You run on structure. Deadlines are real to you the way weather is real, and your word, once given, is load-bearing. People build on what you maintain and forget it's being maintained — which is the highest compliment infrastructure gets.
The cost is the audit that never closes. The standards cut you first and deepest, rest feels like theft, and younger versions of people can read your rigor as coldness when it's actually care with a spine.
Saturn isn't the punisher — he's the architect. The walls exist so something can be built inside them. The practice is letting done be done, and letting the people you hold to standards see that you're holding yourself hardest. They'll stop flinching and start learning.