Finding clarity and purpose when life feels heavy, hopeless, or stuck

Angelica A.

There was a time when I looked like I had it all together—a stable job, a plan, a life that made sense on paper. But inside, I felt stuck, numb, and completely disconnected from any real sense of joy or purpose. I had always been the strong, independent one, figuring things out on my own. But this time, I was just exhausted. Every day felt like survival mode. I kept telling myself to “just make it work,” but my soul was getting heavier by the day. When I tried to talk about it, I didn’t have the words—and when I did, I was often met with surface-level advice or silence. So I turned inward. I journaled. I followed little sparks of hope wherever I could find them. I started asking myself, “What if life could actually feel better?” and that one question changed everything. Bit by bit, I realized I wasn’t just sad or burnt out—I was misaligned. I had outgrown the life I was living, and that misalignment was draining me. The more I got curious, the more I started noticing signs and synchronicities guiding me toward something deeper: purpose. Now, I live from that place. My life is still imperfect, but I have an inner anchor. I help others who feel stuck, tired, or lost remember who they are and why they’re here. Because I know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying it all alone—and I also know what it’s like to come out the other side with clarity, purpose, and a renewed sense of self.

Stay-at-home parenting and protecting your mental health

Calvin N.

Becoming a stay-at-home parent was one of the most rewarding—and hardest—roles I’ve taken on. I didn’t expect the loneliness, the constant pressure to be “on,” or the way my own mental health challenges would resurface when I had no break. I struggled with anxiety, burnout, and self-doubt, wondering if I was really doing enough or being enough for my kids and myself. It took time, therapy, and a lot of trial and error to find a balance that worked: setting boundaries, asking for help, and learning to value my own needs alongside my kids’. I know how isolating and overwhelming this role can be, and I want to help others protect their peace and thrive in the chaos.

Spotting burnout before it breaks you

Carrie M.

For months, I kept telling myself I was just tired. I'd wake up exhausted after a full night's sleep, drag myself through the day, and collapse on the couch feeling like I had nothing left to give. Work that used to energize me felt overwhelming, and I found myself snapping at people I cared about. I kept thinking if I could just power through, things would get better. But they didn't. I was running on empty and didn't even realize how empty the tank had become. The wake-up call came when I realized I'd stopped enjoying things that used to bring me joy. Everything felt like effort—even simple conversations with friends or activities I used to love. I wasn't just tired; I was completely depleted. I had to face the fact that the way I was working and living wasn't sustainable. The hardest part was admitting I needed to step back when everyone was counting on me, but I finally understood that I couldn't keep giving from an empty well. Recovery wasn't a quick fix—it was a gradual process of rebuilding my energy and rediscovering boundaries I'd let slip away. I had to learn to say no without guilt, to protect my time fiercely, and to recognize the early warning signs before I got to that breaking point again. Most importantly, I learned that rest isn't selfish; it's necessary. If you're feeling depleted, overwhelmed, or like you've lost yourself in the demands of life, I've walked that path and found my way back.

Coping skills

Christine E.

Having a tool box of coping skills to manage the falls and low points in my life have been very important. I have quite a few and I am always looking to add more. Journaling, arts and crafts, meditation and prayer, and hanging out with my cats in my Zen Den are just a few of my coping skills that have helped me through some of the darkest and lowest points in my life.

Burnout because you’re not lazy

Christine D.

I used to think burnout meant being tired. Like maybe I just needed a nap, a weekend off, or a better planner. But burnout isn’t just exhaustion, it’s a kind of soul-weariness. It’s waking up and feeling like your tank is on Empty, even after a full night’s sleep. It’s dreading your to-do list, feeling numb to things you used to care about, and quietly wondering if something is wrong with you because you just can’t anymore. For me, burnout came after years of trying to be the reliable one. The hard worker. The person who didn’t complain, who pushed through. I ignored the signs: the brain fog, the irritability, the constant fatigue, the Sunday dread. I thought rest was something you earned, not something you deserved just for being human. Eventually, my body and my spirit forced me to slow down. And in that stillness, I realized how much I had been running on fear—fear of being replaceable, of not doing enough, of letting people down. Burnout made me rethink everything: how I work, who I do it for, and what I need to feel okay. If you’re feeling depleted, disconnected, or just done—you’re not weak. You’re not failing. You’re probably burnt out. And you deserve space to talk about it.

About overthinking

Christine D.

I’ve spent way too many nights trying to fall asleep with a brain that insists on replaying that one awkward moment from three years ago or analyzing every possible outcome of a decision I haven’t even made yet. Sound familiar? Overthinking can look like productivity on the outside like you’re being thorough or responsible. But on the inside? It’s often anxiety wearing a clever disguise. It’s fear of failure, fear of regret, fear of what people will think. And it can leave you stuck in loops: what if I mess up? What if I’m too much? What if I’m not enough? I used to think I just needed to “think my way out” of feeling overwhelmed. But that strategy kept me spinning. What actually helped was learning how to name what I was feeling underneath all the thoughts, to pause the mental ping-pong match, and to stop treating myself like a problem to be solved. If your mind is constantly racing, if you’re tired of second-guessing yourself into paralysis, or if you just want someone to help you sort through the noise—I'm your girl.

Being a caregiver to a family member

Jessica B.

