Under Pressure

The Pressure, the Wine, and the Fuck-It Spiral

You know that moment when your brain short-circuits and all your good intentions scatter like confetti in a hurricane? That’s where I am. Right now. Premenstrual, overwhelmed, spiralling, and wondering (yet again) how the hell I keep getting stuck in the same cycle.

It usually starts with pressure.

The minute I put pressure on myself — to be better, to show up, to follow a plan — everything goes to shit.

And I think that’s why I haven’t stuck to a single workout routine, booze break, or food overhaul in nearly two years. Because behind all those ‘plans to get back on track’ is just me, desperately trying to hold it together. Trying to be okay. Trying to pull my brave face out of the cupboard and parade it around like everything’s fine.

It’s not. I’m tired.

I’m 10kg heavier than I want to be, anxious most days, and floating around like a lost soul hoping something will click. Hoping the next challenge or commitment will finally be it. The magic fix.

But life’s been hard lately. Emotionally, hormonally, just… hard. So I pile on more pressure to do the things that are supposed to make me feel better — running, eating well, quitting drinking, showing up. And then the second something else cracks (a plan, a mood, a relationship), I implode. I sabotage the very things I was clinging to. And then? I start again. Or try to.

Weirdly though, when I actually stop — stop pushing, stop forcing — and let myself be in the messy middle… that’s when the motivation creeps back in. Not when I’m pressuring myself, but when I just let myself feel things. That’s the maddening part.

I love a plan. I need lists. I crave structure. But when those things turn into a cage — when I judge myself for not sticking to them — it all becomes too much. I freeze. I disappear under a duvet with snacks and shame and a bottle of rosé whispering, “you deserve this.” And maybe I do. But I also know it’s hurting more than helping.

The wine’s the big one.

I know I need to stop. I’ve said it a million times.

And after a ‘good’ day — a solid workout, decent meals, feeling in control — 5 o’clock rolls around and I think, “What’s the harm in one little glass of wine in the sunshine?”

Spoiler: it’s never one.

It’s a bottle. It’s snacks. It’s waking up at 3am hating myself.

It’s making more empty promises to stop… until the next day.

Honestly, I feel full of shit sometimes.

All these plans. All this “I’ve got this” energy I try to put out there. But underneath it? I can’t seem to make it stick. And I don’t know why.

I just want to scream JUST STOP, JO!

You know better. You know what helps. You want to feel good again. So why can’t you just do it?

Maybe the truth is: I’m not broken. I’m just exhausted.

And maybe what I need isn’t another rigid plan, but more space.

More kindness.

More curiosity.

And less shame.

💛