For the woman who doesn’t know how to exist without a timeline taped to your back…Without a finish line in front of you. Without a coach, a calendar, a goal weight, a sales target, or a “next big thing” you’re racing toward.

For the one who’s been surviving on adrenaline and fear and proving yourself...Even when you swore you were done doing that.

This IS for YOU.

I don’t know a life without deadlines and ultimatums.

Hurry up and get ready for your dads. Now pack your things to go back to your mom’s. Be here at this time. Don’t be late. Why weren’t you here longer? Why can’t you stay?

Six weeks to lose 25 pounds. Sixteen weeks to train for the marathon. This many reps. This many sets. This much weight. Eat this. Don’t eat that. More protein. Less carbs. No fat. Wait, no-eat the fats. Go vegan. Nope. Go Carnivore. Fasting. Timed feeding windows.

Journalism had deadlines too. Word count by noon. Edits by two. Photos in by three. Print by five or you’re late. Unprofessional. Behind. Replaceable.

Academics. Sports. Business. Even relationships felt like performance contracts. Show up on time. Say the right thing. Be what they need. Be low-key. Be impressive. Be fine.

Always be fine.

Even healing came with a countdown clock.

Hurry up and get better so you can get back to your babies. Two little kids. Four and six. Needing their mom back. Needing me alive. And me… needing to be needed. So I rushed through recovery like it was another finish line.

Start. Sprint. Collapse. Repeat. Perform. Achieve. Earn. Prove. Be too much. Then not enough. Then both. All at once.

Even rest had rules. Joy had a timestamp. Hustle Monday to Friday… so you “earn” your weekend. Hit your macros… so you “deserve” a night out. Push through exhaustion… so you can collapse later with pride.

And through it all… The silent deadline breathing down my neck. The one that’s not on a calendar, but still there… Every hour. Every decision. Every project. Every post. Every dream.

Death. The Grim Reaper at my back. The mortality motivation baked into every launch, every idea, every sprint.

Time is sand slipping through my hands.

If I don’t move faster… harder… stronger…I’ll miss my shot. I’ll run out of days. I’ll leave too much unfinished. Too much unsaid.

It’s not urgency. It’s survival instinct. It’s trauma reflex.

It’s "What if tomorrow doesn’t come?" It’s "What if this is my last chance to build it, say it, live it, write it, leave it?"

Sitting across from my coach… Telling her all of it. The pressure. The reasons I stay spinning like this.

Waiting for her to hand me my next strategy. My next quarterly target. My next checklist to outrun my own fear of disappearing.

What she said ...

Loud. Clear. Non-negotiable.

Easy.

F the DEADLINES

F the GOALS

And just like that something suddenly filled my veins. Prickly. Electric. Unsettling. Like ripping off a skin I didn’t know I was wearing. An unraveling. An unfolding. Of every lie I’d built my worth and identity on.

It’s not a matter of IF. It's not even about WHEN anymore. It is about NOW.

NOW… I don’t have to hustle to be loved. I don’t have to count to feel in control. I don’t have to bleed to prove I’m alive. I don’t have to trade peace for progress. I don’t have to bargain with my own body. My own time. My own breath. NOW… I let it unfold. Let God’s timing be. Let it be ENOUGH. Let my readiness - not my urgency BE the thing that carries me. Let the results catch up to the woman I’ve decided I am and can be.

No more rushing. No more proving. No more starting and stopping. No more prepping for some imaginary finish line. No more punishing myself because I got another day.

For once. For real. For good. For NOW. I, You, We -Unfold.

Author, Robyn Lynn Tanner