I’ve been living with a slow puncture I never noticed. Energy seeping through a thousand micro-reactions. Emotional responses to things that don’t merit a response. Stress manufactured from the thinnest air. Then I wonder why I’m perpetually exhausted while simultaneously being very inefficient.
The culprit isn’t overworking or poor sleep habits, though they certainly contribute. It’s an absence of emotional sovereignty. The inability to choose your internal state regardless of what’s happening on the outside.
I learned this the hard way. Recently getting to the evening feeling as though I’d been through a washing machine. Project delays or new work that would make my shoulders feel tense. Every traffic light would turn red and irritation would flood my chest. Someone would speak to me in a particular tone, and I’d carry that interaction for hours, turning it over like a stone in my pocket.
Each reaction was small and seemingly insignificant. But cumulatively, they were hemorrhaging energy that belonged to me.
Reactivity
The nervous system rarely tells between threats and perceived slights. When we work ourselves over about a soul-snatching work or an inconsiderate driver, our body responds as though we're facing genuine danger. Stress hormones flood the system, the heart rate increases, muscles tense. Energy that could be directed toward the solution of meaningful work or genuine connection gets burnt up in service of absolutely nothing.
It’s the cruel arithmetic of emotional dysregulation: every unnecessary reaction is energy stolen from yourself. When you allow the outer world to dictate your internal state, you're essentially handing over your power to whatever random irritant happens to cross your path.
The exhaustion isn't from the events themselves; it's from the internal weather you're creating in response.
Through necessity rather than wisdom, I found that that calmness is a skill, like learning to read or ride a bicycle. And like any skill, it takes practice until it becomes your nervous system's default response.
Most of our emotional reactions are inherited. We know this because, well, why would we choose them? We respond to authority figures the way we responded to our parents. We interpret neutral expressions as disapproval because that's what we learned to watch for. We carry decades-old programming that treats every minor conflict as though our survival depends on winning it.
The first step toward energy conservation is developing what we’ll call "reaction archaeology"—to pause and examine where your response is actually coming from. That flash of anger when someone interrupts you? It might have nothing to do with the interruption and everything to do with feeling unheard as a kid. The anxiety that grips you before social events? Maybe it's less about the current situation and more about old fears of rejection.
We’re not psychoanalysing ourselves into paralysis. we’re recognising that most of our emotional responses are automatic, historical, and optional.
When you begin to see your reactions as data rather than directives, something shifts. The story changes from "I’m angry" to "I notice anger arising." From "This is stressful" to "I'm having a stress response." The difference is subtle but transformative—it creates space between you and your emotions, allowing you to choose your response before being conscripted by it.
Sovereignty
True energy comes from emotional discipline. The conscious choice to say which emotions deserve your engagement and which can be observed and released.
I started small. When stuck in traffic, instead of letting frustration build, I'd breathe and remind myself that my irritation wouldn't change the situation but would certainly change my mood for the next hour. When receiving criticism, rather than immediately defending myself, I'd pause and consider whether there was something useful to extract before deciding how to respond.
Each time you choose calm over reaction, you're preserving energy and rewiring your nervous system. You're teaching your body that external chaos never requires internal chaos. Though it might tempt you, you can remain centred whilst storms rage around you.
When you stop wasting energy on automatic reactions, you have far more available for intentional responses. You can contribute to conversations that genuinely need your input, and show up fully for moments that deserve your presence.
The Compound Effect
The transformation isn't immediate, but it's inevitable. After months of practising emotional regulation, you gradually finishing days with more energy to spare. Like weeks of endurance training and finding yourself going a few miles longer each week.
Your mind clears because it's rarely processing unnecessary stress. Your relationships improve because you're responding to people, not reacting to your projections.
Most importantly, you discover that high energy isn't about consuming more caffeine or optimising your sleep schedule, though those help. You’re mainly plugging the leaks in your emotional container. Refusing to let other people's moods, random inconveniences, and innate behaviour tell you what to do next like a puppet on strings.
The people who seem naturally energetic and clear-minded aren't necessarily doing anything you can't do. They've learned that staying calm is maintaining access to your full capacity as a human being.
Your energy belongs to you. The question is whether you'll protect it or continue giving it away to every passing irritation.