Mitzi Wyman

The winter months often bring a particular kind of pressure. For those leading in complex systems - particularly within the NHS and wider public services - it is the visceral reality of "winter pressures”, the targets that are flashing red, the workforce gaps that cannot be filled, and the sheer volume of human need arriving at the front door.

Even when nothing in our working lives actually slows down, something in us seems to recognise that we’ve reached a threshold. People are tired. Illness is more visible. Energy feels thinner. And yet, the prevailing narrative is that stopping now would be irresponsible.

I noticed this pattern sharply this year because I ran into it myself. I became unwell - not dramatically, but enough to force a pause I hadn’t chosen. What surprised me was not the difficulty of stopping, but how unnecessary my resistance turned out to be. When I told clients I needed to slow things down, they were entirely understanding. More than that, they were generous. Turns out, the pressure I had been carrying was largely of my own making.

The Chemistry of Urgency

This leaves us with a question that feels uncomfortable to ask in what can feel like the middle of a crisis: What do we expect of ourselves? And, if we’re not careful, what are we therefore demanding of others? 

I hear versions of this constantly in my work with senior leaders. We see highly committed people pushing themselves through exhaustion. We have become experts at coping against the odds, and the public, clients, our paymasters, have come to expect it. But coping is a dangerous metric for success. We are often so good at it that we don’t notice when "coping" starts to erode the very qualities that make leadership wise, humane, and sustainable.

And urgency has a chemistry. In the face of these pressures, adrenaline becomes fuel. It sharpens focus and gets things done. But over time, the cost is that cortisol - the stress hormone - stays elevated. The nervous system never quite settles, and rest stops being restorative and starts to feel like a threat.

Many leaders are not just busy; they are wired for speed. Slowing down feels unsafe because the body has learned to equate pressure with effectiveness. And so, we keep going, often long past the point where it serves us or our organisations.

The Violence of Busyness

At moments of such intense systemic pressure, I return to a passage by Thomas Merton on what he called “modern violence”. He wasn’t referring to physical harm, but to the violence of relentless activity:

“The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence… The frenzy of the activist neutralises his (or her) work… It destroys the fruitfulness of his (or her) work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes it fruitful.”

This is the grit of the matter. Merton argues that this frenzy "kills the root of inner wisdom". When that inner wisdom is crowded out by the need to clear the inbox or manage the breach, leadership doesn’t necessarily fall apart. On the surface, it looks highly functional: decisions are made, work continues.

But judgment becomes thinner. Perspective narrows. Everything begins to feel urgent, while very little feels deeply considered. This is the leadership trap of doing too much and thinking too little. We rush, and without intending to, we expect the same of those around us, creating a culture where pausing looks like a luxury and ease feels undeserved.

Choosing to work to a different beat

My own enforced pause was a reminder that ease does not arrive on its own; it has to be chosen. Slowing down is not something the system - with its winter pressures and targets - will ever offer you. It is a leadership decision.

The hopeful truth is that this pattern is not fixed. Again and again, I see that when leaders choose to slow the pace even slightly, creating moments where thinking is not rushed and listening is not interrupted, something important returns. The nervous system settles, judgment sharpens, and people can hear themselves think again. This is where less is more becomes practical rather than philosophical. It is not about lowering standards or caring less about the waiting times. It is about recognising that the conditions in which we think shape the quality of what we decide.

The turn of the year offers a rare psychological opening. It is not a clean slate, but it is a moment of choice. So in this first quarter of the new year, I invite you to hold this question:

If you knew that less really is more, what one thing would you let go of?

Alongside that, I am carrying a phrase into the year ahead, drawn from Buddhist teaching: "from this moment on, you transform your life".

This is a reminder that every thought and every action is a choice. Leadership rarely changes through grand gestures; it changes when someone decides to slow down where they would normally rush, or to create a little more ease than habit allows. Small steps, taken consistently, can change the trajectory of a lifetime. 

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