring at lists of lists. Work deadlines, Christmas shopping, kids' end-of-year events, social commitments, household tasks that had been pushed aside for weeks. Spread across digital and physical calendars, inboxes, whatsapp messages, notepads and post-its. Constantly feeling I’d forgotten something or someone important, my chest felt tight. That familiar ball of anxiety sat in my stomach whispering its usual refrain: You'll never get all this done. You're failing. You're going to let others down.
My husband and I looked at each other and realised something had to shift. We were sick, the kids were sick, we were overspent and overcommitted. Late nights bled into early mornings. Renovations half-finished. Plans double-booked. Balls dropping in too many directions. If we kept running at this pace for the next two months— through school finishing, summer holidays, birthdays, hosting, festivities, all of it — we wouldn't arrive at January happy and light. We'd be miserable, overwhelmed, and burned out. No.Thank.You!
So we made a decision that felt almost radical…
We simply asked ourselves - “What would a 60% week look like?”
Not 80%. Not "let’s just dial it back a little." Sixty percent.
He even wrote it on a post-it note for me: "60% week."
When 60% Feels Shockingly Low
Here's what surprised me most: 60% felt wildly, uncomfortably low. Like I was giving up. Like I was failing before I'd even started. As a high achiever, I would have confidently told a client to try 80% - that feels reasonable, doesn't it? A modest pullback, still respectably high. But the fact that 60% felt like underperforming revealed something crucial about how far gone I was.
I'd normalised 110% as my baseline.
… And I'm willing to bet you have too.
Think about it: when was the last time you operated at what you'd genuinely consider "adequate" rather than "exceptional"? When did you last leave work on time without guilt, serve a simple dinner without apologising, say no to something without a detailed explanation? Most of us have been running at such intensity for so long that anything less feels like a whopping failure.
But here's what we forget: your nervous system doesn't distinguish between "manageable December stress" and actual threat. Your amygdala - that ancient alarm system tucked deep in your brain - doesn't care that you're overwhelmed by festive obligations rather than being chased by something with teeth. To your body, stress is stress.
When you override the signals telling you to slow down, when you push through exhaustion in the name of getting it all done, something happens in your brain. Chronic activation of your stress response doesn't just make you feel frazzled... it literally reshapes your neural pathways. Your hippocampus aka the memory centre, actually shrinks under sustained stress. That’s why you’re forgetting things. Meanwhile, cortisol floods your system, brilliant for short bursts of danger but devastating when it becomes your everyday state.
Most critically, your prefrontal cortex goes offline. This is the part of your brain responsible for executive function. That means good decisions, emotional regulation, patience, perspective - all of it. Dr. Amy Arnsten's research at Yale shows that even mild chronic stress impairs this region's ability to regulate your amygdala. Which means the more you push, the less capable you become of the very qualities you need most: clarity, presence, emotional steadiness. Not so helpful, hey?
The tight ball of anxiety in my chest wasn't weakness or poor time management. That was my nervous system screaming that I was running beyond capacity. I’d become reactive, snappy and starting each day already behind. The opposite of how I wanted to show up for the people I love.
The December Conspiracy
There's this peculiar cultural agreement that descends every December. We collectively decide we'll just push through the overwhelm because festive season. We'll say yes to everything, show up for everyone, manage all the things, and somehow also radiate holiday cheer while doing it. Rest can wait until January. Joy can wait until we've earned it through sheer exhaustion.
But why? Why have we agreed to this?
Part of it is the collision of everything at once - work wrapping up while family obligations ramp up and here in the southern hemisphere, summertime is peaking. The financial pressure of gift-giving meeting the social pressure of celebration. The loss of routine as schools close and workplaces wind down, which sounds relaxing but often just means coordinating childcare and entertaining restless kids.
But there's something deeper too. Many of us (particularly women, particularly mothers) have built our sense of worth on being the person who holds it all together. Who makes magic happen. Who never lets anyone down. The idea of deliberately doing less feels like betraying some fundamental part of our identity.
What if people notice? What if they're disappointed? What if we're not actually as capable as we thought?
