There are days when the world asks too much.
When your inbox fills faster than your lungs can draw breath,
when even kindness feels like labor,
and your body hums with exhaustion so deep it feels bone-colored.
You tell yourself to push through — one more task, one more meeting, one more smile.
But beneath that practiced calm, your nerves fray like wires sparking in the dark.
This is burnout — not sudden, but a slow unraveling,
a quiet fire that eats away at your edges until there’s almost nothing left but smoke.
I used to think strength meant endurance.
That I had to keep showing up, keep producing, keep proving I could hold it all.
But the crow in me — that black-feathered keeper of truth — has taught me otherwise.
She perches on the fence post, watching, patient.
She knows when to rest her wings, when to let the storm pass overhead.
There is wisdom in the pause.
Burnout isn’t failure; it’s your body’s way of begging for mercy.
It’s the moment the flame flickers low, not because you are weak,
but because you’ve been burning too long without tending the fire.
So I’ve started small.
When I feel myself unraveling, I step outside —
bare feet on the ground, eyes lifted to the sky.
I breathe, slow and deep, until the world softens its edges.
I name what I feel — tired, overstimulated, human —
and I remind myself that it’s okay to stop.
Some coping strategies that help me find my way back:
Micro-breaks: Two minutes to close my eyes and unclench my jaw. Breath grounding: Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for six. Repeat until the pulse in my temples slows. Boundaries: Learning that saying no is an act of self-respect, not guilt. Movement: A walk, a stretch, a song that lets the tension shake loose. Stillness: Sitting with my crow — that inner witness — and simply being, without the need to fix or perform.
And when the guilt whispers that I should be doing more, I remind myself:
Rest is not a reward. It’s survival.
Even fire must dim to gather strength for its next spark.
Even the crow must land before it can fly again.
So if you’re reading this and feel the heaviness in your chest —
pause.
Breathe.
Let the world wait.
Your worth was never measured by how much you could endure.
Crow and Flame 