Burnout is no joke

Learning and relearning to give myself a break before I break.

Burnout was a lifetime in the making. I spent years ignoring it, I spent months fighting it - forcing my body to show up and get over it, until I couldn’t drown out my own scream for relief.

I was at the door to hospitalisation and my body irrevocably shut down. A few days off wasn’t going to fix it this time.

I spent months bedridden and house bound. Anxiety and depression became my closest companions. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t bring myself to shower. I wasn’t even capable to string sentences together. I was burnt-out in every sense of the word. I was forced to quit my job and move out of the city. I spent months surviving. Isolating, recouping and recovering in my childhood home. My mum would wake me up every morning. Open my curtains to see the sun. Make me breakfast. Walk slowly with me down the street. I was reintroducing my body to life. Softening my existence, slowing my nervous system, listening to myself and creating safety for her to stop. It’s been years since my collapse and I can say I’m fucking proud of myself for the life I’ve created. Early nights and home-cooked meals. Cups of tea and getting lost in books. Moving my body and spending afternoons in the sun. Sitting in silence and being boundaried. A simple job and a small circle of friends. Growing veggies and buying flowers. A quiet and honest life.

But every now and then, I find myself tripping over the version of me who’s convinced her worth is in her work. The version of me who sees rest as a threat and who lives her life as a test to prove she deserves to be loved.

And today, I fell flat on my face as I tripped over her. It’s been weeks of pushing too hard. Overcommitting. Filling the void. Running on adrenaline. Ignoring my feelings. Saying yes when I should have said no. Overextending. Zero days off. Fighting my body. Neglecting my needs.

But today, I couldn’t push any further. My body screamed so damn loud, I couldn’t drown her out. She shook me until I was bent over, desperate to catch my breath. Standing in a puddle of my own tears, my body cried out,

“Give me a fucking break, before I break.”

I collapsed on the floor, shattered that I’d let myself betray my body like this again. And so here I am, years on, and still learning the same lessons. That I am not a machine built for endless movement and urgent productivity. I cannot keep up with relentless pressure and ongoing responsibilities. I was not built to bend this way. There is an end to me. I have edges. I have limits. I am human. May I never lose sight of that.

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