Hey, train wrecks—pull up a seat, because today we’re diving into the not-so-glamorous but oh-so-relatable world of total, utter, can-you-believe-this-isn’t-made-for-TV burnout.
Recently, I had a heart-to-heart with my therapist, and surprise, surprise—I’m burned out. Like a candle that’s been burning at both ends until it’s just a sad, waxy puddle of its former glorious self. I took two whole days off (cue the applause), only to return to a circus that even Ringling Bros would envy.
Imagine this: I’m back at work, and it’s a disaster. I’m playing catch-up like it’s an Olympic sport, working from dawn till way past dusk—even though I swore I’d stop doing that. Add to that three emergencies, two last-minute projects, and the usual daily grind that waits for no one. At one point, I was so overwhelmed I had my earbuds in, hoodie up like a suburban Jedi, and my hand-crafted “nope rope” deployed across my cubicle. Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like—a crocheted red rope that screams, “Do not disturb, I am NOT available!”
And guess what? Almost everyone got the memo—except for one brave soul who dared to cross the line. I’m setting boundaries, folks. I even told her to check with her manager because, shockingly, I am not the Oracle at Delphi.
I am the go-to gal, the answer woman, the fixer. But even fixers need a break. I’m so tired of being ‘the one.’ Some days I wish I could just hang a “Gone Fishing” sign on my life and take a breather.
By the end of the week, everything was done—on time and perfectly, because that’s how we roll. But could I relax? Could I indulge in my hobbies like crochet, reading, or writing? Nope. I was like a pinball, bouncing from one half-task to another—laundry half-done, dog accidentally left outside, and I’ve lost more crochet hooks than my mind can handle.
I spilled all this to my therapist, who then had the audacity to ask what I was doing for myself. For me? Uh, I crochet… for others. But for myself? Apparently, not much. I realized I’ve been on call every day, all day. Vacation? What’s that? My customers have my number on speed dial, and I answer, every. damn. time.
My skin’s freaking out, my hair’s staging a rebellion, and let’s not even talk about my weight. It’s like my body’s screaming, “Girl, get it together!” So, I’ve decided it’s time to draw the line. I’m planning to ask my boss to switch me back to hourly because this salary life with 24/7 availability is shredding my sanity like cheese on a grater.
I don’t know what he’ll say. But crossing that bear—that’s future me’s problem. For now, I’m just trying to take the first step toward reclaiming my life and my joy. Because, let’s be honest, it’s about time I start valuing my time—and myself.
Here’s to finding the joy in our lives again, setting boundaries, and remembering that even the best of us need to recharge. We’re all doing our best, but sometimes, we need to do what’s best for us. So, let’s raise our coffee cups (or wine glasses—no judgment here) to being less of a fixer and more of a self-carer.
Stay strong, my glorious train wrecks. And remember, it’s okay to not be the one once in a while.
With all the love and chaos,
The Glorious Train Wreck Mom
The Glorious Train Wreck Mom 
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