Unlearning Burnout: My Journey to Self-Priority

So, I woke up Wednesday morning with a start, which was weird because my alarm hadn’t gone off. I had stayed up late last night reading—something I’ve been doing a lot of lately—and I’m trying not to berate myself for it. I’m realizing that my nervous system is hijacked at the moment. On my days off working in pharmacy, I’m piling on too much. Honestly, I don’t even know what to do when I’m not in fight, flight, or freeze mode.

I recently came to the realization—or perhaps relearned—that I’m overbooking myself to the point of burnout and then wondering why I get so upset or frustrated when I can’t get everything done. I’m exhausted, but I’ve pushed through exhaustion so often that I no longer recognize the signs of burnout until I’m stuck in bed for a day. I have zero boundaries with myself when it comes to my time. As I overbook, the things I was once excited to learn no longer appeal to me. I wanted to learn everything, but the pressure of having it all at once is just too much—because let’s be real, it’s more than any one person can accomplish in a day or even a week.

And finally, I reached the point where I just thought: STOP. STOP. STOP.

I give myself permission to not have to do all the things. Please, please, please, let me rewire my brain to understand that I am a good human being simply by existing. There is nothing I *have* to do. I was equating productivity with worth—as if achieving more would somehow make me worthy of… what? I don’t even know.

Now that I’ve paused almost everything, I feel lost. And that makes me beat myself up over rest and play. My top three priorities now are my pharmacy job, myself, and play—yes, play, a new and unfamiliar concept in my life.

Pharmacy provides me with the financial support to live, and I have to remind myself that working 32 hours a week is still considered full-time. It still requires a lot from me, especially in the last couple of weeks as I’ve picked up extra shifts to help out. The second priority is myself—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. This one surprised me. I used to think building my LLC was the most important thing, but it finally clicked that *I* needed to be my top priority. I’m still pursuing my business, but it’s not as Herculean as I once thought, and I’m working through my own issues of being seen and feeling “good enough.” Prioritizing myself feels weird.

Lately, my physical health has become especially important to me because getting stronger feels good. One of the most valuable things in my life right now is the two one-hour workout sessions each week with my cousin. Movement is my medicine. It shuts my mind off, and I try to see what fun things my body can do. I enjoy it, though getting myself there isn’t always easy. Sometimes, I cry the entire drive—not because I don’t want to go, but because I’m alone with my thoughts, and all the emotions I’ve been suppressing come rushing in. Sometimes, a song on shuffle sets me off. Lately, Hozier’s *Work Song* has been making me cry like a baby.

EMDR therapy has unlocked all sorts of emotions I’m not used to feeling, and I’m no longer on antidepressants, so I really shouldn’t be surprised. I’m feeling the full range of emotions now.

I’m incredibly grateful for the role Zoloft played in my life when I needed it, but it blunted everything. Over time, I realized I couldn’t feel the positives as easily, and I couldn’t access my emotions to process them. Getting off the meds was a challenge in itself because of the weird withdrawal effects, but this time, I succeeded. I was well past five half-lives free and clear before my 40th birthday. Now, I’m practicing patience as I wait for neuroplasticity to do its thing. The bully, judgmental, and hyper-critical voices in my head are loud. They beat me down more than anyone else ever could, which makes me even more grateful for the uplifting people in my life.

Now, I can feel everything—nothing is blunted anymore. The bully in my head is loud and clear, demanding to be acknowledged. I’ve spent more of my life not feeling than feeling. Now that I’m off the SSRI, I experience every single emotion and self-critical thought. It’s overwhelming at times. But I’m grateful for those who have gone through this before me—those who have cleared trauma through EMDR—because I can reach out and ask, “Is this s*** normal?” And they reassure me, “Yeah, you’ll get through it. Crazy, huh? Just think about everything you’re releasing and clearing.”  Their words give me hope.

I’m also incredibly grateful for the texts I wake up to from friends reminding me that taking time for myself iswork. For the hypnosis trades where, at the start, I just cry—and space is held for me. And then, somehow, I end up in a hypnosis session envisioning my future wedding—definitely not where this single lady expected to land. I’m eternally grateful for my entire support system.

But let me circle back to my third primary focus: play. In human design I am a projector…. our primary purpose is to play….. Yet, I feel helpless, confused, and lost when I’m not in fight-or-flight mode. How F*d up is that? I always feel like I need to be doing something—for someone else, for myself—to prove I am something. Taking time for myself to do something I love, something with no end result, feels so foreign. My mind races: But what about this? What about that? What about my business? Am I copping out, out of fear? And then... nothing. No real answer.

Right now, I must play. Brené Brown defines play as something we do that is purposeless—it’s fun for fun’s sake, with no end goal other than to enjoy the moment. I’m working on it. I’m learning to play. And I’m impatiently waiting for the bully in my head to get quieter—for the belief that I am enough, that I can be seen, that I deserve a healthy romantic relationship to take root and push out the opposites.

The irony? I feel like I’ve overbooked my play in April. The greater irony? If you met me on the street, you’d have no idea about the internal battle I fight every day. But I’m here. I’m doing the work. And maybe—just maybe—I’m learning that I don’t have to fight at all.