I thought burnout would look like flames...

turns out, it's just exhaustion wearing a really pretty sparkly disguise mask

I always pictured burnout as something dramatic—an explosion, all fire and fury. I thought it would look like a total collapse in the middle of the day: quitting my job on the spot, flipping a table, or just losing it completely in the office. Maybe I’d pack a bag and disappear, head anywhere but here. Or maybe it wouldn’t be that loud at all. Maybe it would look like sitting in a doctor’s office, asking for medication, wondering: Is this anxiety? Depression? Or am I just quietly miserable with my job, or my life—or both?

Hello, do I need a therapist? (Apparently, everyone does.)

But mine? Mine doesn’t come with a wild “I’m so down, I’m moving to Nebraska”. It shows up quietly—almost elegantly, in a haunting sort of way. Forgotten emails. Tears over a simple calendar reminder. A blank stare at an email I couldn’t bring myself to answer. And then, in a last-ditch effort to feel something, I order a pair of pink sunglasses I didn’t even want. Definitely didn’t need.

I know you’ve been there. I just know.

So, I think…maybe a vacation will fix it. Maybe I just need some sun. To remember what life is supposed to feel like. Maybe then, the creativity will come back. Maybe I’ll come back—risen from the dead, full of fresh energy and butterfly emotions. Goosebumps about everything.

And honestly, it kind of works. For a little while. A few weeks, maybe a couple of months if you’re lucky. But then you’re back. Back in the grind. Back to feeling like crap.

So what is it, then? What’s the solution?

No one warns you that burnout doesn’t always strike like lightning. Sometimes, it’s a slow, steady leak—a quiet drip of energy and motivation. A silent erosion. Until even throwing out the recycling feels like a team effort.

Burnout isn’t always about having too much to do. Sometimes, it’s about having too little of what actually matters.

Sometimes it’s just about too long.

Too long without rest.
Too long pretending you’re fine.
Too long being the “reliable one” who everyone assumes has it together (spoiler: I don’t).
Too long saying “It’s fine,” while wearing a smile that’s really just a disguise for I’m not fine, but I’ve got a meeting in 15 minutes—or just I don’t want to talk to you, lol. (Yes, the “lol” softens it. Somehow.)

I’m not “fixing” it. I’m just… adjusting. Slowly.

There’s no magic cure. No five-step formula. No “just take a bubble bath” kind of pep talk. We’re not robots. We’re different. We’re made different, wired different, moved by different things.

I’m still tired—but now I’m tired with boundaries. So… progress?

1. I stopped saying yes to everything (even those “quick favors” that aren’t quick).

2. I started asking, Can this wait until tomorrow? (Because most things can.)

3. I let myself do things badly. I do what I can, when I can. When that uncomfortable feeling kicks in, I stop. I walk away. And guess what? The world didn’t end.

4. I forgave myself for needing rest—even when I hadn’t “earned it.”

5. I stopped feeling bad for not showing up to a birthday, work event, or cancelling on a friend simply because I was just not in the mood.

But the biggest game-changer?

Lowering the bar.

I used to think I was just bad at life. The overwhelm. The constant dread. The 47 notifications before noon. But it turns out, I wasn’t lazy or bad at stuff—I was just trying to survive in a system that rewards burnout and labels it “drive.”

I wasn’t broken. I was tired.

And the best thing I’ve done for myself? I lowered the bar.

Not in a “giving up” way. In a giving in to reality kind of way. I accepted my limits. I let myself rest. Nap, even. (Okay, especially nap.)

I keep saying it in my head: Lower the bar.

And then I let that thought curl up with me somewhere quiet. Let it take a nap, too.

If you’re burned out, you’re not broken. You’re human. In a world that treats exhaustion like a badge of honor and rest like failure.

So take the nap. Call in sick. Eat the weird snack. Ignore the inbox. The world won’t end. And if it does? At least you’ll be well-rested.

You’re allowed to come back slowly.

And when you do come back? Make it a slow-motion entrance. A little sexy. A little unbothered. Like someone who doesn’t hustle for worthiness anymore.

Let them see you thrive—on your own terms. Because when you stop chasing approval, your power gets quieter.

And a whole lot more magnetic.

Be magnetic, queen. It’s sexy.

– Christina