When the Light Came Back

I used to wake up with a sense of purpose. There was always a to-do list waiting, coffee brewing, and the steady rhythm of ambition beating in my chest. I loved what I did—at least, I thought I did. But somewhere along the way, I stopped waking up with that same fire. What once felt meaningful began to feel like survival. And I didn’t even realize I was burning out until there was nothing left but ashes.

Burnout didn’t arrive all at once—it crept in slowly, like fog rolling across a field. I told myself I was just tired. That if I could push through this one more project, this one more deadline, this one more week—then I’d rest. But the truth is, I kept postponing my own needs in the name of productivity, praise, and progress. And it cost me.

I was working twelve-hour days, skipping meals, canceling plans with friends, and lying to myself that I was “fine.” I wasn’t. I started dreading Monday by Sunday morning. My sleep suffered. I felt constantly irritated. I cried in the shower more times than I care to admit. But the worst part wasn’t the exhaustion—it was the emptiness. I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I felt like a robot running low on battery, going through the motions.

Then one morning, I couldn’t get out of bed.

Not because I was physically unable—but because mentally, I had nothing left to give. I stared at the ceiling, numb. Emails were piling up, deadlines looming, but I just couldn’t do it. For the first time in years, I called in sick. And then I did it again. And again.

Eventually, I walked into my boss’s office and said the words I never thought I would: “I need a break. A real one.”

To my surprise, he didn’t try to convince me to stay. He looked at me and said, “I’ve been there too. Take the time. Heal.”

And just like that, I stepped away from the hustle I once clung to like a lifeline.

At first, rest felt like guilt. I had conditioned myself to believe that if I wasn’t producing, I wasn’t worthy. So I kept reaching for my phone, checking emails, trying to feel useful. But slowly, I began to unlearn the lies I had told myself for years.

Instead of diving back into work, I started with small things—morning walks with no destination, cooking meals from scratch, reading novels I had long forgotten I loved. I took naps. I journaled. I sat in silence. It was uncomfortable at first, but something began to shift.

One afternoon, while flipping through an old sketchbook I’d shoved in a drawer years ago, I found a half-finished painting. It was from a time when I used to paint just for fun, with no intention of posting or selling—just the joy of color and creation.

I picked up a brush and added a few strokes.

That one moment became a turning point. Painting reminded me what passion felt like. It didn’t feel like pressure. It felt like peace. For the first time in ages, I lost track of time doing something I loved.

From there, I explored other things I had put on pause—music, hiking, photography. I even signed up for a local pottery class. Each little spark reminded me that life wasn’t meant to be lived on deadlines alone. I had traded joy for achievement, and now I was learning to reclaim both.

It took months, but with every sunrise that wasn’t dictated by a calendar invite, I began to feel something return—me.

Eventually, I went back to work—but on my terms. I set boundaries. I turned off notifications after hours. I said “no” without guilt. I asked for help. I built rest into my schedule. I learned to listen to my body instead of fighting it. And I stopped defining my worth by how busy I was.

People noticed. I smiled more. I laughed louder. I was more present in conversations. I wasn’t just functioning—I was living again.

Now, when someone tells me they’re exhausted, I don’t brush it off. I don’t say “just hang in there.” I tell them the truth: burnout is real. And healing doesn’t happen by pushing harder. It happens when you pause.

Moral of the Story:

We’re taught to chase success, but no one teaches us how to rest. Burnout isn’t a badge of honor—it’s a warning sign that something needs to change. Rediscovering your passion for life begins the moment you stop living for approval and start living for yourself.

Don’t wait until you’re empty to refill your cup. Prioritize joy. Protect your peace. You are not a machine—you’re a human being, and you deserve a life that feels good on the inside, not just one that looks good on paper.

Because when you slow down, you don’t fall behind—you come back to life.

Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi