Clarity & Growth: I Burned Out Chasing Everyone’s Life But Mine

I didn’t know it right away.

In fact, for a while, I felt proud of the chaos - the tightly packed Google Calendar, the overachiever energy, the praise I got for being “so driven.”

What I didn’t realize was that I was sprinting toward a version of success that wasn’t mine. And eventually, I paid for it in silence.

The Strategy That Was Never Mine

I built my life like a checklist.

College? Done.

Degree in something "safe"? Done.

Get a decent job, perform well, move fast, keep saying yes? Done, done, and painfully done.

By 28, I had a decent title, some savings, and enough LinkedIn applause to keep going.

But under the surface, I was quietly unraveling.

The work didn’t light me up. It barely made sense to me. I was constantly pushing against my natural rhythms, pretending to be someone who thrived in meetings, timelines, and corporate jargon. I didn’t.

But when you’ve followed one strategy your whole life - to be impressive, competent, and externally validated - it’s hard to admit when it’s not working.

And I didn't.

Not until it broke me.

Burnout Wasn't the Fire - It Was the Fog Lifting

It started small.

I’d reread the same email ten times and still not hit send.

I'd cancel plans I was excited about simply because I couldn’t fake another smile.

I began to envy people with slower lives - people who ran small coffee shops, who painted, who posted thoughtful blogs with no likes and no pressure.

Then one day, on a video call, my boss said:

"I know you’re tired. Just hang in there a bit longer."

That broke me.

Because I didn’t want to hang in anymore. I wanted out.

I logged off, sat on the floor, and cried for 30 minutes. Not out of sadness - but from the quiet realization that I’d been building a life I never actually chose.

Reclaiming My Life Meant Letting Pieces Die

I didn’t quit the next day. I’m not that dramatic.

But I did begin something harder: unlearning.

I stopped treating productivity as virtue.

I paused the constant pursuit of “next big thing.”

I let myself sit in silence and write - badly, freely, privately.

I read stories of others who had collapsed under the same pressure and rebuilt - slowly and honestly. This one helped me feel less alone.

And then I made small changes.

I negotiated my work hours.

I started freelancing quietly.

I launched a blog no one read at first - but it felt like breathing.

I was rebuilding not a career, but a self.

The Hidden Cost of Living Unaligned

The hardest part wasn’t the burnout.

It was the identity withdrawal.

I had to confront that so much of what I’d been praised for - being fast, productive, reliable - had nothing to do with what made me feel alive.

I had abandoned the part of me that wrote long-form reflections, noticed details, and asked weird, layered questions.

That part wasn’t efficient.

It wasn’t scalable.

It wasn’t "marketable" in most job descriptions.

But it was me.

And the cost of abandoning it? Quiet misery disguised as "doing well."

Quiet Success Feels Different

Today, I make less than I did at my peak.

I don’t have a five-year plan.

I rarely know what to write on my LinkedIn headline.

But I feel like I exhale more.

I build slower.

I write often.

I say no faster.

And I don’t panic when I have nothing to show for a week - because sometimes rest is part of the rhythm now.

I’ve started to believe that maybe, as this article argues, life strategy isn’t about speed, but alignment.

What I’d Tell the Old Me

If I could talk to the me from three years ago, here’s what I’d say:

“It’s okay to stop pretending. The version of success you’re chasing doesn’t even fit you.”

It’s hard to build a life around clarity - because it asks you to sit still before you sprint.

But once you do…

You start choosing instead of coping.

A Quiet Ending (That’s Really a Beginning)

There’s no dramatic exit here.

Just a soft shift.

A burnt-out overachiever now writes slowly, asks better questions, and lives a little more honestly.

That’s all clarity really is.

Not a grand vision. Just a slow return to yourself.

And sometimes, failing at the wrong strategy is how you stumble into the right one.

💭 Gentle Prompt for You

If you’ve been feeling off… ask yourself:

• • Whose strategy am I following?
  • What part of me have I paused to be “practical”?
  • What’s one small thing I could reclaim - just for me?

You don’t have to burn your life down.

But maybe…

Let a few pieces fall.