Tracy Tutty: There's a particular kind of exhausted that doesn't show up as tired. It shows up as capable on Monday and struggling to keep pace by Wednesday. Decisive in one hour and strangely blank in the next, with no real explanation, but nothing about the week has actually changed. Underneath that is what's actually happening in your body and in your brain, in those moments where capacity seems to vanish without warning. And why it's got nothing to do with discipline, standards, or even how hard you're trying. By the end of this episode, the version of you that goes quiet in a meeting, snaps at something small, or can't switch off on that drive home is gonna make a lot more sense. And so is what actually helps. And the good news is that it's got very little to do with trying harder. Let's get started, shall we? Welcome to Project Joyful, the podcast for health-centered leaders. Project Joyful is a space for conversations at the intersection of leadership, health, and lived experience. Here we explore what it means to lead in ways that honour your body, protect long-term capacity, and support a life that feels as good on the inside as it looks on the outside. This episode is part of the Biology of Leadership series. In this series, We explore leadership through your body, not as a performance to optimize or a mindset to fix, but as a biological experience shaped over time. Leadership doesn't just live in decisions, strategies, or roles. It lives in your nervous system, in how responsibility is held, and how reliability and care quietly organize your body long before your consciously aware. These conversations are for leaders who are capable, trusted, and effective, and who are curious about how leadership is experienced internally, not just how it performs externally. There's nothing you need to do as you listen, no insight you need to apply. This is simply an invitation to understand what's been shaping your experience of leadership beneath this service. And what's become possible. Biology becomes part of the conversation. Let's begin, shall we? Some days you walk into a meeting and you are shar. You're three steps ahead of the conversation. You can hold six things in your head at once and still land the point you came in to make. And other days, the exact same meeting, same people, same stakes, and you're reaching for a word that was sitting right there yesterday. You feel it happen in real time. You know that half second where your mind goes quiet on you. Right when you need it most, and something underneath you tightens because you know you can feel it. This isn't you on a normal day. Now nothing on the outside has changed. You're in the same role, same skill set, same person who's done this a hundred times before. And yet on the inside, that day itself feels completely different as you move through it. Most of us don't stop and ask why. We just quietly file it away as evidence. Maybe I'm a bit off today. Maybe I didn't sleep well. Maybe I'm just not as sharp as I used to be. But that's not actually what's happening. It's not the season you're in. You haven't lost your edge. It's not inconsistency. That's your capacity changing under pressure. You walk into the meeting already halfway through the agenda in your head, you know, the way you always do. And someone asks a question that you have fielded a hundred times before. Except this time, when you reach for the answer, there's nothing where it usually is. Outwardly you're nodding. Maybe you're repeating part of the question back, you know, buying yourself a second. Then another. While underneath something searching fast and starting to feel a little frantic now, searching through a space that's usually fully stopped. And is right now just empty. So eventually you find the answer, just like you always do, but it's a few seconds later than you'd like. And it's said with slightly less certainty than you actually have. And the meeting moves on. Nobody else noticed anything, but you did. And you carry it with you out of that room. The small private evidence that something wasn't quite where it should have been. You get back to your desk and Maybe there's an email waiting, you know, nothing complicated, a handful of lines. And you read it once, nothing lands. You read it again. Somewhere on the second or third pass, you become aware that you're not actually taking in the words anymore. You're just moving your eyes across them. And underneath your ribs there's that tightness that's got nothing to do with that email at all. It's still there from the meeting. It never actually left. You just stopped noticing it because you were busy trying to look like someone whose morning was going fine. You close the email because you'll come back to it. Or maybe someone forwards you an email that you think you should have been CC'd on in the first place. And you feel that before you've decided how you feel about it. Your jaw set, something rises fast through your chest, and by the time you're typing a reply, your tone has already gone sharper than you meant it to be. By your last meeting of the day, you're already running on less than you started with. Two hours after that day ends, you're still in the car. Your body is entirely on this drive. Hands on the wheel, indicator on, and the rest of you is back in that room, running the same six seconds on repeat. The look on someone's face, the thing that