You Can’t Pour From an Empty Inbox

I’ve used most of my PTO this year—and not because I’ve been on beaches or planes.

I used it because I was tired.

Not sleepy.

Tired.

The kind of tired that comes from doing the work of two people for five months straight. From relearning systems I didn’t break. From keeping things afloat after someone they hired didn’t work out. From staying late to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks—because even when the team is short, the expectations never shrink.

And no, I didn’t get a raise.

I only took one day off at first, thinking I could push through. But that wasn’t sustainable. Because here’s what didn’t make the calendar invite: Micromanagement so intense I started second-guessing even my instinct. Silence where support should’ve been. And stress so heavy, I signed up for therapy just to breathe through it.

That’s the kind of tired that doesn’t go away after a weekend.

It’s the kind that makes you stare at your inbox like it’s an open wound. It’s the kind that makes you use PTO just to feel human again. I didn’t want to write about burnout because I didn’t want to sound bitter. But this isn’t bitterness—it’s clarity. At some point, “pushing through” becomes self-abandonment.

The emails can wait.

The image can wait.

The system that doesn’t see you? It can wait too.

Because here’s the truth: I was showing up for a version of work that wasn’t showing up for me. I was giving five-star energy to a space that barely offered silence in return. So I took the time. I used the PTO. I stopped performing resilience and started reclaiming peace.

I picked up my journal again. I started coloring like I did when life felt lighter. I started carrying my camera again, waiitng for the perfect shot. And I gave myself permission to write things that weren’t just bullet points and status updates—but stories. This blog? It’s part of that. Because I’m still in it—but I’m also out of denial. And that’s where every reclamation begins. So no, you can’t pour from an empty inbox.And if you’ve been trying—if your own silence has been louder than your needs—I hope this post reaches you like an outstretched hand.

If this landed, send it to someone who’s been pushing too long, too quietly. Or just save it for the next time you need permission to pause.

You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re just tired.

And rest is not weakness—it’s resistance.