A Love Letter To Burnt-Out Women Who Can’t Seem To Stop
I used to wear “busy” like it was Chanel.
You know what I mean. That proud little tug at the end of “I haven’t slept” or the martyr glow after finishing a report at 3 a.m. and still showing up to work looking semi-put-together (read: dry shampoo and undereye concealer doing overtime). I was a hustler in every sense of the word.
I had a fast-paced agency job that paid the bills (and then some), three freelance gigs on the side that paid for my oat milk lattes and skincare addiction, and somehow I was also ghostwriting for a start-up CEO who thought emails should read like TED Talks. Oh, and I am also the designated family tech support, part-time therapist, errand girl, and—you guessed it—breadwinner.
I thought I was thriving.
To be fair, it looked like I was thriving. I had the receipts—emails at midnight, invoices paid, Google Calendar looking like a rainbow vomited on it. But inside? I was withering. Slowly. Quietly. In a way that didn’t feel dramatic enough to feel like I was always two missed calls away from sobbing in the produce section of Trader Joe’s.
I wasn’t lazy. I was just done.
And yet, the idea of taking a break felt selfish. Luxurious. Even dangerous. Like the whole world—or at least my box—would crumble if I dared to rest. Because when you’re raised on “you have to work twice as hard,” “don’t waste time,” and “rest is for the weak,” it’s hard to see rest as survival instead of surrender.
But my body had other plans.
The Day I Burned Out
Let me tell you about the day I cracked. It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t even cinematic. I didn’t fall dramatically onto the floor or get rushed to the ER. I just… stopped functioning.
One morning, I opened my laptop and stared at the screen for 15 minutes, not remembering what I was supposed to do. Not in a “LOL I’m so scatterbrained” way, but in a genuinely blank way. My hands were shaky. My chest felt like a kettle about to whistle. I kept checking my pulse like a hypochondriac and Googling “heart attack symptoms” even though I knew it was anxiety (Google made it worse, by the way—10/10 don’t recommend).
I called in sick and crawled into bed. I cried for two hours, and not the pretty, mascara-running, music-video kind of cry. It was the ugly cry, the one where your face swells and your nose runs and your soul sort of leaks out. And I realized this wasn’t just exhaustion. This was a breakdown.
I burned out because I was never taught to pause. I only knew two speeds—go and crash.
Why We Don’t Rest
So why does rest feel like a luxury for so many of us?
Because we were raised in a system that made “doing nothing” feel like failure. Productivity became our personality. Our value was measured in KPIs, promotions, and the number of plates we could spin without collapsing.
Especially if you’re a woman—especially if you’re the eldest daughter or a first-gen breadwinner—you feel like everything depends on you. If you stop, who will pick up the slack?
Who pays the rent? Who answers the client? Who brings the birthday cake to Sunday lunch?
We don’t rest because we’re afraid. Afraid of falling behind. Afraid of being judged. Afraid of what might bubble up in the quiet.
And let’s not even start on social media. You take a break and suddenly your algorithm is flooded with #girlboss(es) running five businesses, meal prepping in matching sets, and going to Bali with “soft life” in their bio like it was easy.
SPOILER ALERT: IT’S NOT!!!
What Slowing Down Actually Looks Like
Here’s the truth… I didn’t suddenly become a Zen master after my burnout. I didn’t delete all my apps and move to the woods (though I have googled “cabin for rent” at 2 a.m. more than once).
But I did start listening to myself. I made small, awkward, imperfect changes. Like logging off at 6 p.m., like saying “no” without a fake excuse. Like allowing myself to nap on weekends. Like realizing I don’t always have to be productive—that it’s okay to read a book just because I enjoy it.
I learned that rest isn’t always a vacation. Sometimes it’s saying, “I’m too tired to be social tonight.” Sometimes it’s standing in the shower a little longer, not because you’re dirty, but because it’s the only place you feel alone with your thoughts.
I started scheduling rest like it was a meeting. Literally, “Rest” is on my calendar. Blocked in. No guilt. NO “I’ll rest when I finish this. “I rest now, so I can finish it later—without breaking down.
The New Kind of Hustle
Here’s what I want to say to every woman who feels like she has to keep going… YOU ARE ALLOWED TO STOP.
Rest is not a reward for burning out. Rest is your right.
There is no gold star for pushing past your limits. There’s no medal for ignoring your body. And if you need permission to slow down, let this be it.
I’m not telling you to quit your job and live off-grid (unless that’s your thing, in which case, please take me with you). But I am saying… find moments. Little ones. Breaks that feel real, not performative. Rest that nourishes, not numbs.
Take the longer route to the grocery store just because you enjoy passing through that one spot that makes you feel good. Watch trashy TV and don’t explain why. Sit on your couch and do absolutely nothing. Breathe. Nap. Stretch. Cry if you need to.
Rest isn’t weakness. It’s rebellion. It’s choosing yourself in a world that profits off your exhaustion.
To the One Reading This
If you’re feeling overwhelmed, I see you.
If you’re tired of being tired, I get it.
If your to-do list feels like a forever scroll and your shoulders are constantly clenched, I’ve been there.
And maybe, you’re not ready to slow all the way down. That’s okay. But take one small step today. One moment of gentleness. One boundary. One deep breath.
Because you deserve a life that doesn’t require recovery.
Because this—this—is your soft life too. Not perfect. Not Bali. But yours.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.