Somewhere along the way, “being kind” started getting confused with “being available all the time.” And that’s where so many of us get stuck—tired, stretched thin, and quietly resentful. Not because we don’t want to show up for the people we care about, but because we’ve never been taught how to protect our energy without feeling like we’re letting someone down.

The colder it gets, the harder it is to convince your body to do anything outside of the bare minimum. Add to that the back-to-back Zoom calls, long afternoons at your desk, and the endless parade of padded coats and heavy boots—and suddenly everything feels a little more rigid than usual. Not just your schedule, but your spine, your shoulders, your hips… even your jaw.

Anxiety doesn’t usually announce itself politely. It shows up in the middle of conversations, at work, in line at the store, or when you're just trying to fall asleep. It can feel like your thoughts are speeding ahead of you, dragging your body along for the ride—tight chest, buzzing nerves, maybe even a sense of floating outside your own skin.

Being sensitive to caffeine doesn’t make you weak, dramatic, or less capable than your double-espresso-downing friends. It simply means your body processes stimulants differently—and that’s not a personality flaw. It’s biology.

The blank page stares back at you, an unyielding mirror reflecting both the emptiness and potential you feel inside. You’re not alone if you’ve stared at your journal, pen in hand, feeling the heaviness of burnout rather than the liberation of expression. Journaling, often heralded as a cornerstone of self-reflection and mental wellness, can sometimes feel like an obligation rather than a sanctuary. This paradox lies at the heart of journaling burnout—a real and common struggle that can transform a usually rewarding practice into a daunting task.