Stress vs. Distress

“If you hold a glass of water with your arm extended, it will begin to hurt. Not because the glass is heavy, but because you were not meant to hold it that way, and at least not for hours.”

I have started to notice a certain pattern. People who have managed for a long time, and then, almost without warning, cannot manage anymore.

Often women in their thirties. Many of them mothers. Capable, responsible, used to carrying what needs to be carried.

They do not necessarily look overwhelmed, and it is not always clear what, exactly, has become too much.

The load itself is often ordinary. What is less visible is the duration. If you hold a glass of water with your arm extended, it will begin to hurt. Not because the glass is heavy, but because you were not meant to hold it that way, and at least not for hours.

There is a point at which time alters the experience of weight. This seems relevant.

We tend to speak about stress as if it were the problem. But stress, in itself, is not unfamiliar to the system. It is necessary. Acute stress, something that is meaningful and time-limited, sharpens attention. It mobilizes energy. It allows us to meet what is in front of us, and to build resilience. And when it passes, the system recovers stronger than before.

This is how the body is designed.

Stress becomes something else when recovery does not happen.

When it is continuous.
When it is unresolved.
When it is carried without interruption.

At that point, it is no longer just stress. It becomes distress. The nervous system remains in a state of heightened alertness. What was meant to be temporary becomes baseline.

Over time, the system adapts to this.

Inflammation increases.
Immune regulation shifts.
Metabolism changes.
Cardiovascular load rises.
Cognitive function is affected.
Mood becomes more fragile.

These are often expressions of the same underlying pattern. A system that has not been allowed to return.

And what makes this particularly difficult is that, as this state persists, perception changes.

Clarity narrows. It becomes harder to step back. Harder to notice what is happening. Harder to choose something different.

The signals are still there, but they are easier to ignore.

A tightening in the neck
A shortened and stiff breath.
A constant feeling of unease and disconnectedness.

Until the system stops.

Sick leave, for many, becomes that interruption. It allows for rest. It removes immediate demands.

And yet, over time, something else can begin to fade. Structure. Purpose. Connection. These, too, are part of how we remain well.

So the question is not whether stress is good or bad. It is whether there is movement between activation and recovery. Between effort and return.

We do not need to remove stress from our lives. We need to learn how to come out of it. And this is where something small, and often overlooked, becomes central: The ability to reset.

Not through large changes. Not through perfect routines. Not through a long term sick leave.

But through brief, repeated pauses.

A longer exhale.
A short walk.
A moment of stillness.
A shift in posture.
A pause between meetings.

These do not look like much, but they signal something to the system. You are safe to come back to homeostasis.

Over time, this becomes a skill. First - the ability to recognize when you are in a state of distress, and second - to guide yourself out of it. Again and again.

And when this changes, something else becomes available again.

Energy.
Clarity.
A sense of being able to meet what is in front of you.

What has become clear to me over time is how much the body seeks buoyancy. The key to this, for most of us, is small pauses that allow our body to reset and come back into balance.