Life can hit us hard, and sometimes we keep moving without realizing we’ve been walking around with a broken foot that no one else can see.
For a long time, I thought my burnout began in the late fall and winter of 2025.
That’s when I hit the wall.
That’s when my mind, body, and spirit said, “Enough.”
But recently, I realized that wasn’t the beginning of the story.
The beginning was grief.
After my mom passed away in August of 2024, I did what so many of us do.
I kept showing up.
I was still being a wife and a mom.
Still running my business.
Still encouraging others.
Still celebrating milestones.
Still paying bills.
Still trying to be strong and yet soft.
From the outside, my life looked beautiful. And in many ways, it truly was.
I laughed and made memories.
I cared for myself.
I asked for help.
I created poems.
I tried new things.
I experienced joy.
There were beautiful moments woven throughout that season.
But grief has a way of changing our capacity, even when we’re doing all the “right” things.
In July of 2025, I wrote these words in my journal:
“I realize that I’ve been moving around with a broken foot figuratively for almost a year now that no one could see.
I have to give myself the care that I need.
I need help.
I need rest.
I need love.”
Twenty-four days later, my brother died from an accidental opioid overdose.
The following month, a friend of mine passed away.
Looking back now, I understand why burnout eventually found me.
Listen
Burnout wasn’t sudden.
It wasn’t laziness or weakness.
It was grief.
It was survival.
And one of the things I’ve noticed is that when people talk about burnout, they often make themselves the villain of the story.
They’ll say:
“I should have known better.”
“I should have seen it coming.”
“I should have done things differently.”
But I don’t know anyone who sets out hoping to become burned out.
Most of us are simply doing the best we can with the capacity we have at the time.
Burnout isn’t a character flaw.
It’s information.
An invitation to listen to what we’ve been trying to push past for far too long.
And that’s what changed everything for me.
I listened.
I listened to my body’s exhaustion.
I let go of what was no longer aligned.
I listened to my grief.
And beneath it all, I heard what my heart had been whispering all along:
Help.
Rest.
Love.
Receive
I stopped trying to earn what I needed and began receiving it.
Not all at once.
But in morning and afternoon naps.
In tears of release and joy.
In golden hour moments on my deck.
In books that nourish my soul.
In movement and quiet moments in nature.
In unexpected blessings.
In hugs and prayers from loved ones.
In saying no without guilt.
In letting myself be held and cared for, too.
Heal
Healing didn’t look the way I thought it would.
It looked ordinary, beautiful, intentional, sacred, and simple all at once.
It looked like running up a hill at the park with my music playing and letting myself cry.
It looked like dancing without caring who was watching.
It looked like honoring myself and giving myself permission to take a social media break.
It looked like returning to the things that brings me joy without turning them into pressure or performance.
Healing has taught me that two things can be true at the same time.
That I can love big and receive big.
That I can honor my capacity while I heal.
That grief and gratitude can exit simultaneously.
This year, I am healing not because I learned how to push through the pain, but because I finally stopped long enough to care for what hurts.
Something shifted in me and I listened.
If you’ve been limping around with a broken foot that no one else can see, I hope you’ll be gentle with yourself.
Maybe today is the day you listen to what your heart has been whispering all along.
Give yourself permission to rest.
To receive love.
And to heal.
With love always,
Love Charmaine Moore
Face of Hope and Beauty
Self-love Coach | Writer | Transformational Speaker
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