By Dr. Gwenna Aazee, Internal Medicine Physician | Hypertension Specialist
More from me: https://healthusias.com/author/gwenna
There’s a strange thing that happens when you sit across from a patient and tell them they have high blood pressure. Sometimes, they nod. Sometimes, they panic. Often, they say, “But I feel fine.”
That’s the complicated thing about hypertension. It’s often invisible, a slow-brewing storm beneath the surface. And for years, I treated it just like the textbooks said—medications, lifestyle advice, numbers on a chart. But the longer I worked in internal medicine, the more I realized: high blood pressure doesn’t just happen to the body. It often reflects what’s happening in a person’s life.
Stress. Overwhelm. Guilt. Unprocessed grief. Constant doing, never being. The relentless pressure of life in a world that demands more than it gives.
And somewhere along the way, I saw myself in my patients.
The Unseen Weight
There was a time when I carried my own version of hypertension—not in my arteries, but in my expectations. I thought being a “good doctor” meant always being in control, having the answers, never making mistakes. I worked long hours. Skipped meals. Ignored rest. Smiled through exhaustion.
On the outside? Functional. Productive. Impressive, even.
On the inside? Tight. Numb. Burned out.
That’s the thing about pressure—it doesn’t need to be loud to do damage. It can be silent, steady, and suffocating. Like blood pressure, it builds quietly until something breaks.
Medicine Beyond the Physical
Over the years, I’ve shifted the way I practice medicine. I still prescribe medication when it’s needed. I still track numbers. But I also ask deeper questions:
- How are you really sleeping?
- What are you holding in?
- Who takes care of you while you’re caring for everyone else?
Because here’s what I’ve learned: high blood pressure is rarely just about salt or genetics. It’s about the nervous system stuck in survival mode. It’s about people who’ve never had the luxury of slowing down. It’s about emotions that got buried so deep, the body had to speak for them.
The healing doesn’t just come from a pill—it comes from permission. Permission to rest. Permission to feel. Permission to let go.
Slowing Down Saved Me
I started practicing what I preached. I scheduled time for silence. I let myself cry without apologizing. I learned to say “I’m not okay” without adding, “...but it’s fine.” I stopped trying to be superhuman, and I started honoring my human needs.
And slowly, I felt my own internal pressure begin to lower. I didn’t become less effective—I became more present. Not just for my patients, but for myself.
You Are Not a Machine
If you’re reading this and nodding because it sounds familiar—because you, too, have been surviving on autopilot—let me say this clearly: you are not a machine. You don’t have to earn rest. You don’t have to justify slowing down. Your worth is not measured by how much you do.
Take the nap. Leave the dishes. Say no. Cry if you need to. Ask for help.
Because your body remembers every time you abandoned it for the sake of being “strong.” And your healing begins the moment you choose softness over self-punishment.
Final Thoughts from the Clinic
When patients come to me now with high blood pressure, I still do the exams. Still run the labs. But I also hold space for the person, not just the patient.
I remind them (and myself) that health isn’t just about surviving—it’s about returning to ourselves.
Your body is not the enemy. Your emotions are not distractions. Your need for peace is not weakness.
You deserve a life where your heart is calm—not just beating, but resting.
Dr. Gwenna Aazee is an Internal Medicine Physician specializing in Hypertension Management. She writes about healing, emotional wellness, and the intersection of medicine and humanity. Read more at https://healthusias.com/author/gwenna.
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