Urgency Addiction: The Productivity Lie that is Killing Us
Our nervous systems weren't built for this
In 2020, I crashed.
Not in a dramatic, headline-worthy kind of way. I didn’t lose everything, go bankrupt, or suffer some visible public unraveling. From the outside, everything looked picture-perfect.
I had a happy family. A thriving business. A beautiful home. The kind of life that made people say, “Wow, you’re really doing it all.”
And that was exactly the problem. I was doing it all. A lifetime of chronic over-functioning.
Beneath the surface, I was crumbling.
Something had to give. And for the first time in my life, it wouldn’t be me.
When the Hustle Becomes a Hazard
What I didn’t know then is that I was suffering from what I now call Urgency Addiction: a psychological, physiological, emotional, and cultural compulsion to go faster, do more, be better at any cost.
The cost, it turned out, was my health. My presence. My connection to myself and others. The crash of 2020 wasn’t a fluke; it was the inevitable conclusion of a life lived in hyperdrive.
Like many chronically over-functioning people, I had mistaken intensity and achievement for wellness. I thought that if I could keep producing, keep achieving, then everything was fine. But my nervous system told a different story.
As Dr. Gabor Maté writes in When the Body Says No:
“The chronic repression of emotional needs and the chronic stimulation of stress mechanisms can undermine the body’s physiological balance, even as outwardly the person appears healthy and successful.”
Urgency addiction is precisely that: chronic stimulation of the stress response in service of outward success.
And it's killing us slowly.
The Chemistry of Compulsion
Urgency addiction is not just psychological, it’s chemical.
Each time we rush to meet a deadline, cross off a task, or chase another accomplishment, we get a hit of dopamine. That reward chemical feels good. But it also creates a dependency.
To keep up the pace, we also rely on adrenaline and cortisol, hormones designed for short bursts of danger, not prolonged productivity. Over time, these stress hormones erode our immune function, impair our digestion, and dysregulate our sleep.
In essence, urgency addiction mirrors substance addiction—but the substances are endogenous. The “drug” is manufactured inside our own bodies, which makes the pattern that much harder to detect. And to interrupt.
We don’t realize we’re addicted because we’ve been praised for it. Promoted for it. Valued for it.
As Devon Price writes in Laziness Does Not Exist:
“The American obsession with overwork isn’t based on any biological imperative. It’s based on deep cultural programming—and that programming is both cruel and inaccurate.”
Cruel indeed. Because for those of us raised in productivity culture, the very idea of slowing down can feel like death.
And in a way, it is the death of an identity: the high-achiever, the doer, the one who never stops. But that death is necessary for something more sustainable, and more human, to be born.
Urgency Addiction: A (Fake but Accurate) DSM-Style Diagnosis
Diagnostic Criteria for Urgency Addiction (302.UA)
A maladaptive pattern of compulsive urgency and productivity, leading to clinically significant distress, health deterioration, or life disruption, as indicated by three or more of the following symptoms:
Inability to rest without guilt.
Chronic over-scheduling, often beyond physical or emotional capacity.
Compulsive email or task checking, even during personal time or illness.
Frequent dismissal of physical symptoms (e.g. fatigue, pain, insomnia) in favor of productivity.
A belief that self-worth is contingent on output or performance.
Panic or disorientation when unscheduled time is encountered.
Fantasies of "finally catching up," followed by new cycles of over-functioning.
Specifiers:
With Somatic Collapse (burnout, chronic illness)
With Emotional Blunting (inability to feel joy outside of accomplishment)
With Relationship Disturbance (neglect or erosion of connection due to overwork)
Treatments for Urgency Addiction
(Because “Keep Going” Is Not a Cure)
If urgency addiction were listed in the DSM, the treatment protocol might look like this:
Nervous System Recalibration
Through somatic therapy, mindfulness practices, and breathwork, learn to shift from sympathetic dominance (fight-or-flight) to parasympathetic regulation (rest-and-digest).Psychoeducation on Capitalism & Worth
Understanding that the drive to produce at all costs is not personal, it is systemic. Capitalism thrives when we believe rest is laziness.Slow Exposure to Rest
Rest, for urgency addicts, can feel like withdrawal. Begin with “low-dose rest”: five minutes of sitting, unscheduled afternoons, journaling. Increase dosage as tolerance builds.Reconstruction of Identity
Moving from “I am what I do” to “I am” is a radical, grief-filled journey. But it is also the doorway to peace.Community-Based Healing
We need collective models of slowness. Shared language for capacity. Permission to not be optimized.
