I’ve been doing some self-reflection lately and have come to a very official, very scientific conclusion: I am, in fact, a chihuahua. Not physically (obviously). But spiritually? Emotionally? Nervous-system-wise? Absolutely.

I actually said this out loud earlier this month in a post on LinkedIn, half joking, half… not, and the number of people who immediately understood exactly what I meant told me everything I needed to know. This isn’t just a “me” thing. And for a long time, I thought it was something I needed to fix.

Because in this industry, being “on” all the time can feel like the expectation. Fast responses. Constant availability. High energy. High care. High output. And I have all of that. Maybe… a little too much.

There’s an ever-present hum running in the background of my brain. I picture a tiny hummingbird just whizzing around in there. It’s energy. It’s urgency. It’s anxiety. It’s a flood of ideas I’m not entirely sure I have the bandwidth for. It’s the feeling that if I just push a little harder, stay on a little longer, answer one more message, think through one more idea… I’ll get ahead of it. Ahead of what? Not entirely sure.

And if I’m being honest… this isn’t new. I’ve always been like this. I remember being in high school, sitting at my parents’ dining room table, completely locked into writing a paper. I had a vision for it and felt like I had to start immediately, despite having a semi-formal that night. So there I was, fully dressed, hair in an updo, covered in what was probably an aggressive amount of hairspray… writing. I was so focused, so in it, so determined to get it just right that I lost all sense of time.

At some point, I realized I was about to be late. So I rushed, threw everything together, grabbed my things, and ran out the door. It wasn’t until I was sitting in the car that it hit me: I had been so engrossed in what I was doing… I forgot to shave my legs.

At the time, it felt like a funny, slightly chaotic, very on-brand moment. Looking back, it feels more like a preview. Because that same tendency to go all in, to lock in so deeply that everything else fades out, didn’t stay in high school. It just followed me into adulthood and into this industry.

For most of my life, I thought I was just someone who needed to learn how to “calm down.” But that never really worked. Because telling someone like me to “just chill” is like telling a chihuahua not to shake. It’s not that simple.

The truth is, this energy has been the reason I’ve been able to build anything at all. When I care about something, I am all in. I will build it. I will talk about it. I will connect people to it. I will lose sleep over it, not ideal, but accurate. And in this industry, where relationships and momentum matter, that kind of energy can take you pretty far.

But there’s another side to it. Because the same energy that helps you build will also run you straight into the ground if you’re not paying attention. I’ve had plenty of moments where I cared so much about something, an event, a project, a person, that I completely ignored my own limits. Not intentionally. Just gradually. The same way you don’t realize you’ve skipped a step until you’re already in the car.

So I’ve been trying to shift the way I think about it. Not “how do I become someone who doesn’t feel this way?” but “how do I work with it?” How do I tame it so I’m the one in control and it’s not overtaking me? Because this energy isn’t going anywhere.

What I’m starting to learn is that it’s not about shutting it off. It’s about containing it, directing it, and respecting the fact that just because I can go all in… doesn’t mean I always should. It means building boundaries, even when they feel unnatural. It means protecting my time and energy like they’re limited resources, because they are. It means letting myself rest without immediately trying to justify it.

And maybe most importantly, it means recognizing that being high-energy, highly invested, and deeply passionate is not a flaw. Running on empty is.

So if you’ve ever felt like you’re “too much” in this industry, or anywhere else, too intense, too invested, too on, maybe you’re not the problem. Maybe you’re just a human chihuahua like me. And maybe the goal isn’t to become someone who “just chills.” Maybe it’s to learn how to harness that energy without letting it take you down with it.