Somewhere along the way, many of us seem to absorb a very particular idea about work. That if it doesn’t feel hard, heavy, stressful, or faintly miserable, then it probably doesn’t really count. If it isn’t accompanied by pressure, urgency, guilt, or that familiar tightening in the chest, then maybe we’re cheating. Taking shortcuts. Getting away with something.

For a lot of neurodivergent people especially, this belief runs deep. Not because it’s true, but because pressure works. Or at least, it appears to.

Many of us have learned to get things done by waiting until the discomfort becomes unavoidable. A deadline looms, adrenaline kicks in, the nervous system shifts into emergency mode and suddenly there it is: focus, clarity, productivity. We move, we deliver, we cope. Over time, the brain draws a very reasonable conclusion from this pattern. This is how we function. This is what gets results.

The problem is that what works in the short term can quietly cost us in the long run.

When work only happens under duress, the body starts to associate productivity with threat. Cortisol becomes a constant companion. Urgency replaces curiosity. Even tasks we are competent at, or once enjoyed, begin to feel heavy, draining, or strangely hard to start. Not because they are beyond us, but because our system is bracing before we’ve even begun.

What often gets missed here is that people who work this way are not unreliable, lazy, or lacking motivation. Quite the opposite. They get things done. They meet expectations. They deliver consistently. They just do it at a price that often goes unnoticed until it becomes unsustainable.

And when that cost starts to show up as exhaustion, resentment, shutdown, or avoidance, the conclusion we tend to draw is that we need more discipline. More pressure. More rules. More self-talk that sounds a lot like a stern authority figure telling us to pull ourselves together.

So we double down.

But what if the problem isn’t that you need more pressure? What if the only thing that really needs changing is the belief that pain is required for productivity?

This is something I see again and again. When the threat is removed, the capability does not disappear. People don’t suddenly stop functioning when things feel safer. In fact, they often function better. With more nuance, more flexibility, and a much deeper trust in themselves.

The work still gets done. Deadlines are still met. Standards don’t suddenly collapse. What changes is the constant background tension of having to push, brace, and override yourself in order to function.

This isn’t about pretending work is always joyful or turning every task into a passion project. Some things are boring. Some require effort, persistence, and focus. But effort is not the same thing as suffering, and ease is not the same thing as disengagement.

For many nervous systems, particularly those that have learned to survive through pushing, performing, or pleasing, the real shift begins with a different question. Not “How do I make myself do this?” but “What would this look like if it didn’t have to hurt?”

That question alone can be quietly radical.

Because when work stops being a threat, it stops demanding armour. And when the armour comes off, energy becomes available for thinking, creativity, and connection, rather than just survival.

Work does not have to hurt to count.

It just needs to be done in a way your nervous system can actually sustain.