I used to think "I'll rest when I'm dead" was a flex, not a cry for help. Turns out, my body strongly prefers I not wait that long. I'm still untangling the belief that my worth is tied to my output. Even on vacation, there's a little gremlin whispering about all the things I COULD be doing, as if relaxing isn't a valid use of time. It's a daily practice to choose being over doing. I collected burnout badges like merit awards. Each crash felt like proof I was pushing hard enough, until my body started short-circuiting in ways therapy couldn't fix. Now, I treat 'almost empty' like a blinking red light, not a dare.