It happened silently and stealthfully, like a thief in the night. Subtle symptom upon symptom, that could be explained away by everyday annoyances; a little cold, not enough sleep, stress at work, caregiver burnout – the list goes on. These are things that most of us deal with at one time or another, especially someone in my age range, so I excused each of my symptoms away, chalking it all up to emotional exhaustion. You’re a survivor, I told myself, you’ve been through way worse than this; just keep pushing through. And so I did. Until I couldn’t. It would be nearly two years on a frustrating and painful journey seeking answers to my health anomaly, before I began to heal. 

My body had been hijacked and was screaming at me to figure things out. As a mental health professional, I had endless tools to manage my emotional distress, and mentally process what was occurring, but I felt I had no control over what was happening to my body. Nothing was lining up to point to a clear diagnosis that would explain my physiological symptoms. I saw four specialists in an attempt to put the puzzle of my health together, each one with a furrowed brow, unable to deliver conclusive findings and put the pieces together, as test result after test result came back negative. I’ll never forget one specialist, who looked at me with compassion in his eyes as he said, “the good news is, everything came back negative; the bad news is we’re not any closer to figuring out what’s wrong.” Always trying to find the silver lining, I smiled weakly and offered, “actually we are closer because you just ruled out a lot”. 

Still, there were no concrete answers. Just more questions. There was one resounding, consistent message from every doctor I saw; I needed to “eliminate some stress” from my life – and soon before my symptoms worsened. I nodded my head in bewildered compliance each time I heard a doc make this declaration, while they simultaneously added, “I”m not sure what else to tell you”. Great. 

I left each appointment over the course of many months, feeling more and more defeated as my symptoms seemed to multiply. I didn’t feel well physically and with being no closer to getting any solid conclusions, I was wearing down emotionally. It was getting more challenging to be fully present at work, and at home. Yet, I was uncertain exactly what “stress” I was supposed to eliminate. In my job as an Executive Director at a treatment center I was responsible for the well-being of a lot of people – staff and patients. In my personal life, I had responsibilities I could not just ignore or “eliminate”. I didn’t see how I could decrease my stress load, without increasing the possibility of letting people down, and that was a non-negotiable for this recovering people pleaser. 

The reality for all of us, is that stress is a part of life. From pressing project deadlines at work or school, to conflict in our relationships, to freeway traffic jams – life is stressful on the daily. No surprises there. What you may be surprised to learn is that our bodies actually have a built in stress response system designed to handle fleeting or short-term stress; it’s called the Autonomic Nervous System (ANS). Most of us know it as the fight, flight, or freeze response. It’s when stressors accumulate, becoming extensive and unmanageable, that the functionality of the ANS is impacted, as well as other areas, including our immune system, cognitive functionality, and emotional and mental health. When our system as a whole gets overwhelmed it goes offline. 

In addition to everyday stressors, within the last two years, I had sustained what mental health professionals would classify as major traumatic events – not one, but three of them. It doesn’t sound like much over the course of two years, but when none of the stressors from any given event decrease over time, the buildup can be overwhelming – and toxic. Toxic stress isn’t a single event, but a response to prolonged adversity, typically through a series of events. If you’re concerned you may be experiencing toxic stress, pay attention to the physical, emotional, and mental warning signs.        

Signs that you may have Toxic Stress as an adult: 

• Persistent headaches
• Chronic pain or muscle tension
• Gastrointestinal distress
• Physical fatigue
• Racing heart
• Shortness of breath
• Inflammation
• Hypertension
• Dizziness
• Dermatitis
• Changes in appetite and weight
• Insomnia & sleep disturbances
• Emotional exhaustion
• Loss of motivation
• Persevering sadness or depression
• Irritability
• Anxiety
• Racing thoughts
• Social withdrawal
• Difficulty concentrating and making decisions
• Feeling overwhelmed consistently 

It’s important to note that these symptoms can vary widely by individual. I’ll spare you the nitty gritty of the symptoms that I battled; what’s relevant is how challenging it can be to pinpoint toxic stress, when so many of the symptoms can mirror other conditions. The treatment involves self-care and lifestyle adjustments that include eliminating sources of stress. This is what my team of physicians repeatedly told me to do. It took me some time to understand the severity of my overloaded and malfunctioning ANS. 

