Me, My Life & Why Part 15

Part 15: Suddenly, I’m the Inspiration

I opened Instagram and found my face on a quote card.

A blurry still from one of my rants, mouth half-open, eyes mid-spiral, overlaid with pink cursive that read:

“Sometimes falling apart is just falling into alignment.”

– @BurnoutBabeUK

That is not something I said.

That is not something I would ever say.

That sounds like something someone says right before trying to sell you a crystal or a questionable tea detox.

I closed the app.

Immediately reopened it, because I have no self-control.

Notifications: 79.

DMs: 34.

Mentions: endless.

Apparently I’m… the one now.

The voice of the chronically overwhelmed.

The face of the burnt-out rebellion.

A startup wants to fly me to Berlin for a “founder’s roundtable.”

Someone from a lifestyle mag called me “the voice of unproductivity.”

I think they meant it as a compliment.

People I haven’t spoken to since uni are sending heart emojis and “so proud of you!!!” messages like I just cured burnout with vibes and pyjamas.

And in between the offers and the praise and the ✨you’re so real✨ DMs. I was still in bed, wearing the same hoodie for the third day in a row, wondering whether cereal counts as dinner if you eat it from a mug.

I didn’t sign up for this.

I didn’t do anything, really.

I quit. I spiralled. I panic-ate freezer waffles at 2am.

Now I’m a movement?

They’re calling me brave.

Which is hilarious, because I haven’t responded to a single work email since March and last night I cried because I thought I’d run out of clean knickers (I hadn’t, they were just under a hoodie).

But apparently quitting is the new glow-up.

Apparently being honest is inspiring.

Apparently my breakdown is now brandable.

The irony is rich.

Because the people sharing my story?

They’re still hustling.

Still scheduling.

Still telling other people how to fix themselves in 3 easy steps, brought to you by a discount code.

I get that they mean well.

I do.

But this isn’t a journey.

It’s not even a detour.

It’s just life, now, raw and uneven and somehow quieter.

And not once have I felt like a guru.

I still forget to eat.

Still lose half my day to group chats I never reply to.

Still cry over nothing and laugh when it’s wildly inappropriate.

Still stare at walls for longer than I’d like to admit.

None of that looks good on a quote card.

But the worst part?

I started wondering if I should try.

Maybe I should post more.

Be more consistent.

Craft the brand. Say the right things. Be the burnout girl who got better.

Then I panicked.

Because I’m not better.

I’m just not performing anymore.

And now, being watched again, even in admiration, feels like another performance.

So I texted Alex.

Me:

Do you think I’m a fraud?

He replied five minutes later.

Alex:

I think you’re a tired human who said what she meant and accidentally got retweeted.

That’s not fraud. That’s Tuesday.

I exhaled.

And then I did what any good burnout icon would do:

I logged off.

Put on clean pyjamas.

Ate toast.

Again.