I Had to Stop Running — A Note on Burnout, Rest, and Coming Back to Myself

There's something I owe you — an explanation for the silence.

This space has always been one of intention over volume — a monthly check-in, a moment to connect and share what's on my heart. If you've been following along, you noticed when that rhythm went quiet. No post last month. Or the month before. And if you're anything like me, you probably filled that silence with your own assumptions — she got busy, she moved on, she forgot about us.

The truth is simpler and harder than any of that: I was burning out, and then I burned all the way down.

What started as a stressful season stretched into something I couldn't push through anymore. My body started speaking what my spirit had been whispering for months — that something was wrong, that I needed to stop. I got sick. I couldn't function the way I was used to. Things that once came naturally suddenly felt like climbing a mountain that I had no business being on.
And still, I kept trying to climb.
 
The Weight of the Strong Black Woman

There is an image I have carried for most of my life — one that many of us know without ever being handed the blueprint for it. She is capable. She is unshakeable. She holds it together when everything falls apart. She does not stop. She cannot stop, because people are counting on her, and her worth is tied up in her ability to keep going.
That image weighs heavily on my spirit.
I have wrestled with it, been shaped by it, and if I'm being honest — I've worn it like armor. But armor, no matter how strong, will exhaust you. And eventually, I had nothing left.
The world applauds the Strong Black Woman. It celebrates her endurance and calls her resilience her greatest gift. But no one talks about what she sacrifices to maintain that image. No one talks about what she buries, what she ignores, what she tells herself doesn't hurt.
I had to stop listening to that story. Not because it isn't real, but because it was keeping me from something more important — my actual life, my actual health, and my actual calling.
 
What Rest Taught Me

I thought I was in a season I had to work through. I thought if I just held on a little longer, found a better system, explained myself better, pushed a little harder — I'd come out the other side.
God wasn't asking me to push harder. He was asking me to stop; I didn’t listen, so he forced me to stop. I’d outgrown that environment, but my vision was so clouded that I didn’t see it.
Rest is not a reward for finishing. It's not something you earn after you've exhausted every other option. Rest is an act of trust — trust that the world will not fall apart if you step back, trust that your worth is not measured by your output, trust that God's purposes for your life do not depend on your ability to hold yourself together by sheer will.
I needed to hear that. I need to live that.
 
Regrouping, Refocusing, and Walking in Purpose

I'm not fully on the other side of this — I want to be honest about that. Healing is not a moment; it's a process. But I am clearer now than I have been in a long time about who I am and what I'm here to do.
I'm letting go of the pressure to perform my strength. I'm letting go of the version of myself that existed to meet everyone else's expectations. And I'm walking — slowly, intentionally — toward the purpose God has always had for my life.
That's why I'm back. Not because I have everything figured out. Not because the burnout is a distant memory. But because this space is part of my purpose, and I'm ready to tend to it again — with more grace, more honesty, and a lot less pressure.

Thank you for waiting. Thank you for still being here.

I'm glad to be back.