Nearly 16 months after my symptoms began, the weight of taking care of everyone else and ignoring my own needs became so heavy I almost collapsed from exhaustion one evening. I could no longer ignore that my health was in serious jeopardy. I had the tearful conversation with my supervisor that I had been dreading and turned in my resignation at the organization where I had worked for 13 years. It was painful. I loved the team I had hired and developed. I found the work that we did to be meaningful and rewarding but I could not deny that the job was extremely demanding – and stressful. It was the only ingredient in my stress cocktail that I could alter. I knew something had to change, and I was starting to understand that I was the only one with the ability to make the needed adjustments for my health and well-being. To quote a popular motivational saying, “nothing changes if nothing changes.” 

So, this recovering people pleaser pushed the pause button, before life could push pause on me. That one decision changed everything, and my healing began. 

Hope whispers, nothing changes if nothing changes.  

Upon leaving my corporate career in June of 2025, I chose to take a sabbatical from work. I was unsure how much time I would need, and none of my doctors could tell me – “you’ll know” was the response when I inquired. I decided to take the rest of the year off, while continuing to assess my health along the way. The term sabbatical originates from the Hebrew word Shabbat, meaning “rest”. And that’s exactly what I needed to do, but this was uncharted territory for me, an Enneagram 2 (helper) with a 3 wing (achiever). I was so exhausted physically and emotionally however, that rest came easily. I slept. A lot. I gave myself permission to listen to my body, and that’s what it wanted to do. 

When I wasn’t sleeping, I took long, unhurried walks with my dog. I read books that I had begun, but never finished. I started taking a Pilates class. I resisted the urge to sit down and create “to-do” lists and instead, sat on the beach and watched the waves move in and out. It was soothing. I also spent a lot of time sitting on my back patio reading and reflecting on my life while watching the birds come and go. With a half a dozen bird feeders courtesy of my husband’s obsession, our patio and the green beyond had been a bird sanctuary for years, but I was always in too much of a hurry to sit and enjoy it. Now, when I sat on the patio talking to God, hummingbirds would show up. It felt very spiritual. Watching their tiny wings hover over our hydrangeas brought calm to my overloaded nervous system. I began to breathe easier – and deeper. Slowly, on those quiet summer afternoons, like ice melting, I could feel my ANS resetting.

At first, having a lot of time on my hands felt strange, as did prioritizing my self-care. Yet, I enjoyed the fact that I was physically feeling a bit better, so I leaned into the heart of my sabbatical and developed a new normal of taking care of myself. When I allowed my body and my mind to rest consistently, some wonderful changes started taking place – some I noticed almost immediately, some after a few weeks, and even more after a few months. For one, my brain slowed down and stopped pumping out anxious thoughts, concerns, and lists of action items non-stop. I slept deeply and uninterrupted. My energy level began to come back. My inner peace returned, as I spent more time nurturing my spirit and my relationship with God. My joy resurfaced and I found delight in little things that had given way previously to feeling more like a chore due to a jam-packed schedule; cooking, planning adventures both big and small, creative writing. My husband and I did some traveling, and our relationship blossomed, untethered from distress and nourished with quality time. And the many physical symptoms that had bogged me down started to dissipate; some decreased over time and some completely disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as they had emerged. 

Now, more than seven months into my sabbatical, I am closing out this season, emerging rested, refreshed and ready to enjoy new adventures, personally and professionally. When I slowed down, my sense of clarity sped up. I realized if I was going to continue to build resilience through adversity, (because life will keep bringing it) I needed to consistently prioritize self-care – not just in the season of sabbatical. Continued awareness and learning about toxic stress, coupled with prevention, included. 

While there is the toxic stress theory that poses, prolonged exposure to stressors without adequate support can lead to long-term negative effects on physical and mental health, it is identified only as a “condition” – not as a formal medical or mental health diagnosis. This means neither medical or mental health providers can document it as such, which I believe contributes to the hesitation in clearly naming it. There are only veiled whispers to “eliminate some stress”. Childhood toxic stress is something you hear referenced as a contributing condition to other medical or mental health illnesses, but it’s not widely recognized as a condition in adults. Yet, there isn’t much research on it, which means we aren’t talking about it enough in the medical and mental health community. However, through ongoing investigation during my sabbatical, I realized that I was not alone in my battle with this phantom condition. I discovered that some research suggests that around 20% of people in the U.S. live with the effects of toxic stress. That tracks, based on what I’ve seen in my professional experience alone as a mental health therapist. 

So, if that many people are struggling with toxic stress, why aren’t we talking about it? I don’t know the answer to that question, but I do know that after my experience with toxic stress, I want that to change. I want us to talk about it. Change starts one conversation at a time. My hope is that this post will be the first of many conversations, articles, ongoing research, and eventually, education by many contributors on how to diagnose and treat toxic stress in adults. 

Because nothing changes if nothing changes.