🌊 Deep Dive: Lessons on burnout, boundaries and being human

From someone who looks high-functioning as they break quietly

If you're a founder, a builder, a carer, or simply someone trying to keep a lot of plates spinning — this one’s for you. Life doesn’t pause just because your to-do list is full, and sometimes the quietest burnout is the most dangerous kind. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been navigating what happens when everything comes at once — from physical pain and family crises to growing work demands and personal overwhelm.

It’s been a lot.

This deep dive isn’t just a story about burnout — it’s a reflection on boundaries, honesty, and being human when the world expects you to keep performing. I’ll share what happened, what helped, what I’ve learned, and what I’d do differently.

If you’re in the middle of something messy or quietly unravelling at the seams — I hope this gives you language, permission, and possibly even a path forward.

The Signal: “I Can’t Do This Right Now”

Twenty unread WhatsApps.

Two missed calls.

Over twenty flagged emails I hadn’t replied to in over a week.

Every time my phone lit up, I felt a knot in my stomach — like I needed to run from something but didn’t know where to go.

I wasn’t just behind. I wasn’t just busy. I was overwhelmed in a way that made even thinking about responding feel impossible. I’d stare at the screen, heart racing, and then quietly put it face down again.

I’ve always prided myself on being someone who shows up.

Someone who replies, delivers, figures it out, keeps going. But over the last month, I stopped being able to do that — not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t.

And for a while, I didn’t understand why.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned recently is that not everyone breaks loudly or quickly. There’s this assumption that when someone is struggling, it will be obvious. Emotional outbursts. Big cancellations. Major meltdowns.

That’s not how I unravel.

I go down slowly and quietly — the kind of burnout that hides itself in high-functioning habits. I’ll still show up to meetings. I’ll still get things done. But inside, I’m dissolving. It’s a dangerous combination, because from the outside, I look fine. And when no one knows what you’re holding, no one thinks to ask if you need to put it down.

That’s why communication is starting to become everything for me. I’m still learning how to name when I’m struggling, before it shows up in missed calls and forgotten messages.

Before my body forces me to listen.

This isn’t a story about burning out and bouncing back.

It’s not a motivational pep talk.

It’s a reflection on what happens when everything breaks at once — and how I slowly started piecing myself back together, quietly and imperfectly.

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Four Weeks of Overwhelm

It wasn’t one thing.

It was all the things — layered, constant, and quietly layering on top of me. Each day felt like I was carrying more, with less capacity to hold it.

For context, here’s what I was juggling all at once: