Adulting

  I feel burnt out. I have no job, no prospects, no kids, no dogs. My husband is immersed in his own demanding role, and I— I don’t have a day-to-day routine, or much that feels like purpose right now. And yet, I’m exhausted. Not in my body, but in my soul. A few days ago, I met some underprivileged people. I listened to their stories. Some of their struggles made me deeply sad. But most of all, I felt angry. Angry at injustice, at apathy, at how easily we move on from other people’s pain simply because it isn’t our own. And here’s the part I didn’t expect: I haven’t been able to move on. It’s been two days, and I still find myself tearing up. The images, the words—they keep looping in my mind. So now I’m wondering: Is this burn-out not from overwork, but from over-feeling? Is it because I empathise too much, listen too closely, absorb too deeply? Or is it simply because I’m too free—with too much time, too few boundaries, and no structure to contain the flood of emot...

If you’re feeling down, feel it. Feel the fuck out of it. Don’t run. Don’t distract. Don’t scroll it away or pretend it’s not there. Sit with it. Get uncomfortably comfortable with it. Learn its shape. Learn how it breathes, where it lives in your body. Get to know it like you would get to know joy, because this too, is yours. Happiness is yours.So is this sinking feeling. That heaviness in your chest? The ache in your gut that whispers no one loves you , no one likes you —that is real. It’s not the truth, but it’s real. And if you don’t give it a name, if you don’t look it in the eyes, it will keep showing up in different masks. It will live under your skin until it becomes your identity instead of a passing wave. We’ve been taught to be ashamed of sadness. To clean ourselves up, to smile, to "move on." But what if moving through is more powerful than moving on? Feeling lost is part of finding yourself. Feeling down is part of rising again. Let it hollow you out if...