The Cheerleader and the Swimmer

There is a two-headed ball of energy inside me that is at once a fearless leader, charging into life’s to-do lists and projects and Getting Things Done with the fervor of the Texas Cheerleader-Murdering Mom, and a bewildered passenger wanting it to slow down a bit, finding time to read and walk in nature and just “be.”  You can guess who most often wins.

The “cheerleader” (let’s call her that) has power — I won’t deny this. She is a force to be reckoned with. She is the reason I’ve lived most of my life as what others might call an overachiever. And I’ve fought my way through some challenging times and made things turn out okay by sheer force of will. Great job, thanks cheerleader.

But she’s also an anxiety-fuelled slave driver. No sooner am I halfway through a task than the next must-do project pops into my head — “ooh! Must start pulling together a list of summer camps!” “Must get my will drafted!” “Must create that photo collage for X’s personalised birthday card!” “Must clear out the garage!”

Since I stopped drinking, my productivity has shot through the roof. And don’t get me wrong, this is amazing. Like, my house is clean. My Inbox is up-to-date and neatly categorised into labelled folders (which still aren’t quite right, might need to be tweaked, says the cheerleader). I wake up without makeup and I make it to appointments on time. It’s exhilarating.

But I can also feel the other one — let’s call her the swimmer, because I never feel more content than when I’m swimming — gently resisting and resenting all this combustion and anxiety. Because it’s exhausting. She is left grinding her teeth with anxiety. And for years, she has only been able to overcome the strength of her twin sister by knocking her over the head with a wine bottle.

I’ve been researching alcohol and addiction for many years now (and when I say “researching” I don’t just mean drinking loads of booze har har, yuk yuk).  I am convinced that it is rooted in pain and the desire to escape that pain. People who have a problem with drinking drink for different reasons — depression, anxiety, trauma, anger, fear — all negative stuff. Alcohol simply makes it better, and then it makes it worse. Rinse, repeat. 

So, I’ve been thinking, what if part of my pain (I have trauma as well, but that’s another thing) is this manic cheerleader inside my head who won’t just let the swimmer have a rest?

So I did some Googling.

Apparently, it’s a thing. "Hyperproductivity" is the most common everyday term for this pattern — a compulsive need to always be doing, achieving, or optimising.  And it’s described in a few different ways.

There’s a concept from mindfulness psychology of “doing mode" vs. "being mode" — being stuck in "doing mode," where the mind is constantly task-focused and unable to simply exist without a goal.

There’s also "rest anxiety" or "productivity guilt" — the specific discomfort or guilt people feel when they try to relax but can't, because their brain tells them they should be doing something.

And then there’s a cultural dimension — hustle culture has normalised and even glorified this state, sometimes making it hard for people to recognise it as a problem.

Oooooh yes. That resonates.  All of it.

It begins to explain why I find meditation so challenging and, frustratingly, disappointing. Rather than making me feel relaxed, it makes me feel more stressed because I know I’m not “doing it right.”  I’m aware this is a practice that gets easier with time, but ironically even thinking about it right now makes me anxious, and I start regulating my breathing, like a snake eating its own tail.

In some cases, hyperproductivity can be a symptom of anxiety disorders, OCD, ADHD (especially in adults who've developed hyperproductive coping mechanisms), or even hypomania/mania. But I’m not exploring these avenues yet, because well, baby steps.

Anyway, I’m beginning to come to terms with the idea that perhaps alcohol was providing a kind of "forced permission" for me to stop — chemically quieting my doing-mode brain. Without it, that relief mechanism is now gone, and the underlying restlessness is more exposed. And I've found this hard, probably the most difficult aspect of my sobriety so far (hence why I'm writing about it). But it's a valuable realisation and hopefully something I can start working with.

Ironically, it's going to take discipline. And focus. And planning.

Another job for the cheerleader. 😉