Running on Empty, Longing for Simplicity
Not because you’re running around or overwhelmed — but because you’ve got nothing left in the tank to give. That’s where I’ve been. Burnt out. Running on fumes.
I started writing to see if it would help me. If it happens to help someone else who reads it, that’s just a bonus.
So here’s where I’m at — tired, honest, and still showing up, even if it doesn’t always look like it.
I keep thinking about how much I miss being a kid — like elementary school age. Back when everything felt lighter. Back when joy didn’t come with guilt, and rest wasn’t something you had to earn.
I’ve always admired the innocence of young children. They don’t question their worth or measure their value in productivity. They don’t carry the pressure to be perfect or the fear of being too much—or not enough. They don’t see the worst in everything and everybody, even after they're shown why they should.
I see the best in everyone until they show me otherwise. And even then, I still try to be kind and not stoop to their level.
But here's the thing—I can extend that grace to others, yet I haven't always been that kind to myself.
Honestly? I miss the version of me before I started believing I had to look a certain way, weigh a certain amount, or be perfect just to be enough.
Before I began to internalize others' opinions as truths.
I miss the version of me who didn’t feel like every moment needed to be productive. The version who didn’t carry so much weight. Who could simply exist without the constant pressure. Before the world made me feel like I had to prove my worth every single day.
It's not that my view of the world and others is totally wrecked—but my view of myself? That's been harder to hold onto lately.
This past week was a blur.
And not in a “so busy, so exciting” kind of way. More like the days just blended together, and everything felt like too much and not enough at the same time.
I’ve been slipping into old patterns. Not because I want to — but because burnout makes it feel like I’ve got no defenses left. When my energy’s gone, it’s harder to hold the line. I fall back into the habits that used to help me feel something, or at least feel in control.
The urge that keeps resurfacing? Throwing up after I eat. No matter how little I consume, it offers a fleeting, hollow sense of relief. And then, of course, comes the disappointment. The shame. Despite this, I've managed to resist acting on it.
So yeah. That’s where I’m at right now. Burnt out. Numb. A little lost. A little angry at myself.
And physically? Not doing great either.
I’ve had this brutal sinus headache/infection that since two Wednesdays ago. My golden-retriever-energy boyfriend (bless him) brought me meds to get me through the chaos of the Tigers’ first home game last Friday.
My ENT finally got back to me a couple of days later and prescribed something, but I’m still not 100%. I’m finishing the antibiotics, but honestly? The emotional and mental exhaustion probably isn’t helping me heal any faster.
I’ve hit burnout before, and each time, my body always finds a way to say: sit down and shut up. Loud and clear.
Finding the Silver Lining: Being fired wasn't exactly on my to-do list, but it's certainly opened up new avenues for personal growth and, dare I say, freedom. No more hearing my friend Gino repeat, for the umpteenth time, that I should quit. And I don’t have to hear my boyfriend say the same thing. While being fired wasn't on my to-do list, it's opened up new avenues for personal growth and freedom, like shedding a heavy cloak I didn't know I was wearing.
But I’m still here.
So, here I am—tired, a bit bruised, but still standing. Burnout tried to take me down, but it also reminded me of what I’ve been missing: the simple joy of just being. I’m not perfect, and I don’t have it all figured out. But I’m showing up. And that counts for something.
This week, I’m choosing to be kinder to myself. To rest when I need to. To play a little more. To remember that I don’t have to earn my worth.
If you're reading this and feeling the same, know you're not alone. We’re in this together. And maybe, just maybe, we can find our way back to that lighter, more joyful version of ourselves.
Here’s to a new week. Here’s to us.
