When Peace Feels Boring: Why Calm Feels Uncomfortable After Burnout
Leaving
was only the beginning. This is what happens when the dust settles, and you're
left with yourself.
After choosing yourself, stillness can feel strange and even unsettling. This raw piece dives into the quiet that follows burnout and the quiet healing that happens in the in-between.
You’re used to chaos, but now
there’s stillness, and it feels wrong. Healing isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes
it’s doing nothing and letting that be enough.
I didn’t know what to expect after
I walked away from everything that didn’t fit. I thought the hardest part would
be the decision, the big split, but it turns out, that was just the beginning.
The real work happens after, in the quiet, when there’s no crisis to fix, no
burning deadline, no crisis pulling you in a hundred directions. Stillness, a
strange, unfamiliar kind of peace that feels unsettling in its own way.
You know you made the right choice,
but then you’re left with this odd space. You’re free, but floating. I’ve been
there, too. That space where nothing’s technically wrong, but everything feels
off. You start to wonder if you’re missing something, if you’re supposed to be
doing more. The truth is, you’re not broken. You’re in the quiet aftershock.
It’s the part where you’re re-learning what it means to be alive, without all
the noise.
I had a stretch of days that were completely
ordinary. I drank coffee while it was still hot. I made food on a real plate. I
didn’t check my phone first thing. Nothing dramatic happened. There were no highs
and no crises. I read a little, used my laptop for small tasks, and still, I
kept thinking something was missing, like I was waiting for a reason to be
busy, something to pull me out of the stillness.
The feeling wasn’t emptiness, I guess, it was the
healing, that slow unraveling that happens after you choose yourself, after you
let go. It’s learning that calm doesn’t equal danger, that stillness isn’t a
threat. It’s like your body needs time to catch up with what your mind already
knows: the storm has passed, and now it’s time to sit with the silence.
Sitting still after the chaos is hard, isn’t it? Sometimes it makes you want to stir the pot just to feel alive, pick a fight, start a project, or do anything that feels like something, because when you’re not chasing urgency, you’re forced to sit with who you are without it, and that’s uncomfortable.
Healing doesn’t always feel like progress, sometimes, it feels like nothing, but
that nothing
is the real work, it’s where the rewiring happens, deep beneath the surface, where
your nervous system learns that rest doesn’t mean weakness. That it’s okay to
do nothing.
I’d like you to know that you’re
not behind and you’re not failing. You’re just in the in-between, the part
where the world moves at a slower pace, and peace still feels like a stranger,
but the more you let yourself sit with it, the more you learn to trust that the
silence is just space, space for you to finally breathe, and space for you to
rebuild.
Healing isn’t loud. It doesn’t come
with fanfare. It doesn’t look like what you expect. It doesn’t feel like big
steps forward, but sometimes, it feels like nothing at all, and that’s exactly
where you need to be.
There’s a day coming, quiet,
uneventful, and still, where the silence won’t scare you anymore. It’ll just
feel like home. Until then, keep showing up. You don’t have to know where
you’re headed. Keep sitting with it. Keep letting your body catch up to your
new life.
If this speaks to something true in you, I’d love
to keep this going.
Comment, like, subscribe for more stories about
what healing actually
feels like.
Catch up on the last piece: TheLoneliness of No Longer Shrinking.
Even as the silence stretches, you're still moving quietly, slowly, and
unmistakably forward.
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