Stop Calling It a Comeback (You Never Rested)
What burnout really means and why resilience isn’t your purpose
Stop calling it a comeback.
You never got to leave.
You didn’t crash and rise again. You kept pushing through the wreckage.
And the world clapped.
Called you brave.
Called you resilient.
Called you an inspiration.
But what if this isn’t resilience?
What if it’s refusal disguised as survival?
What if you’re not broken or failing?
What if you’re just fried?
This isn’t a comeback story.
Because you never actually got to rest.
The Lie of the Comeback
We love a good comeback narrative. The kind that makes you a phoenix, all fiery transformation and ash-dusted glory. But let’s be honest: most of us didn’t choose the flames.
We didn’t collapse, so we could be reborn.
We collapsed because we were tired, overextended, unsupported, or stuck in survival mode.
The comeback myth says your value lies in how fast you can rebuild after you’ve been broken.
But what about the breaking?
What about the quiet devastation that led you to the floor in the first place? The way your nervous system stopped whispering and started screaming?
So no. This isn’t a comeback.
It’s a call-out.
A love letter.
Resilience Isn’t the Goal
Somewhere along the way, “resilient” became code for you’ve suffered well.
And it stuck. Because when people told you you were strong, you thought it meant you had to keep proving it.
But resilience isn’t your purpose.
You weren’t born to be a rubber band.
You weren’t made to be a crisis response team.
Yes, resilience helps us survive. Yet, it’s not where we’re meant to live.
If you’re constantly praised for bouncing back, you might want to ask why you keep getting knocked down in the first place.
What systems, what beliefs, what obligations keep dragging you to the edge of collapse?
And who benefits when you keep pushing through?
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Burnout Disguised as Bravery
Burnout doesn’t always look like lying face-down on the floor.
Sometimes it looks like saying “I’m fine” while your jaw tightens and your stomach turns.
Sometimes it’s a calendar full of service to others, while you forget your own name.
Sometimes burnout looks like high-functioning magic.
It’s performing wholeness while you’re fragmenting inside.
It’s crashing behind closed doors and rebooting before sunrise.
It’s burning yourself down to keep others warm and calling it transformation.
But this isn’t healing.
It’s survival in a sparkly costume.
Tired isn’t weakness.
Numb isn’t failure.
You’re running marathons in a system that punishes softness and rewards self-erasure.
It happens all the time. I solve other people’s problems while quietly unraveling with a smile on my face. I show up. I stay steady. I meet deadlines and hold space. And later, when the camera’s off or the emails are answered, I finally let myself fall apart.
But I get praise for being “committed.” For being efficient. For being dependable. Yet that’s not actually resilience. It’s learned survival, and it’s exhausting.
Sacred Permission to Not Rise (Yet)
You don’t have to rise today.
Yes, I said it.
You’re allowed to stay in the ashes a while.
To breathe.
To grieve.
To say: not this time.
Not everything has to be a comeback.
Some seasons are about stillness.
Compost. Cocoon.
You may believe you’re wasting time. The truth is, you’re reclaiming it.
This pause isn’t evidence that you’re failing. No, it’s proof that you’re wise enough to stop.
So stop calling it a comeback.
Call it what it is: sacred rest.
A nervous system revolt.
A refusal to keep dancing in the flames just to feel alive.
Soft Rebellion Ritual: A Pause That Heals
What You’ll Need:
A small bowl of water (or tea)
A quiet corner
One grounding item (stone, leaf, candle, or your hand over your heart)
Ritual:
Set the scene. Light a candle if you'd like. Let this moment be sacred, not because it’s elaborate, but because you’re fully present.
Name the burn. Whisper or write the ways you’ve been setting yourself on fire to keep going:
“I’ve been burning for approval.”
“I’ve been burning for belonging.”
“I’ve been burning for control.”
Say it all. No shame.
Cool the flame. Dip your fingers into the water. Touch your forehead, your heart, your hands. Let it be a blessing. A cooling. A sacred no.
“I choose peace. I choose pause. I choose not to rise today.”
Just sit.
No outcome. No proving.
Let your body catch up to your soul.
Let yourself be more human than heroic.
Reflection Prompt: What If You Didn't Have to Rise?
Write into this gently:
If I stopped performing resilience, what would my life actually feel like?
Where am I most tired of pretending I’m fine?
What do I want to do instead of rising right now?
What might become possible if I no longer needed to prove my strength?
Tiny Revolutions: How to Break the Cycle
You don’t need a 10-step plan.
You just need a moment of truth. Start here:
Rest without justification. You’re not lazy. You’re tired.
Let softness be a strategy. Try doing less and see what happens.
Refuse the performance. You don’t owe anyone your sparkle.
Say no. Even to the parts of you still trying to earn safety.
Burnout is not a badge of honor, and rebirth is not your job.
You Don’t Need to Burn to Begin Again
You can become new without collapse.
You can rest before your body forces you.
You can stop performing wholeness and just... be whole. Messy, magnificent, in process.
Here’s what no one told you:
Your worth isn’t in the rebound. It’s in the remembering.
Of your body.
Your breath.
Your boundaries.
Your life.
Start there.
Not with another push.
Not with another reinvention.
Start with stillness.
Let your healing be boring.
Let your softness be sacred.
Let your nervous system lead.
This is your invitation to step off the altar.
You’ve sacrificed enough.
Love today,
Heather 🌸
What’s your body saying now that you’ve stopped to listen?
Share in the comments. You’re not alone in this pause.
Know someone dancing in the flames?
Send them this. Not because they need to rise, but because they deserve to rest.