Fight, Flight… or Unclench

How adrenaline control has improved my life

I’ve made a discovery, and it’s changing everything.
It started as a theory—but I’ve tested it, and it works.

Here it is:

Fear isn’t the problem.
Anger isn’t the problem.
Frustration isn’t the problem.

The problem is adrenaline—when it’s not helping.

Adrenaline is a drug.
Real, potent, physical.
It floods my muscles with blood so I can act—faster, harder, more forcefully.
Perfect for running from a lion.
Useless when I’m stuck on hold, waiting for test results, or replaying a conversation from three hours ago.

And here’s the key:

“Should I feel this way?” and “Should I pump adrenaline?” are two completely different questions.

I can be afraid.
I can be angry.
I can be frustrated.
No problem.

But that doesn’t mean I need to clench my body and flood my system with a chemical surge.

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The Question

So now, I do something different.

When I feel the surge, I ask:

Would this situation benefit from a physical boost of blood and muscular readiness?
Would improved physical performance actually help right now?

That second question is important—because the answer is often technically yes.
Sure, I could move faster, harder, sharper.
But the real question is:
Does that have anything to do with the situation I’m in?

If I’m waiting for test results, or stewing over something that already happened—
my ability to sprint or lift or fight is irrelevant.

These questions are not the same as:

“Should I be scared?”
“Should I be angry?”
“Am I overreacting?”

Those are philosophical questions.
They connect deeply to what matters to me—morally, emotionally, personally.
And determining the “correct” answer is incredibly complex.
It may take hours—or years—to sort out.
And whatever answer I land on today might change tomorrow.

But this question—

Do my muscles need a continued burst of adrenaline right now?

—answering that question is easy.
It’s about this moment.
It’s physical, not moral.
I don’t need a therapist to answer it. Just my body.

And for now, that’s the only question I care about.
The rest I can ponder later—when I’m calm, clean, and not pumping chemicals through my veins.

If the answer’s yes—fine. I let it run.
It’s rare, but sometimes I really do need that sudden burst of energy.
Sometimes the situation does call for a physical surge, and the system isn’t wrong to offer it.

If the answer’s no—I unclench.
I stop the surge.
That’s it.

I don’t argue with the feeling. I don’t try to be calm.
I just stop pumping.

Two questions.
Both worth asking.
But never confuse them.

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How I Trained It

At first, I only noticed the adrenaline after it had already taken over.
My jaw was tight, my breath shallow, my arms buzzing.
That’s when I’d remember: oh yeah, I don’t have to do this.

And here’s the wild part—
The correlation between unclenching and stopping the surge is practically immediate.
Not subtle. Not theoretical.
It actually feels good.
That sudden drop in pressure, that clean release—it’s physical relief.
The chemical backs off, and I can feel it happening in real time.

Each time I caught it—even late—I stopped the surge.
That act of interruption teaches my body what to watch for.
Now I often catch the surge quite early.
Sometimes instantly.
That sensitivity came from repetition—not thought.

I didn’t train my brain.
I trained my body to feel the chemical early and respond.

Sometimes the surge feels good—the feeling of excitement.
That’s fine. I ride it a little longer.
But even then, I cut it off before the flood.
Like any drug, adrenaline has a cost.

More often than not, it’s not a crisis that triggers the adrenaline—it’s a thought.
Something simple like: “I need to take out the garbage.”

I feel the surge start up, and then I realize—
this spike is coming from a task that doesn’t need a full-body mobilization.

The instinct isn’t wrong.
Adrenaline would help me get off the couch.
But it’s tuned for sprinting away from a lion, not dragging a bin to the curb.

So I scale it down.
I don’t need to flood my system to take action.
I can turn off the surge and still get the task done.

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The Real Cost

When adrenaline goes unchecked, cortisol follows.
That cortisol overload state?
It sucks.

When I’m in it, I’m stuck—foggy, drained, restless, and miserable.
There’s no clean way out. No switch to flip. Just vague, slow recovery.

That’s why adrenaline control matters so much.
Not because adrenaline itself is always bad—
But because it’s the doorway.

Let it flood too often, and cortisol walks right in behind it.
And once cortisol takes over, it’s too late.
I’m no longer managing a moment.
I’m managing a condition.

So now, I treat adrenaline like a drug with a high cost of abuse.

Feel the surge?
Ask the question.
If it’s not helping, don’t feed it.

That’s my only real shot at staying clear.

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Final Insight

I don’t need to turn off the fear.
I don’t need to fix the anger.
I don’t need to eliminate frustration.

I just need to stop clenching.

Let the feeling be there—without the flood.

That’s all it takes.