How do you feel about time passing? Do you move through your days feeling that there are never quite enough hours, or do the hours stretch out slowly? In the counselling room, time comes up often. Most counsellors will be curious not only about “why have you sought counselling?” but “why now?”
Many clients naturally move between past, present and future in what they share. Their age and stage influence how they feel about the time they’ve had and the time they imagine remains. Sometimes, what we call “time anxiety” points to something deeper – fears about mortality, meaning, or not having lived in a way that aligns with their hopes or expectations.
In this blog, I want to explore a very specific form of time anxiety: the anxiety around punctuality and deadlines. As someone who feels this myself, I know how tiring it can be when the strength of reliability goes into over-drive and becomes a burden.
My relationship with time.
I am never on time. I am always early, unless something very serious or unexpected has happened. I would rather be 15 minutes early than 30 seconds late, even when lateness carries no real consequences. Friends know this, and understand that I will arrive “on the dot” rather than “fashionably late”. On the rare occasion I do miss an appointment, colleagues worry in a way they wouldn’t for someone else; they know I’m not simply running behind.
My drive to be early applies to everything: formal appointments, casual meet ups, catching public transport, and even tasks that I’ve planned to do alone. If someone gives me a deadline, even if it is six or twelve months away, I notice the temptation to begin scoping, planning, and risk-mitigating almost immediately. Preparation helps me regulate. Once I’ve considered sequencing, backup plans, and contingencies, my mind can rest.
I used to berate myself for not “fixing” this time anxiety. Now, for myself and for clients, I’m more interested in understanding it, reducing its impact, recognising the gains of punctuality, and responding differently when I feel the familiar pressure to “get ahead of the curve”.
Where does deadline anxiety come from?
For many people, lateness in childhood carried consequences, or at least the threat of them. Families may have given explicit or implicit messaging around showing respect by being on time. At school, lateness often meant detention, and for clients only slightly older than me, corporal punishment was a real possibility.
In the workplace, deadlines are often rules, rather than suggestions. My first career was as a solicitor, where court timetables were strict; miss a deadline and your case could be struck out. Lateness meant losing – and paying the other side’s costs too.
The negative consequences of being late are made clear to many of us throughout our lives. So too are the positive consequences of timeliness: praise, appreciation, trust.
The problem with never being late is that we can build up an unrealistic idea of what lateness would feel like. Sometimes when I explore with a client “What’s the worst that’s ever happened” the response is “It never has happened and I don’t want to find out”. Our fear of lateness can be reinforced by our lack of experience of being late. Unless and until an appointment is missed, or a deadline exceeded, we don’t learn that the world keeps turning, relationships survive, and being behind schedule is rarely catastrophic.
What sits behind being “on time”?
As a counsellor, I look for the beliefs and values beneath behaviours. Those with punctuality anxiety might hold beliefs along the lines of:
- If I’m not late, I’m not inconveniencing anyone.
- If I’m early, it shows I really care.
- If I meet every deadline, people will know I’m a hard worker.
But I also recognise that other people might interpret earliness very differently:
- It’s inconvenient that she arrived early – I needed to finish getting ready.
- She’s early because she’s anxious – it’s not about me.
- This time focus looks like rigidity, and I value flexibility.
Recognising this range of interpretations has helped me understand that my relationship with time is mine – not a universal standard, and not something I expect others to share.
Reducing the impact of time anxiety
It can help to begin with honesty. With those close to you, you might say: “I know it doesn’t take 20 minutes to walk to the station, but my time anxiety tells me otherwise. I’d appreciate leaving earlier – or we can meet at the platform if you prefer”.
Being honest with ourselves is equally important. Naming and acknowledging what you feel can be grounding: “I’m getting anxious about missing that train. If I do miss it, there are others. My worth is not dependent on being on time.”
Physical regulation can support emotional regulation: slowing your breathing, relaxing you muscles one at a time, sitting or standing with both feet planted firmly on the ground.
Behavioural nudges can also help. If you’re habitually 30 minutes early, aim for 25 next time, then 20. Keep experimenting until you reach the time that feels manageable for you.
Recognising the gains – and the hidden rules
Being on time has helped me professionally. Reliability builds trust. It also played into some of my old internal rules – the ones that say, “hurry up,” “work hard.” “don’t make mistakes”, even when they were not needed. Acknowledging those helped me loosen their grip.
Different relationships with time
I work with clients whose relationship with time looks nothing like mine. Some experience time as fluid or unpredictable. Some respond to deadlines by ignoring them until the last minute, then completing the work in a burst of energy. Some are often late for appointments because life happened on the way or because they simply track time differently.
Neurodivergence can shape how people relate to time. Many autistic adults feel more settled when they are early and well‑prepared, because predictability reduces sensory and emotional overwhelm. ADHD adults may find it harder to judge the passage of time or to estimate how long tasks will take, even when they care deeply about being punctual. These patterns reflect differences in how nervous systems process time, rather than differences in motivation or effort.
Recognising these different ranges of timing styles - shaped by personality, upbringing, work experiences and neurotype – has helped me respond differently to myself and others. I cannot say that I have “fixed” my time anxiety, but I’ve softened it, and I’ve also accepted that, for me, being early is still the option that feels most regulating and manageable. That won’t be true for others, and I don’t expect it of anyone else.
I’ve also acknowledged that relationships – therapeutic or otherwise – are not build on perfect timing, but on presence, honesty and compassion. Good relationships involve valuing what is common between us and appreciating the differences in how we navigate life.
Image: Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash
