When Emotional Burnout Isn’t Collapse...It’s a Clearing

For those of you that received my mid-week check-in email a few weeks ago, you might remember I mentioned going through something emotionally intense—a burnout moment that surprised me with how deep and physical it felt. I didn’t share much then because I was still inside of it, but I knew I’d return when I had more clarity and space.

Now that I’ve moved through the darkest part, I’m ready to share more...honestly, but gently. This wasn’t just about emotional stress or burnout. This was about a version of myself being released. Something that felt like a spiritual and physical death, followed by a quiet, grounded rebuilding.

First, a gentle invitation.

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Photo by Pixabay

When the Past Echoes the Present

This experience began with an emotionally charged conversation. It was a moment of seemingly normal tension brought on by external stressors. But without warning, it turned into a deflective energy dump. Unfortunately, my emotional capacity had already maxed out.

Normally, I might have let the moment pass or even found a way to redirect the energy. But something about it struck an old wound—a dynamic that mirrored a painful emotional pattern from years ago. The people and circumstances were different, but the emotional imprint was exactly the same.

It brought me right back to a time in my life when I was made to feel like I wasn’t doing enough, when in reality, I was carrying far more than anyone realized. Just like back then, it felt as though my value was being questioned based on a misunderstanding, even as I was doing my best to create something stable and supportive, not just for myself, but for everyone around me.

In this new moment, that old pain resurfaced, but this time, I saw it for what it was. I named it. I finally said out loud: “I’ve carried my emotional needs alone for a long time.” And that sentence shattered something.

Photo by Akil Mazumder

Looking back, it felt less like burnout and more like a soul-level unraveling—one that cleared space for something new to emerge.

It felt like something in me was dying, and it felt tragic. Something old and no longer true was being pulled out from deep within, tethered and rooted far beneath the surface. The version of me shaped by emotional over-functioning, self-blame, survival, and silence… she was dissolving. I have had similar experiences before, which I would call "soul cleansing cries," moments when I would release tension, feel better, and move on. But this was different, and there was nothing I could do to bypass the moment. I had to go... through it.

I felt like I was spiraling emotionally, and physically I began to shut down:

• I was exhausted and weak.
• I lost my appetite.
• I cried often and felt emotionally heavy.
• I had headaches, possibly from dehydration.
• I felt like I was mourning someone...but it was myself.

In the middle of that, I asked for help. Not from a person, but from God, my higher self, whatever sacred presence listens when you finally surrender. I wasn’t asking to be rescued, I was asking for clarity, for peace, for grounding.

And I got just enough direction to take the next small step.

Photo by nicollazzi xiong

What My Body Told Me to Do

From that moment on, it was my body that led the way—not my brain.

• I made something simple to eat.
• I drank water.
• I took a shower at 3 a.m. because I needed warmth.
• I couldn’t stand, so I sat on the shower floor and let the water cover me.
• I laid on a yoga mat in the living room with a blanket and an exercise ball under my neck.
• I tapped into online talk therapy for additional support.

I even grounded myself physically on the floor and even slept there one night. It was uncomfortable. And also, perfect. Every pressure point reminded me I was still here.

I didn’t have a plan for healing. But I did have my body, and my willingness to listen to what it needed.

Once I passed through that deep moment of release, I started moving slowly into recovery. Not just physically but emotionally and energetically as well.

Healing looked like:

• Pausing before reacting, especially when old wounds are triggered.
• Creating a moment of stillness between feeling and response.
• Not taking on other people’s emotional work as my personal responsibility.
• Stepping out of the role of “fixer,” even when that’s how I’ve coped before.
• Allowing myself to be nourished and prioritizing small joys.

And that’s what led me back to what brings me peace:

• I spent time with nurturing my small container gardening process.
• I increased my walks to the nearby rose garden.
• I journaled, not for answers, but for release.
• I checked out books from the library, just because I wanted to.
• I reconnected with my blog’s themes—Creativity, Simple Living, and Community—as a reminder of why this space has always been worth my time, even if I’m the only one who returns to read it.

These acts weren’t just self-care. They were ways to remember myself. To come home to who I am without the weight of old roles and emotional patterns.

Photo by FOX ^.ᆽ.^= ∫

In hindsight, the truth is...I wasn’t fully aware of how capped my emotional capacity already was. 

Or maybe I was, but I was doing everything I could to hold it together, afraid that if I let myself fully break down, I’d disappear. And with that disappearance, I feared all the creative things I care about would vanish too.

But what this moment revealed was something else entirely. This wasn’t an annihilation. It wasn’t the end of me. It was a falling away of something untrue. Something that had quietly stopped serving me a long time ago.

It was never about losing myself. It was about clearing the space to return to who I actually am.

What helped anchor me was reconnecting with the creative outlets that already live in my life—small things that reminded me I’m still here. So, I’ll leave you with this: Is there something creative calling to you gently, even quietly? Give yourself permission to lean into it this week. It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be true.

It doesn’t mean you have to go through the same kind of clearing I did. But if you ever find yourself in a moment like that—where something breaks open and you don’t quite recognize yourself—let this serve as an example that you can move through it. You’re not disappearing; you’re making space to return to yourself.

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