Performance Review of A Nervous System

 

When I was twelve, the Iraqi Baccalaureate exams felt like a verdict on my entire future. Admission into Baghdad College wasn’t just school placement; it was proof that I was what I said I was capable, exceptional, and worth the investment.

My mother, who rivals Mother Teresa in patience, sat with me for hours. She recited; I repeated. We treated preparation like a campaign. Discipline was love in our house during exam season.

One afternoon, during a study session, Forrest Gump was playing in the background. We both noticed we were paying more attention to the movie than to the material. There was a brief pause. Then we made a quiet decision: we would watch the film.

That moment stayed with me.

Forrest moves through the world with a kind of uncomplicated kindness. He does not overthink his goodness. He simply practices it. The scene where his braces break and he runs has always felt symbolic; constraint giving way to motion. Effort turning into momentum.

I used to relate to that momentum.

Lately, I don’t.

I don't think I can run anymore but my musculoskeletal failures are not the topic here.

I feel tired in a way that sleep does not fix. There are too many people. Too many conversations. Too many smells, sounds, alerts. My phone vibrates; the television echoes it; the watch confirms it. Silence is rare. True quiet is almost extinct.

Every notification feels like a small demand. Reply. Decide. Engage. Clarify. Corporate life amplifies this. Meetings stack without space between them. Emotional regulation becomes part of the job description. You are expected to be rational, empathetic, strategic, and available and often at the same time.

The exhaustion is not dramatic. It is constant.

I leave my phone unanswered for hours. Not because I am detached, but because I cannot absorb another input. Accessibility has become a default expectation. If you are reachable, you are responsible.

Some days I realize I have been wearing the same clothes for several days. It is not a statement. It is efficiency. When you are overstimulated, small decisions feel unnecessary.

People, collectively, are overwhelming. Individually, many are decent. But together they generate noise and contradictions, urgency without importance, emotions without reflection.

If I were to evaluate my nervous system formally, it would look like this:

Strengths:

High tolerance for pressure.

Reliable output.

Emotional control in professional settings.

Weaknesses:

Overstimulation.

Decreasing patience for noise.

Limited capacity for constant interaction.

The child watching Forrest run believed that life was about acceleration and about breaking restraints and moving faster. 

The adult version of me suspects the opposite. The real skill may be learning when to stop.

I am not trying to run anymore.

I am trying to rest without feeling guilty for it.