Stress lives in my stomach. Always has. When things build up, I don’t feel anxious — I feel nauseated. Mornings mostly. Gone at the beach. Back the day I got home.

I wouldn’t say I’m under stress right now. Nothing is on fire. Just the normal weight of leading, thinking, seeing clearly, and not always having a place to put what I see.

I process everything internally. My mind is almost always running. That’s not a complaint. It’s how I’m wired. It’s been a strength.

But it has a cost.

What stays inside doesn’t sit quietly. It accumulates. The body says what the mouth didn’t.

I used to think I needed more discipline. More quiet time. But I already live in quiet. What I need is the opposite — things coming out. A sentence to Kathy. A thought to a friend. A reflection written down instead of carried.

Music too. When I stop listening, it means I’ve retreated too far inward. Music breaks the loop. That’s why I resist it — I’m always on, and it pulls me out. But the interruption is what I need.

Recently I’ve been singing again. Not from a playlist. Something from inside, more spiritual language than words. Alexandra noticed. She told me she knows I’m doing well when I sing. That landed.

The pressure isn’t too much going on. It’s not enough coming out. The internal world fills up, and when nothing crosses into expression — not a word, not a walk, not a song — the body carries what the voice didn’t release.

Learning to let small things surface earlier. That might be what this whole site is for.