I hit a wall recently.

Not a figurative, gentle “maybe I need a nap” kind of wall—but the full-body, soul-deep, “I can’t keep doing this” kind of wall. The kind where even the simplest tasks feel like climbing a mountain. Where the joy has quietly drained from the things I used to love, replaced by a creeping numbness or constant overwhelm. That’s burnout. And I was in it—neck-deep.

It didn’t happen all at once. Burnout is sneaky. It builds slowly while you’re busy showing up for everyone else, chasing deadlines, checking boxes, saying “yes” because it feels easier than saying “no.” And before you realize it, your energy is spent, your patience is paper-thin, and you don’t even recognize your own voice underneath the noise.

So I stopped. Or rather—I had to stop.

I stepped back. I let the emails sit. I paused the social obligations. I closed the kitchen, turned off notifications, and gave myself permission to be unavailable. Not forever. But long enough to take a breath that actually felt like mine.

That’s the thing about rest: it’s not indulgent. It’s not lazy. It’s necessary. You can’t pour from an empty cup—and I had been trying to for far too long.

Rest isn’t just sleeping in on a Saturday (because with two young kids that’s IMPOSSIBLE). It’s emotional and mental space. It’s giving yourself permission to not be everything to everyone. It’s saying “no” without guilt, and “not right now” without apology. It’s letting your nervous system exhale.

And boundaries? They’re the guardrails that keep you from driving off the edge. I’m learning that I don’t need to justify protecting my peace. I don’t owe constant access to my time, my energy, or my creativity. Saying “no” is a way of saying “yes” to myself.

If you’re feeling it too—burnt out, overwhelmed, like you’ve lost the thread of yourself—I want you to know you’re not alone. You don’t need permission to take a break, but if it helps: take it. The world will keep spinning. You don’t have to earn your rest by breaking first.

This time for me is about recovery. About reclaiming stillness. About doing less so I can feel more. And maybe you need that too. So here’s your reminder: you’re allowed to stop. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to set boundaries that keep your light from burning out completely.

Take the break. You’re worth protecting