Today I stared at the Slack icon for five minutes. It was flashing blue, persistently and rhythmically, like a panicked person's pulse. And in that moment, I realized: I no longer feel the excitement. I feel no responsibility. I feel only a dull, gray irritation that slowly spreads under my skin.

You know that moment when you burn out? It doesn't happen overnight. It happens drip-drip-drip. One extra edit on Friday night. One call during dinner. One answer to an "urgent" question while you're standing in line for bread. You think, "Well, this isn't hard for me." And then it turns out that everything is hard for you. Even just choosing which tea to brew.

My productivity has become my cage.

I created this image myself—of the girl who "gets it all done." Who is always connected, always creative, always ready to "take on a task." And now, when I just want to lie there and stare at the wall, I feel like I'm betraying everyone. My clients, my team, myself.

But the truth is, inside me is an empty, dusty sack. I squeeze ideas out of myself like the last drops of toothpaste from a tube, rolling it into a tube and squeezing with all my might. But what comes out is empty.