Part 3: The Threshold of No More

The story running in the background sounds like:

“I’m the only one doing the work.”

Even if it’s not entirely true, it feels true. And the body keeps the score. Because it’s not just what’s happening now. It’s the decades of being the strong one, the bridge-builder, the diffuser, the helper.

You say, “I don’t know how to balance being soft and kind but also take no shit.”

And what you’re really saying is:

“I want to love without abandoning myself.”

There comes a point where you stop trying to fix, understand, or explain. You say:

“I don’t want to.”

Not out of apathy. Not out of spite. But because the emotional labor has emptied your well.

Your house is a mess. Your inbox is full. The dishes are stacked. The paperwork is behind. And the thought of doing it all just to keep the peace makes you want to cry, or scream, or disappear.

This isn’t failure. It’s feedback.

• Your shutdown is protection.

• Your procrastination is protest.

• Your scrolling is self-soothing.

This is what it looks like when the person who usually holds it all realizes they can’t anymore.

So maybe the work isn’t to push through, but to finally listen to what your burnout is trying to say:

“Please stop abandoning me to keep others comfortable.”

You’re not broken. You’re not dramatic. You’re not too much. You’ve just reached the threshold of no more.

Things to Sit With:

• Where am I overfunctioning, and what am I afraid would happen if I stopped?

• What version of me is trying to emerge, now that I’m done holding it all?

If you recognized yourself in these words, if even part of you whispered, “That’s me,” then let this be your moment to pause.

Not to fix. Not to figure it all out. Just to pause.

And if you're ready for more, here’s what you can do:

• Share this post with someone who sees the load you carry.

• Choose one of the reflection questions above and write through it.

• Say out loud, “I’m allowed to rest.”

You’re allowed to come undone. And still be worthy. And still be whole. And still be home.

Thank you for being here. For doing the work. For letting yourself feel it all, even in fragments. You’re not alone. We see you.