I’ve smiled through exhaustion like it was part of the dress code.
Sipped iced coffee over burnout like it was baptism.
Said “I’m fine” so many times it started to sound like a prayer —
but God knows, I wasn’t.
I’m tired of pretending my peace doesn’t need protecting.
Tired of explaining why my healing isn’t open for public opinion.
Tired of proving I can handle everything —
just so nobody calls me “weak” for needing a damn break.
This isn’t weakness.
This is rebirth.
This is self-care with its sleeves rolled up.
This is me choosing myself before I fall apart trying to impress people who wouldn’t catch me anyway.
I’m not chasing the “strong woman” badge anymore —
it’s heavy, it’s rusted, and it doesn’t go with my outfit.
I’m chasing rest that doesn’t feel like guilt.
Joy that doesn’t need an explanation.
Boundaries that stand without apology.
Call it burnout recovery.
Call it reclaiming my energy.
Call it what you want — but don’t call me lazy for finally sitting down.
Don’t call me distant when peace stopped answering group chats.
Don’t call me dramatic for healing out loud when silence almost killed me.
I’m done proving I’m not tired.
Because I am.
And that’s holy.
That’s human.
That’s healing.
If you’re reading this — maybe you’re tired too.
Maybe you’ve been holding your breath in a world that mistakes exhaustion for ambition.
So here’s your permission slip, signed by reality itself:
You can rest.
You can pause.
You can choose yourself and still be powerful.
Because peace is the new rebellion.
And baby, I’m leading the protest.
