I took last week off, and I felt no guilt. Which might not sound like a big deal, but for me, it was.
I run a creative studio from home, and honestly, switching off doesn't come naturally. Balance is something I have to actively work at, forcing myself to take intentional breaks. With a toddler at home, daytime hours belong mostly to her. That means my client work and design tasks are done late at night, though occasionally I’ll schedule a daytime call. But even during my supposed "downtime," my mind stays busy—researching, planning, engaging with my community. I find myself scrolling Pinterest for inspiration, replying on LinkedIn, brainstorming ideas, mentally juggling everything. Fully switching off feels impossible.
Even relaxation has conditions. Watching YouTube? It has to be educational. Something to enhance my skills or grow my business. If it isn't productive, guilt quickly follows. What I truly crave is the simple joy of doing something just for fun, without guilt shadowing me, without feeling like I am wasting my time.
Sometimes I lie awake in bed until 3 AM thinking about presentations, and later I dream about brand guidelines I’ve just created. This was my schedule all week, Monday to Sunday. Always on. Because there’s a business to build.
Social media amplifies that pressure. Constantly scheduling content, being everywhere, responding immediately, creating reels, updating portfolios, trying to find new clients... Again and again. It never ends. I was spending time with my family, but also not really.
Yes, my business grew quickly, but at a cost: burnout. It wasn’t sustainable. Going "hard" can feel exciting, but you don’t have to be switched on all the time. You don’t need to respond to client emails the second they land. They’ll survive. If you skip a LinkedIn post or an IG reel, that’s okay. The algorithm might dip, but your audience will still be there. I posted something on LinkedIn recently that got maybe 4 likes. Sure, the impressions were low, but one of those likes turned into a client. That’s what matters. You don’t need a million likes. Vanity metrics don’t pay the bills—conversion and connection do. You can take a day. Your mental health matters. Spending time with your family, even just zoning out with something light, matters. (This is what I remind myself.)
Burnout crept up on me. I didn't see it until it was too late. My creativity slowly faded, I was constantly tired, little things irritated me, and eventually, I lost all motivation. I spent three weeks on the couch watching Schitt’s Creek. Completely drained and overwhelmed. Now I have to force myself to take breaks. I can’t afford to burn out. I have to try to keep my anxiety levels in check.
At first, I thought I could ignore the things I needed—rest, time off, real recovery. But emotional needs don’t just disappear. They quietly pile up in the background. Eventually, the burnout hit, and it didn’t just ask me to slow down. It forced me to stop and take a long, hard look at how I was living.
Here’s what I used to believe:
You’re not working hard enough.
The harder you work, the faster you’ll be successful.
I must [insert whatever Alex Hormozi says here about the need to hustle].
Make sacrifices now so you can retire early.
I don’t need help. I can do it all myself.
But these are lies. Illusions that keep you trapped in cycles of exhaustion.
My burnout didn’t start with my business. It started years ago with a belief that I wasn’t good enough. That love had to be earned. That I needed to be perfect, stay quiet, never complain. I carried those beliefs with me. Into adulthood. Into motherhood. Into my business.
Burnout isn’t just physical. It’s emotional, mental, spiritual. It creeps in slowly, wearing you down until you don’t recognize yourself. The joy disappears. The motivation dries up. You’re tired in a way sleep can’t fix.
It came from this quiet belief that my worth depended on output. That pressure slowly shaped how I worked, how I showed up, and how I saw myself.
Things only started to shift when I stopped trying to earn my worth. Motherhood and running a business made that lesson hit home. I don’t need to constantly produce to prove anything. I don’t need to earn rest. I already deserve it.
We don’t have to measure our days by how much we get done. We don’t have to see rest as a reward. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop. Just stop. Let that be enough.
How I’m handling things:
Identifying the beliefs that keep me stuck, and doing the inner work. This is the most important step—changing that inner voice. I am enough. I deserve rest.
Replacing "I need to" or "I have to" with "What do I value?" It reminds me that spending time with my daughter matters more than getting a post out.
I heard this quote, "If you can’t run, how are you going to run your business?" So I took it literally. I started running. It helps my brain switch off.
Walking. It helps my anxiety and clears my head. I do a lot of reflecting on these walks.
Yoga. I loved Yoga with Adriene’s 30-day Breath Challenge. Highly recommend. Learning Ujjayi breath (ocean breath) really helped me cope.
I’m letting myself enjoy something mindless, just for the fun of it, without guilt.
Taking breaks. Taking days off. Saying “f*ck it, it can wait” more often.
Asking for help when I need it.
These are just some of the things that help me. Finding balance is still something I have to work at every day. Some days I remember to pause. Other days I don’t. I still spiral sometimes. I still catch myself chasing productivity or defaulting to hustle mode.
And I know I’m not alone. Some of us can’t regulate our nervous systems on our own—and that’s okay. It’s okay to reach out. It’s okay to ask for help. To speak to someone. Even to take medication, if that’s what helps. Whatever helps you feel safe and steady is valid.
I’ve learned that listening to my body isn’t a luxury. It’s part of how I show up for my work, my family, and myself. I’m still figuring it out, but I’m done pretending I can do it all.
Listen to your body.
Journal prompts to explore:
What does my body need right now?
What beliefs do I hold about rest or productivity?
Where do I feel most pressure to perform?
What does “enough” look like for me, not what I’ve been told?
What would it feel like to pause, even just for today?
What do I value and what am I thankful for?
What support system do I need?
You are not lazy. You are not behind. You’re just human.
And you deserve to rest.
Have you ever hit a wall like this? What helped you come back?