The signs of my limits that my body taught me.

About two years before I resigned, my body began to experience clear and distinct 'abnormalities'.

When it was time to go to bed, I couldn't stop feeling the urge to urinate. As I tried to get into bed, anxiety would well up, and I would head to the bathroom again. But almost nothing would come out. Even so, dominated by the premonition that 'I feel like I'll need to go again,' I would sometimes go back and forth to the bathroom four or five times a night.

I was so anxious I couldn't leave the bathroom. I even clogged the toilet once from flushing it too many times. It's a bit of a funny story now, but at the time, I was simply paralyzed by the 'terror of losing control over my own body'.

For 15 years, I had been running within an organization. I took it for granted that I had responsibilities, and that being busy was proof of a fulfilling life. I convinced myself of this, facing external numbers and someone else's definition of success, but my inner self had been screaming for a long time.

The symptoms gradually began to erode my daily life. Before going to sleep at night, before getting on a train, while heading to a destination—whenever I was placed in an environment where I 'couldn't go to the bathroom,' my heart would invariably start pounding.

The test results at the urology clinic showed 'no physical abnormalities.' When I stared at the word 'psychogenic' that I had arrived at on the internet, I finally realized.

My body had been sending me signs for a long time, saying, 'I can't take it anymore.' It was the price I paid for continuing to ignore my own senses—what you might call the 'fit' of my life.

I started by practicing giving myself permission to be anxious. 'It's okay if I have an accident.' 'It's going to be alright.' 'Whatever happens, I'll manage.'

It wasn't about trying to erase the anxiety, but rather a feeling of soothing my trembling self.

It's not a simple story of me quitting my job because of this experience. However, long before my mind thought about wanting to quit, my body had already exceeded its limits.

Even now, as I have jumped out of the company, spent time abroad, and am 're-editing' myself, these symptoms haven't completely disappeared. But now, I have come to think of even that urge to urinate as an important 'compass' to measure my own condition.

If there is anyone out there right now who is suffering from unexplained physical ailments, I want to tell you this: It is not 'laziness' or 'weakness.' It is an honest sign that your soul is desperately trying to let you know about the 'mismatch' with your current environment.

2026. I am walking forward once again. Not bound by a specific title, but using this sharpened sense as my compass, savoring every moment.

This article is a small record, gifted from me—who is still in the middle of the fight—to someone like my former self.