In 2019, my dad suffered a heart attack (needed a quintuple heart bypass surgery) and the doctors found an Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. I moved back in with my parents 10 hours away for 5 months to be a caregiver. The stress of his recovery, limitations, adjusting to new life and diet, and the unknown of whether the aneurysm would rupture was overwhelming and exhausting. We lived in fear for 3 months of whether or not he would be recovered and strong enough to have the surgery to fix the aneurysm. Every day we faced the challenges of if we would get another day. The doctors informed us that if the aneurysm ruptured, he would die within minutes. I slept on the couch for 5 months watching him recover and wait. The emotions that he felt and I felt were something that cannot be explained unless you have been there. Every day was a gift and a challenge. A 5 bypass surgery is very difficult to recover from. We had to learn to slow down, be vulnerable, push ourselves, and live a whole new life. We spent everyday learning new exercises that were exhausting and sometimes arguing to just try. I wanted him to do everything to get better, but he was tired. I was tired, too. All time stopped during those days. The only thing that was real was living in that living room next to him and just praying for another day. Our only outlets were doctors visits, tests, cardio rehab. Watching my dad unable be strong and unable to take care of himself was devastating and depressing. I hurt for him. I hurt for me. Every test was stressful. Every day we waited. The whole world stopped those 5 months. But we got through it. And he made it to the surgery. He recovered and he is well. I moved back to my house. I had no idea what a caregiver went through until I became one. The challenges of taking care of someone and living with them, giving up all of yourself and not knowing if they will make it another day is stressful on everyone, but the most important thing I could do for him and me.

How to use selfcare, escapism and psychological tools to help manage your chronic stress level

Katrina N.

Throughout my life, I’ve navigated the challenges of Chronic PTSD, which brought about hypervigilance, high blood pressure, and panic attacks. Coupled with postpartum struggles and past experiences, this journey often felt overwhelming. Daily life became a challenge, especially with the barrage of issues we face globally. However, I came to a vital realization: setting boundaries is essential for my well-being. I learned to embrace escapism mindfully, taking time to recharge. While this journey had its ups and downs, I discovered effective ways to manage my stress, helping me safeguard my physical health. I’m proud of the progress I’ve made and excited to continue this path of growth and resilience!

Burnout as a neurodivergent individual

Solangel J.

I used to think burnout just meant being tired or needing a weekend off. But as someone with ADHD and autism, I’ve learned it runs way deeper than that. It can feel like everything is too much and nothing is enough. I’d push through all the exhaustion and overwhelm, trying to keep up, trying to ‘get it together,’ thinking if I could just focus harder or stay organized, things would be fine. But underneath all that pushing was masking, sensory overload, and constantly working against a world that wasn’t really built for how my brain works. I’d look like I was functioning on the outside, but inside? I was completely drained—mentally, emotionally, physically. And then came the crash. Burnout didn’t just affect my energy—it shook my confidence, my routines, my relationships. Even basic stuff like eating, showering, or answering texts started to feel impossible. And when I looked for support, a lot of what I found didn’t speak to the reality of being neurodivergent. Like, I love the idea of ‘self-care,’ but what do you do when even that feels like another task on the list? What helped me wasn’t one big fix, but a bunch of small shifts—unlearning some of the shame, creating systems that actually work for me, and giving myself permission to rest without guilt. I had to redefine what success looks like for me and stop measuring myself against standards that were never made with me in mind. If any of this sounds familiar—if you're feeling stretched thin, emotionally exhausted, or like you're constantly running on fumes—you’re not alone. I get it. Let’s talk it out and figure out what care and recovery can look like for you.

Postpartum

Vanessa S.

After I had my baby, I felt like I was supposed to be glowing, full of love, and endlessly grateful. But the truth? I felt like I was falling apart. I was exhausted in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. I cried when no one was looking. I felt anxious, overwhelmed, and so ashamed for not feeling what I thought I was “supposed” to feel. I loved my baby. I didn’t love the way I felt inside. I didn’t feel like myself anymore. Some days, I didn’t even recognize the person staring back in the mirror. The guilt, the fear, the pressure to hold it all together. I kept pretending I was fine, while quietly unraveling. Eventually, I cracked. And that’s when the healing started, not by being “strong” but by being honest. I started talking to other moms who had been through it. They didn’t judge me. They just nodded, held space, and let me cry. And that was everything. Postpartum is hard. Being a mother is beautiful, yes, but it can also be lonely, messy, and heartbreaking. And if you’re in that place right now, I want you to know you’re not broken. You’re not a bad mom. You’re just human and you deserve support.

Caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s while balancing everything else

Virginia F.

When my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I became her primary caregiver for eight years. At the same time, I was raising my son, managing chronic pain from a car accident, and trying to hold onto pieces of my own life. I quickly learned that caregiving isn’t just a role: it’s a transformation. You become the memory-keeper, the nurse, the advocate, and often, the emotional sponge. Every day brought new challenges: the guilt of feeling overwhelmed, the heartbreak of watching her slip away, and the stress of coordinating everything from medication to safety-proofing her home. I once spent hours trying to calm her after she forgot who I was. Those moments haunted me, but also fueled my determination to show up with love. After she passed, I shifted into caring for my dad, who faced physical disabilities and psychiatric struggles. By then, I had developed a rhythm, one that protected my own mental health while still being there fully for him. I don’t sugarcoat caregiving, but I do know how to help you feel more steady, less alone, and better prepared for each step on this unpredictable path.