These fears and expectations are touching something real about how we understand ourselves in relation to others. But here's what I've learned: the cost of protecting that identity is enormous. And it's often paid by the people we're trying so hard to show up for.
What 60% Actually Looked Like
We got practical fast, because philosophy without action changes nothing. Some things had to be outsourced including cleaning, gardening, groceries. Yes, there was guilt. Yes, we made excuses about wanting to control it all, wanting to do it ourselves. But a few broken nights of sleep, a work emergency on Saturday, a sick kid home from school on Monday, and suddenly those excuses didn't matter. There are only so many hours in the day. We had to decide where our actual priorities lay.
We had a frank financial conversation: where do we most want to spend our time and energy? How do we want to feel? The answer wasn't "sparkling house with Pinterest-perfect welcome baskets for guests." It was having the energy and patience to actually enjoy hosting family when they arrived from overseas, not snap at them while secretly counting down until they left.
The specifics looked like this:
At work: Getting there on time, leaving on time - even just for a few days. Those 30 minutes grabbed early in the morning, those extra hours late at night, they were all adding up to a deficit I couldn't recover from. Delivering what was required and contributing in meetings without volunteering for the extra project or going the many extra miles.
At home: Eating properly - throwing in fresh vegetables, choosing a walk over a scroll. Going to bed earlier and actually doing it, not just thinking about it while refreshing social media. I'd consolidate my lists, reprioritise for the next day, pull on my eye mask, and fall asleep almost immediately. The relief was visceral.
In hosting: Pulling back to what actually mattered. Not the perfect table setting or the homemade everything, but having the bandwidth to be genuinely happy people were there. To listen. To laugh. To not be so depleted that small talk felt like torture.
In social commitments: Missing a birthday party without the usual guilt spiral. Being honest: "We've got too much going on right now” And you know what? We weren't missed. The world kept turning.
In self-care: No alcohol for the week. Not as punishment but as strategy - for the clear head, the steady energy, the absence of those afternoon slumps and evening false highs. Movement that felt good rather than punishing fitness routines ticked off a list.
My husband and I stayed in communication. Same page. Clarity about who was handling what. Having each other's backs when the default urge to push crept back in.
When I'd feel myself getting sucked back into the busyness —that tightness returning to my chest, the thought spiral starting (arghhhh there's too much to do, I can't control this, where do I even start?!) -I'd see that post-it note and stop. Reprioritise. Write it down. Make a plan. One day it stuck to the bottom of my handbag by accident. I noticed it as I was leaving the house and laughed. Even from the bottom of my bag, the message was still there: Don't forget - 60%.
What Changed (And What Surprised Me)
The tightness left. Space opened up and I could show up for people again. A colleague needed support, and I actually had the capacity to care and step up rather than just going through the motions while silently resenting one more thing on my plate. That's the paradox, isn't it? At 110%, you're so depleted you can't genuinely be there for anyone. At 60%, suddenly there's room for generosity again.
I reconnected to my inner happiness - that baseline sense of okayness that had been buried under the constant doing. I could feel it again, quiet and steady underneath everything else.
I became present. I noticed how things were going in the moment and could adjust course before spiraling too far into reactive mode. Instead of only realising at 9 PM that the day had been a disaster, I could catch myself at 2 PM and make a different choice.
We decorated the Christmas tree and actually had fun. Not performing fun while stressed, but real delight. My daughter's laughter. My thoughtful placement of each ornament. These moments I would have missed while mentally cataloguing everything still undone.
I made better decisions. About work, about commitments, about how to spend an unexpected free hour. When your prefrontal cortex isn't constantly overridden by stress, you get access to your actual wisdom again.
And here's what shocked me most: nothing fell apart.
Research from organisational psychologist Adam Grant backs this up. When people deliberately scale back to "good enough" rather than "exceptional," the quality difference is often imperceptible to others, but the stress reduction is enormous. We catastrophise what will happen if we ease off, but the reality is usually far less dramatic than our fears.
Your nervous system needs this proof. It needs lived experience that you're safe even when you're not performing at maximum capacity. That the world doesn't end when you leave work on time. That people still love you when you're not running yourself into the ground for them.