Why Humans Weren’t Built for This
The tragedy of urgency addiction is that it convinces us we’re just one step away from peace—if only we could get everything done.
Or as my mother use to say, “You can play when the work is done”. (Spoiler - the work is NEVER done).
But that moment never comes. It can’t. Because we were never designed to live this way. We evolved in rhythms: seasons, tides, menstrual cycles, sleep cycles, the inhale and exhale, expansion and contraction. The pace of productivity culture is not in sync with any of them.
As Dr. Maté reminds us:
“Health rests on three pillars: the body, the psyche, and the spiritual connection with ourselves and with something greater. Stress undermines all three.”
Urgency addiction corrodes our health precisely because it requires disconnection from all three. The body is ignored. The psyche is overruled. And the spiritual self is silenced under the weight of constant striving.
What Slowing Down Makes Possible
When I crashed in 2020, I didn’t know it yet, but it was the beginning of my healing.
I had spent a lifetime over-functioning. Always managing, always fixing, always being the strong one. And the truth is, it worked. Until it didn’t.
My nervous system finally said: If you won’t stop, I will stop you.
That moment, as terrifying as it was, probably saved my life.
Since then, I’ve been learning to live differently. Slowly. Intentionally. I’ve built more space into my days. I listen when my body says no. I practice doing nothing—and letting that be enough.
Is it easy? No. But it’s worth it. Because on the other side of urgency is something I hadn’t felt in years:
Peace. Presence. Enoughness.
Choosing Presence
Urgency addiction is not a personal failure. It is the logical outcome of a system that mistakes speed for value and productivity for worth. But we do not have to keep living this way.
We can choose presence over panic. Slowness over speed. Sustainability over sacrifice.
As Laziness Does Not Exist so beautifully reminds us:
“You are not lazy. You are not broken. You are enough.”
Let that be the diagnosis — and the beginning of your recovery.
If you enjoyed this essay and Urgency Addiction resonates with you, you may also love the Guide for Breaking Urgency Addiction I created to go along with the essay.
How Healing Happens is a space for explorations about how we heal from trauma and emotional pain. Here you will find authentic reflections on healing and personal growth grounded in the science and spirit. If you resonate with vulnerable essays and the journey toward wholeness, this space is for you. If you enjoyed this essay you can support my work by “liking” the post, sharing with a friend or subscribing.
Thank you for reading!
© Linnea Butler 2025
Dear Linnea,
Thank you for naming something I’ve lived for most of my life, but in a form that often went unseen—even by me.
Your words on urgency addiction struck a deep chord, and yet my version of it looked different from the outside. The urgency didn’t come from within—it wasn’t my voice I was hearing. It was the voices of others, especially my mother’s, woven into my nervous system like a second skin. I wasn’t driven by personal ambition or inner restlessness. I was complying with a lifetime of inherited expectations, carrying the weight of what others needed me to be.
And so, I didn’t look frantic. I looked composed. Unshakeable. People called me the epitome of resilience and calm—highly focused, flawlessly efficient. But what they were witnessing wasn’t peace. It was survival.
For years, I worked at a pace no one around me could match. I don’t say that with pride, but as testimony. I measured it. The time it took to fulfill a single order in our company—from selecting the product, choosing and assembling the carton, filling it, adding the invoice, sealing it, and applying the shipping label—averaged 55 to 61 seconds for my colleagues. For me? Twenty-eight. I moved twice as fast. Not because I wanted to win, but because I was always trying to buy time—squeeze in a few more seconds, a few more tasks, to keep up with a system that was never meant to be carried by one pair of hands.
But even the most efficient canyon eventually caves when the erosion is constant and no replenishment comes. In January 2024, I finally stepped down. And I fell. Not all at once, but for months. Nine, maybe more. It was like descending through layers of numbness, confusion, and grief, all the way down to a ground I’d forgotten existed.
I'm still arriving. Still brushing the dust from my edges. But something about your essay made me feel witnessed—like the canyon of my life wasn’t just an echo chamber, but a place where someone else has walked too.
Thank you for giving language to this. For seeing the harm beneath the competence. For reminding us that the body keeps score, and that rest is not failure—it’s a form of return.
With deep resonance and gratitude,
Jay
Wow, I love this! Thanks Linnea for this. I’ve experienced many of these symptoms myself—and still do, though less often now. Thankfully, I became aware of my addiction to constantly doing more and my discomfort with simply doing nothing. I’ve also recognized my tendency toward perfectionism and overdoing. Now, I’ve chosen to surrender to my imperfections. Yes, I’m still working on becoming better—but not from a place of urgency or scarcity, rather from already loving who I am! ✨✨