I used to think burnout meant being tired. Like maybe I just needed a nap, a weekend off, or a better planner. But burnout isn’t just exhaustion, it’s a kind of soul-weariness. It’s waking up and feeling like your tank is on Empty, even after a full night’s sleep. It’s dreading your to-do list, feeling numb to things you used to care about, and quietly wondering if something is wrong with you because you just can’t anymore. For me, burnout came after years of trying to be the reliable one. The hard worker. The person who didn’t complain, who pushed through. I ignored the signs: the brain fog, the irritability, the constant fatigue, the Sunday dread. I thought rest was something you earned, not something you deserved just for being human. Eventually, my body and my spirit forced me to slow down. And in that stillness, I realized how much I had been running on fear—fear of being replaceable, of not doing enough, of letting people down. Burnout made me rethink everything: how I work, who I do it for, and what I need to feel okay. If you’re feeling depleted, disconnected, or just done—you’re not weak. You’re not failing. You’re probably burnt out. And you deserve space to talk about it.