you wish you'd said differently. See here's the thing, your brain's not a passive observer of your day. It's a busy brain. It's constantly predicting. It's running slightly ahead of you, scanning everything, coming in against everything that it's already learned. It's trying to flag danger before danger actually arrives. And that's a good thing. That's what's kept you safe. There's a part of your brain, the hypothalamus, that takes in what's happening both around you but also inside you. And it makes an incredibly fast read. And here's the question Am I safe? Am I unsafe? And that read includes what's actually happening internally, including the split second you notice you don't have something that you expect to have. For someone whose sense of safety has been built on being capable, prepared, always on top of it. That gap, that microsecond where the answer's not instantly available, well that's exactly the kind of signal that your system is scanning for. And it calls it Not safe. So once that read back comes, it goes straight to your amygdala, your brain's threat detection system. And the amygdala doesn't wait for permission, right? It's ready. It doesn't check in with the part of you that thinks things through. It weighs options, chooses words carefully, doesn't do any of that. It acts. Heart rate up, stress hormones released, resources redirected. All before you've had a single conscious thought about what's actually going on. And that's what's happened in that meeting. The moment the answer wasn't instantly there, your system read the gap itself as a threat and it reacted to it. Faster than the thinking part of your brain could weigh in. Control had already shifted to the part of your brain that's built purely for survival, which is why it felt like your own mind went quiet on you. Because it had. Now there's a term for the range where your system can actually process what's in front of it without tipping into overwhelm. It's called your window of tolerance, the ventral vagal state, the sweet spot. Inside it, you have real access to yourself, your rational thought, your longer view, the version of you that can lead from what she knows rather than react to what she's afraid of. Outside that window in either direction the access goes. So picture it as a band of tolerance that's got a width to it. So too narrow and even ordinary day to day pressure is enough to tip you outside of it. Into activation or into shutdown. And it's before you've had a chance to consciously respond to anything. Make that band wider and you can hold more. You stay present through more without your system reading it as an emergency. That width isn't the same for everyone. And the good news is it's not fixed for you either. It's shaped by what you've lived through, what your nervous system has learned to expect, and how much capacity you've actually built to stay present under pressure rather than react to it. Which means that it moves. It can narrow temporarily on a day where your system's already holding more than usual, even if nothing about that day looks different from the outside. And it can widen over time as your nervous system learns again and again that it's actually safe to stay present instead of needing to protect you from something that actually was never really a threat to begin with. Now one direction outside that window was activation, the sympathetic fight or flight response. Your system revs up, your thoughts move fast, your voice gets an edge to it that you didn't intend, and two hours later you're still in the car. Re-fighting a conversation that nobody's actually in anymore. The other direction is shut down, dorsal vagal freeze or fawn. This is where things go quiet and foggy. The door closes, and something that's usually right there simply isn't available. Your capacity, the amount you can actually hold and still function well, well that was never a fixed number. It's the width of that window in that moment. Pressure narrows it, that's physiology. Your body runs on a budget. Energy in, energy allocated, energy spent. It does this every single day whether you're conscious of it or not. And there are three parts to it. Reserve, repair, and recovery. And they're doing different jobs. Reserve is what's already sitting in the account before your day's even started. It's built from how you slept. What you've eaten lately, what your hormones are doing that week, how much unresolved stress you're still carrying from yesterday or from the week before that. It also shifts over a much longer arc based on how you've danced with life, whether the harder seasons actually got moved through or whether they're still sitting there unresolved, quietly drawing that account down. So on a day with healthy reserve. An unexpected problem lands and there's slack in the system to absorb it. You read the difficult email, you feel something, you do the thing, and you move on. On a day with almost nothing in reserve, the exact same email costs more. Not because the email is worse, but because there's nothing left within you to cushion it with. Okay, so let's talk about repair. So Repair is what your body does in the background. It does it while you're still active, while you're still in the meeting, still switched on. It's the small recess that happen between demands, things like cortisol clearing, your system briefly dropping out of alert mode in the gaps, that