The Identity Shift
Here's what I'm still sitting with: what does it mean that 60% felt like failing?
I had to examine what I'd built my sense of self on. Being capable. Being the one who could handle it all. Being reliable to the point of self-sacrifice. When I pulled back, even strategically, there was this uncomfortable question underneath: If I'm not the person who gives 110%, who am I?
Maybe someone who's actually sustainable. Someone who models healthy boundaries for her children. Someone who's present rather than productive. Someone who understands that her worth isn't conditional on her output.
These aren't easy shifts but there's something liberating on the other side of it. A recognition that we've been trying to earn love and approval through exhaustion, and it was never necessary in the first place.
The people who truly matter don't want us depleted. They need us present.
Your 60% Week
If you're reading this with your own tight ball of anxiety, your own lists of lists, here's what I want you to know: 60% isn't permanent underperformance. It's recalibration. It's teaching your nervous system that there's another way.
Pick one ordinary week between now and the end of December. Not the week of Christmas itself, let's be realistic! But one week where you're still showing up to work and life. Don't announce it. Don't apologise for it. Don't explain it. Just try it.
For Christmas festivities and gift giving:
Gift cards are gifts - no apology needed for the thoughtfulness of choice over presentation
One meaningful gift per person, not three "just in case" extras
Store-bought treats for gatherings instead of homemade everything
Say no to at least one event - the school carols, the neighborhood party, the work drinks
Delegate where possible: "Could you bring dessert?" is a complete sentence
Let go of matching Christmas pyjamas, elaborate elf activities, and Pinterest-perfect tablescapes
Order online and click-and-collect instead of battling shopping centers
Send e-cards or video messages
If hosting, focus on one signature dish you love making, and buy or delegate the rest
Lower the bar on decorating: if the tree goes up and there’ s a little sparkle - that's enough
At work:
Show up, contribute, but don't volunteer for the extra task
Respond to urgent items within 24 hours; everything else can wait
Deliver what's required and competent, not what would be exceptional
Leave on time at least 50% of this week
At home:
Three simple dinners on rotation that you can make on autopilot
Kitchen and bathrooms only; the rest of the tidying can wait
Say yes to non-negotiables; everything optional gets a "not at the moment"
One social gathering maximum
For yourself:
Sleep non-negotiable: 7-8 hours even if the list isn't finished! Brain dump then go to bed
Movement that feels good, not punishing
Notice when you're scrolling for distraction versus genuinely resting
One small thing daily that's purely for pleasure, no productivity attached
The internal work:
When guilt shows up (and it will), notice it without obeying it
When you feel like you're failing, ask: "Who says this isn't enough?"
When you're tempted to push harder, return to your why: How do I want to feel? How do I want to show up?
Tell no one you're doing this. The act of explaining or justifying often derails the experiment. Just quietly do your 60% week and observe.
Notice what actually suffers (probably less than you fear) and what improves (probably more than you expect). Notice how your body feels at 7 PM - still with energy left, or scraped hollow? Notice whether people even register the difference, or if the gap between your 110% and your 60% is invisible to everyone but you.
The discomfort you feel at first is your nervous system's signal that you've been in overdrive. It will pass. The relief underneath won't :)
The Ongoing Practice
I'm keeping the ethos of 60% through this festive season. Not as a permanent lowering of standards, but as a corrective. A reminder that these aren't my priorities - running myself into the ground isn't serving anyone. Happy and light matters more than impressive and exhausted.
Some days I still need the post-it note more than others. The pull toward 110% is strong, ingrained in years of conditioning. But each time I choose 60%, I'm building new neural pathways. Teaching my body that it's safe to slow down. Proving that my worth doesn't depend on my exhaustion.
This is the work. Not one heroic week of rest, but the daily practice of choosing differently. Of catching yourself before the tightness takes hold. Of remembering that you have more control than you think you do in the midst of everything coming at you.
Your nervous system is waiting for you to choose. Not in January, when you're burned out and desperate. Now, while there's still time to move through this season differently.
The lists will still be there. The obligations won't disappear. But you get to decide what 60% looks like for you, and whether that's enough.
… I'm betting it is.