The Invisible Cost of Working While Dysregulated

For a long time, I thought the tension I carried through my workday was just part of being capable.

I showed up. I did my job well. I stayed composed and professional — even when my body felt tight, my mind was racing, and I ended most days feeling depleted in ways I couldn’t fully explain. From the outside, everything looked fine. On paper, it was working.

What I didn’t have language for at the time was that I was functioning while dysregulated.

When I talk about dysregulation, I’m not talking about crisis or breakdown. I’m talking about what happens when the nervous system is under sustained pressure — when people are working from fight, flight, freeze, or fawn while still being expected to think clearly, communicate well, and perform consistently.

Over time, this began showing up in the therapy room and in workshops I facilitated. People would ask me questions like: How do I speak up to a coworker who keeps crossing a line? Why do I get so overwhelmed in meetings that I end up crying or shutting down — and then regret it immediately afterward? How do I stop taking things so personally at work when I know, logically, I shouldn’t?

These weren’t questions about competence or motivation. They were questions about capacity. About what happens when the nervous system is already overloaded, and a small moment becomes the tipping point.

It shows up quietly at work. Shorter patience. Over-preparing. Avoiding difficult conversations. Feeling on edge in meetings. Holding things in until they spill out in ways that don’t feel good afterward. None of this means someone is weak or unprofessional. It means their system is under strain.

The cost of working while dysregulated isn’t always obvious, but it compounds. Decision-making slows. Feedback starts to feel personal. Small miscommunications escalate. Creativity narrows. Trust erodes. High performers disengage quietly — not because they don’t care, but because staying activated all the time takes too much out of them.

What struck me was how often these experiences were treated as individual failures. As problems of emotional control or communication style. The solution was usually to add more — more strategies, more scripts, more expectations to manage stress better.

But more information doesn’t help a nervous system that’s already overwhelmed. Understanding what to say doesn’t matter much if your body is already in survival mode. I knew this not just from training, but from experience. Insight alone had never been enough to change how I responded under pressure.

What actually made a difference was learning to notice stress as it was happening — in the body, in reactions, in tone — and having practical ways to respond in real time. Not to eliminate emotion, but to regulate enough to stay present. To speak up without bracing. To recover after difficult moments instead of replaying them for days.

As I began working this way, I saw how powerful it became when this understanding was shared. When teams had language for stress responses. When regulation was understood as something shaped by culture, systems, and leadership — not just personal resilience. When people stopped personalizing each other’s reactions and started responding with more precision and care.

Conversations changed. Feedback landed differently. Recovery after stress became faster. Work felt more sustainable — not because expectations disappeared, but because people had the capacity to meet them.

This perspective continues to shape how I work with individuals, teams, and organizations. Nervous system awareness isn’t a wellness add-on. It’s a foundational skill for communication, decision-making, and sustainable performance. Because pushing through can look productive in the short term — but the invisible cost eventually shows itself.