When Slowing Down Brings Up Anxiety: What Your Body Might Be Telling You

You sit on the couch, phone down, to-do list closed. You said you’d rest. You need to rest. But your chest tightens. Your jaw clenches. Your brain starts scanning for what you forgot.

This isn’t laziness. It’s not avoidance. This is your nervous system sounding the alarm. Somewhere along the way, slowing down became unsafe.

The Unexpected Side of Rest

Lately, I’ve been focusing on more intentional rest—listening to my body, being gentler with myself, and tracking my personal health to better align with my natural rhythms. I’m only a few months into this process, and while it’s slow, I’ve already noticed some changes. I feel less fatigued, more in tune with myself.

But something else has surfaced, something I didn’t expect. 

Over the past few days, I’ve felt a familiar buzz of anxiety creeping in. My thoughts keep circling back to a focus on others, their successes (or struggles), and whether I should be doing more. I feel untethered by the relentless comparisons that pester my quieter moments—but I sense that there’s something deeper going on here.

Is this just a side effect of having more energy during this phase, a biological push toward social connection that my mind has hijacked into comparison? Or is it because I’ve slowed down just enough for anxiety to slip back into the open space? Rather than pushing it away, I’m choosing curiosity. What is this feeling trying to tell me? Am I afraid of stagnation? Of falling behind? Of failing?

The more I sit with these questions, the more I realize I don’t need immediate answers. I just need to listen with compassion. 

The Paradox of Anxiety and Productivity

I think about my next client on the schedule. He’s young, sharp, and painfully aware that anxiety is weighing him down—but at the same time, he’s disconnected from his body’s cues. He vibrates with anxious energy, using it to push himself forward. 

I see myself in him.

I know that frantic feeling, the sense that things are slipping out of control, the fear that others will see the moment everything finally collapses. I know what it’s like to experience life through tunnel vision, where the world feels like it’s closing in, pressing tighter, suffocating, all while you’re trying to hold on with a vice-like grip. 

This may be more than just anxiety. This may be a state of structured disassociation, where you disconnect or split parts of yourself as a protective response. It may be your nervous system locked in functional freeze, a trauma response that allows you to keep going outwardly, while keeping pain at bay. From the outside, you look like you’re managing, but inside, your system is maxed out.

There may be a part of you that hates the way anxiety takes over—but also needs it. That part believes if you stay busy, you’ll stay in control. That if you just keep moving, nothing bad will catch up to you.

It’s not wrong. It learned this from experience. Your body’s activation isn’t a flaw. It’s a flare. A signal from a long-protected version of you that still thinks the only safe way is forward.

So how do you move forward? How you do you learn to slow down and lean in curiously, with compassion?

Slowing Down Isn’t as Simple as It Sounds

I often wonder: How do I reach anxious perfectionists in a way that shows depth? How do I remind you to turn inward, in a way that goes beyond thoughts and behaviors? How do I help you tap into your feelings—especially when this is the very thing you struggle with most and have painstakingly worked to subconsciously avoid? 

I had a therapist who once gave me an assignment: take a weekend and schedule nothing. No planning, no organizing, no structure. Just see where the day takes you. 

At first, I dismissed it as silly. I didn’t understand the point. I mentally bookmarked it to do later, in some undefined future when I had “more time.”

But when I finally did it, I realized something unexpected: slowing down was far harder than I ever imagined. 

Not adhering to a schedule was freeing and also wildly uncomfortable for the overachiever in me. Doing nothing felt as valuable as doing everything. And, perhaps most unsettling, I realized how much I had been using tasks, busywork, and accomplishments to avoid the incessant and uncomfortable thoughts that surfaced in the stillness. 

Those thoughts and feelings weren’t enemies to be avoided. They were stewards. They were messengers. And when I finally turned toward them, when I let myself listen, they softened. 

Looking back on this time, I now understand that my therapist could never have forced me to do this work before I was ready, but the soothing balm of her patience and understanding kept moving the needle.

Why Healing Feels Slow

For someone in a state of functional freeze, identifying emotions and tuning into the body can feel impossible, even threatening. As therapists, if we push clients to explore this space too quickly, we are often met with “I don’t know” responses. That’s why therapy doesn’t start with forcing self-awareness—it starts with creating safety. It’s why the process can feel slow, even frustrating for clients. 

As therapists, we work at the pace your nervous system allows. We walk alongside you, careful not to step on hidden land mines you may not even see. Healing isn’t about racing to the finish line; it’s about building a foundation strong enough to support real change. 

I can’t guarantee a specific set of results. No therapist can. 

But I can promise this: I will keep showing up. I will meet you where you are. I will guide you forward with gentle nudges, and I will wait with you until you’re ready to move your own needle. 

And sometimes, as I myself am regularly reminded of, that means backing up, slowing down, and meeting you right in the middle of your storm to see what arises when you finally stop running.

The goal isn’t to push past the tension. The goal is to stay with yourself long enough to understand what it’s trying to protect. Ask yourself gently: What part of me panics when I slow down? And what has it been trying to protect me from?

If you’ve ever found yourself feeling more anxious when you finally slow down, you’re not alone. Your body isn’t betraying you—it’s communicating with you. The question is: Are you willing to listen?