I used to wear “busy” like a badge of honor.
Deadlines? I met them with mascara half-dried on my lashes and a lukewarm coffee in hand.
Burnout? I called it "just a rough week." Until my body stopped asking politely.
Let’s be real—burnout doesn’t always look like a full breakdown. Sometimes it’s just waking up with a heaviness you can’t explain. A mental fog that follows you through the day. Or resenting everything and everyone… even the things you once loved.
That was me. A walking checklist of expectations—mom, creator, problem solver, overachiever… slowly turning into a ghost of a girl who forgot what silence felt like.
And so I crashed. Quietly. No big dramatic scene. No tearful “I’m done” speech. Just a slow, crumbling exhaustion I couldn’t push through anymore.
I Thought Slowing Down Meant I Was Weak
I used to equate rest with failure. Like if I stopped, even for a second, I’d fall behind. But fall behind what? Some imaginary timeline created by society, Instagram, or that inner critic that sounds suspiciously like every ex who ever called me “too much”?
I had to learn that healing doesn’t come with a calendar reminder. Burnout recovery isn’t a weekend trip to the mountains and then you’re magically back to your high-functioning self. It’s ugly. It’s boring. It’s necessary.
So I stopped glamorizing the grind. I unsubscribed from the hustle culture newsletter. I let go of this toxic little voice in my head that kept whispering: If you’re not constantly producing, who even are you?
Here's What Recovery Looks Like for Me (Right Now)
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Resting without guilt. Not “earning” my rest, just taking it because I’m human.
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Saying no without explaining myself. And not drafting a thesis to justify it.
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Letting the dishes sit. Because I’m tired. And that’s reason enough.
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Relearning joy. Not the performative kind, but the small, quiet moments that don’t need to be shared or documented.
I’m done moving at the world’s pace. I’m moving at mine. And mine looks like silence before sunrise. Long walks without a podcast in my ear. Unapologetically slow mornings. And more grace than I used to think I deserved.
If You’re Burnt Out Too, Let This Be Your Permission Slip
You don’t need to crash to rest. You don’t need to “earn” a break. You don’t need to be at your breaking point to say no more.
You are allowed to move slower.
You are allowed to do less.
You are allowed to rest without a crisis forcing you to.
We weren’t made to constantly perform, perfect, or prove. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is opt out and just be.
Not “productive.” Not “on.” Just you—unfiltered, unhurried, and finally breathing again.
