How I’m Learning to Avoid Burnout After Recovering From It

Burnout nearly broke me. Not in the dramatic way we sometimes imagine with a single meltdown or crisis. Mine was quiet. Slow. It crept in like fog. I was tired all the time. Numb. Resentful. I couldn’t focus. I stopped doing the things I loved. I was showing up in life, but barely. And for a while, I convinced myself that this was just adulthood.

But it wasn’t. Eventually, my body forced me to stop. I had nothing left to give, not to work, not to people, not even to myself. I realized I wasn’t just tired. I was empty.

Recovering from burnout was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, not just physically, but emotionally. I had to sit with the version of myself that had been running on fumes. I had to admit how often I ignored my body’s cries for help. I had to unlearn the belief that worth = productivity.

And even now, on the other side of recovery, the work continues. Because avoiding burnout is a daily decision. A re-commitment. A practice. Here’s what I’m holding close.

I Don’t Glorify My Hustle Era Anymore

There was a time I wore exhaustion like a badge of honour. I was proud of being “booked and busy,” of always doing the most. But now, I look back and feel grief. That version of me was surviving, not thriving. She didn’t know how to rest. She didn’t believe she was enough without output. I’ve promised myself never to glamorize that again.

I Work at a Pace That Feels Kind, Not Impressive

I no longer chase the perfect schedule. I chase a rhythm that feels sustainable. I ask myself: When do I feel most clear? When do I need to pause? I plan for rest like I plan for meetings. I don’t fill every hour. I leave space. Space to breathe. Space to be. Because I’ve learned that rushing through life isn’t the same as living it.

I Start and End My Days With Intention

Protecting my mornings and evenings has been a game-changer. I try to ease into the day, some music, a few minutes of quiet, something nourishing. And I unplug at night, no emails, no guilt. These rituals remind me: I am a person first, not a machine.

I Don’t Wait Until I’m Empty to Rest

I used to rest only when I crashed. Now, I rest because I want to keep going. I rest when I’m slightly tired, not completely depleted. I take breaks even when things feel urgent. I go outside. I dance in my kitchen. I take guilt-free naps. Because rest isn’t a luxury, it’s maintenance.

I Enforce Boundaries, Even With Myself

I say no more often now. I cancel when I’m not okay. I leave when I’m drained. I pause projects that no longer align. I let go of what’s heavy, even if it looks good on paper. Burnout taught me that if I don’t honour my limits, nobody else will.

I Stay Close to My ‘Why’, But Not At My Own Expense

I love what I do. I believe in my mission. But I’ve learned not to sacrifice myself on the altar of purpose. I can’t serve the world well if I’m running on empty.Now, I remind myself: My life matters too. Not just what I create, but how I live.

I Talk About It, Because Shame Thrives in Silence

I check in with people I trust. I say when I’m struggling. I admit when I need help. No more pretending I’m okay when I’m not. Vulnerability is my protection now. It keeps me from spiraling back into silence.

Coming back from burnout has been humbling. Healing isn’t linear. Some days, I feel like I’ve figured it out. Other days, I slip. But I always return to the version of me that fought her way back from the dark. She deserves softness. She deserves care. And so do you.

If you’re reading this while holding yourself together with thread, let this be your reminder: You don’t have to earn your rest. You don’t have to carry it all alone. You’re allowed to choose yourself, again and again.