is, if there are any gaps. Even a few slow breaths can do this, especially if the out breath is longer than the in breath. Because a longer exhale Sends a signal to your vagus nerve. It tells your body that the alert can stand down even briefly, even just walking to get a coffee. Now, this is something that's so easy to do at work and no one knows you're doing it. Just breathing out longer than the in breath. A pause between calls, where nothing's required of you, it does the same thing. Now repair also happens overnight while you're asleep, which is part of why sleep debt. Hits so differently when you're already running close to the edge. It's not just tiredness the next day, it's that the repair shift never actually clocked it. Recovery is different again. And it's the one that people confuse most with rest. So recovery only happens when your system gets to stand down. And I mean fully off duty. Not scrolling your phone on the couch. Not half switched off with your laptop open on the other side of the room in case something comes through. Your nervous system can tell the difference between actually being off and being technically off while still on standby, and it only counts the first one. None of this happens in a single day. It draws down quietly over weeks. A late night here, a holiday where part of you never actually left your inbox. A weekend where recovery never got to start because you checked teams even just once, just to see where things were at. And that one check was enough to keep your system on standby for that whole weekend. By the time you get to an ordinary Tuesday, the account can be sitting close to empty without a single event that you could point it to and say, ⁓ that's what did it. Which is why the C seed email costs what it costs. It was never really about that email. There was nothing left in reserve to absorb it with, so the full cost landed all at once, out loud, in your voice before you decided anything about how you wanted to respond. So you haven't lost your edge. Your body is doing exactly what a body under sustained load is designed to do. It's protecting what little reserve is left rather than spending it freely the way it does when the account is full. Which changes what the actual work is because it was never about forcing your way through a narrow window on willpower alone. It's about rebuilding what's underneath it, restoring the reserve, letting repair actually happen. Protecting recovery is non negotiable rather than the first thing that's sacrificed when your week fills up. When your budget's healthy, the window widens on its own. And you start needing to Force your way into more capacity because you've stopped spending faster than you can replenish. There's a version of that same Tuesday where the account isn't running on empty. The question lands in the meeting and the answer's just there, waiting, the way it used to be. And you say it without the half second of searching, without your heart finding your throat. The email you weren't C C'd on lands is maybe mild irritation instead of a chest full of heat that moves through your voice before you've decided anything. You leave your last meeting of the day and it actually stays in the room because there's nothing underneath pulling you back into it two hours later in the car. None of that requires you to become someone else or find a new level of discipline that you haven't tried yet. Or even push through on willpower the way that you may have been taught to. It requires the account to have something in it before the pressure ever arrives. Which means the work was never about managing your reaction in the moment. It's about what you've already built into reserve long before that meeting starts. This is what I mean when I talk about the biology of leadership. Not leadership is a set of behaviors that you perform under pressure. You know, the better answers, the calmer tone, a face that doesn't give anything away. Leadership is something built underneath all of that, and how well your reserve is protected, how much repair your system actually gets, whether recovery is real or just technically off duty. Widen that and the window widens with it. You get to hold more, lead through more, without it costing you the way that it used to. This is the work I do with women privately, inside revitalize. It's not about fixing what's wrong with you because nothing is. It's about the patterns that got you here so capably, so successfully, and asking whether they're still the ones you want carrying you into whatever's next. We work at the level of your identity, the story you've built about who you have to be to stay safe and worthy. Subconscious patterning, the automatic responses running underneath your conscious choices, the kind that we've just walked through together here. And nervous system coherence, that window actually widening, rather than something that you white knuckle your way through. It's a different way of leading, achieving and living. One where success stops depending on control and overperformance to hold it together. Now you can read more about this at tracy tutty.com forward slash revitalize. And I'll leave that link in the show notes as well. I'm sending you lots of love. Bye for now. Hey, thanks for listening to today's podcast. Can I ask you a favor? Tell Conversation spoke to you today. 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