How the F*ck Do I Get Out of Here?

Category: Burnout & Boundaries

Burnout doesn't always come crashing in with a breakdown. Sometimes it creeps in slowly, silently, wearing your body down and stealing your joy in ways you don't even notice at first. I didn't recognize it right away and when I finally did, I realized I was already deep in it.

The First Time I Realized I Wasn't OK

The first moment I knew something wasn't right was May 2024, during my 25th college reunion at Spelman College. This was supposed to be my Silver Sisters celebration a milestone I'd looked forward to for years.

Normally, I'm all in at reunions. I live for the energy, the sisterhood, the late-night laughter that stretches until sunrise. But this time? I felt... off.

It wasn't sadness. It wasn't exhaustion. It was something deeper like an emotional flatline. I showed up for the daytime events, smiled in all the photos, but when night fell and my friends were getting ready to paint the town, I couldn't bring myself to join them. I just felt blah.

As a physician, I did what I do best I diagnosed myself. Perimenopause, obviously. I was still bleeding, but I knew hormonal changes could explain my joint pain, irritability, and this deep, simmering anger that lived just under my skin. Everything irritated my soul. Even minor inconveniences felt seismic.

So I went to my doctor. "I think my hormones are out of whack." We started hormone replacement therapy. I added magnesium and vitamin D. Lost some weight. Started feeling a bit better. Summer came, and I rode that seasonal high for a while.

But deep down, something still wasn't right.

When It Hit Me for Real

January 2025 changed everything. My oldest son was struggling with anxiety that showed up as behavioral issues at school, and I felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. One of my closest friends had recently taken a break from work I supported her fully, cheered her on even, not realizing I was crumbling too.

Then came February. It was supposed to be celebratory my birthday, my sister's 40th, a full weekend of festivities planned. Instead, both my sons got the flu, one after the other, like dominoes falling.

And I felt... nothing.

Not sadness. Not stress. Just complete disinterest. For my birthday my birthday I did absolutely nothing. That's not like me. I normally go all out, plan everything, make it an event. But this year? I didn't want to be seen. I didn't want to move. I just wanted to be left alone.

A few days later, I came down the stairs and literally stopped in my tracks. My body wouldn't go any farther, like I'd hit an invisible wall. My mind screamed, "What the fck? I can't do this anymore."*

It was burnout. Full body. Full spirit. And I could no longer pretend otherwise.

The Physical & Emotional Signs I Couldn't Ignore

What did burnout actually look like in my body? It looked like anxiety without panic just a constant undercurrent of dread humming beneath everything. It looked like fatigue that made even basic tasks feel enormous, like climbing Mount Everest in flip-flops.

My hair was thinning. My joints ached like I was 80. I had a constant desire to lie down and disappear into the couch cushions.

I remembered a patient who once told me, "My body keeps telling me I'm anxious, but I don't know why." I'd looked at her and said, "Because you're doing too much."

The irony wasn't lost on me that was me too. I was procrastinating constantly, not because I was lazy, but because I was running on empty. I was holding myself to a superhuman standard that no actual human could maintain.

Did Anyone Notice?

Yes. My best friend came to visit for her birthday, took one look at me, and said, "You're not okay." That was the first time I admitted it out loud, and the words felt foreign in my mouth.

My sisters noticed too. They saw that my energy was different, that I wasn't my usual self, but they didn't push because they knew I'd just say "I'm fine" and change the subject.

But I wasn't fine.

And I want other women to know: it's okay to say that. It's okay to say you don't have the bandwidth. That you're tired. That you're overwhelmed. That you're not fine.

What Was I Actually Afraid Of?

I was terrified to stop working. I've always been the high achiever, the oldest daughter, the go-to person in every circle. The one with all the answers and endless capacity. The thought of taking time off or not performing at 100% felt like failure like I was letting everyone down, including myself.

But here's what I learned: failure is where growth begins. And eventually, I had to ask myself the hardest question: What if I just let myself be human?

What Made Me Finally Pause

It was the day I stood in my kitchen, car keys in hand, and realized I couldn't leave the house. My anxiety had taken over completely. My body had staged a full rebellion.

I didn't take a complete leave of absence, but I did start setting boundaries, taking actual breaks, and questioning everything I thought I knew about my limits.

What Healing Really Looked Like

Healing wasn't glamorous. It looked like:

• Saying no without a 10-minute explanation

• Letting everyone else's emergency not become mine

• Prioritizing my peace over other people's expectations

• Actually setting ending times for my workday (and sticking to them)

• Putting my phone on Do Not Disturb like it was my job

• Turning off email notifications (revolutionary, I know)

• Working out for me, not to prove anything to anyone else

It looked like reclaiming myself one small, rebellious choice at a time.

What Surprised Me Most

The speed of it all. I'd never actually stopped before not really and burnout hit me like walking straight into a glass door. We don't talk enough about what it means to be stuck in this particular purgatory: aging parents, young kids, demanding careers.

Gen X women are shouldering everything. We tell ourselves our grandmothers did it, but they weren't trying to balance a full-time career, caregiving responsibilities, and "having it all" in a hyperconnected digital world that never sleeps.

What I Had to Unlearn

I had to unlearn that strong means silent. That successful means always saying yes. That my worth was tied to my productivity.

I gave myself permission to cry, to be weak, to say "enough." And in that space that scary, unfamiliar space I found something I'd forgotten existed: freedom.

What Actually Helped Me Heal

Writing saved me. I'd never been a journaler before, but putting my grief, fear, and bone-deep exhaustion onto these pages became my therapy. Working with my actual therapist helped too talking it out, letting go of the little girl inside me who thought she had to earn love through endless doing.

I also read a book called Let Them that solidified my perspective. Let them... be who they are. Let me... be who I am. Simple.

If You're Secretly Burning Out Right Now

I want you to know this: you are not alone. Someone cares. You don't need to crash and burn to deserve a pause. You don't need to be perfect to be worthy of rest.

Putting yourself first doesn't make you selfish

it makes you human. And it's time you started acting like your peace matters as much as everyone else's.

If you've ever felt like you were disappearing while still doing everything "right," drop a comment below. Let's talk about what healing can really look like without the shame, without the performance, just the messy, beautiful truth of it all.