On Burnout and Choosing Rest

I have known for a while that I have been living in burnout. Not the sudden kind, but the slow, steady kind that becomes a way of life. I have been moving through the motions of daily living because capitalism demands that we keep going. It has been years of nonstop work. Always at least two or three jobs at a time, sometimes more. And alongside all of that, I have been trying to build and sustain my own work, my own offerings, my own heart-work.

My bodymind has reached a point where it is no longer asking me to slow down. It is demanding it. The message is clear. Rest or else.

I am craving spaciousness. Quiet. Time to myself. Less filling my days, less urgency, less proving.

This time last year I was contracted at three places. I facilitated multiple groups every week. I sat on two committees and one board. I was overwhelmed, exhausted, and stretched so thin I could barely locate myself. I felt a constant pressure to do. To show up. To be seen. To belong by being productive.

It was never aligned with who I am. My nervous system knew it. It has taken me time to honor that knowing.

I am no longer contracted in those spaces. I stepped off the committees. My time with the board ended. I realized I was trying to have a seat at a table where my voice was never welcomed. Those rooms were about ladder-climbing, trading opportunities, and staying visible. The performance of care instead of the practice of it. I thought we were there to do real work. Instead, it was a game. The moral injury of that is real.

I am not interested in the consultant world or the convention speaker culture. The branding of healing. The endless subtle competition to be the most informed, the most ethical, the most perfect peer. People being kind on stage and then tearing each other apart in private. It is exhausting. It is not community. It is not connection. And I want no part in it.

I think I thought I had to fit into that world. At one time I really wanted to fit in. Maybe I was trying to outrun imposter syndrome. Maybe I was trying to prove I deserved to be in these rooms. Maybe I was trying to do what I thought was expected of me. I do not feel that urgency anymore.

I just want to live.

I want to support the people who find their way to the spaces I create, without forcing myself to be everywhere all at once. I want to rest. I want community that allows breathing. I want to choose work that does not flatten me. I want to pour into things that feel true to my heart.

I am learning that saying no is not failure. It is survival. I am leaning into practices that honor my bodymind, like journaling, slow mornings, and work that feels meaningful rather than performative. As a neurodivergent person, honoring my own rhythms is essential.

So I am stepping back. Not in defeat, but as devotion.

I am choosing deep rest and listening to my bodymind. I am trusting that spaciousness is fertile. I am remembering that I do not have to prove my worth through doing. I am allowed to be a person who needs slowness.

If you have ever felt the weight of trying to fit in spaces that drain you, I see you. You are allowed to step back. You are allowed to rest.

This is the work too.