I woke up yesterday morning with my head spinning, a buzz in my ears, and shortness of breath. I knew without even pulling out the blood pressure monitor my bp was through the roof. Gingerly going down the stairs to go about my morning routine, each step became more difficult, and by the time I came out of the bathroom, I knew something was terribly wrong. I went back to bed and the bp apparatus confirmed what my body already knew, 1677/97 with a pulse of 76. That was just the beginning – the all time high of the day was something to the tune of 180/102, at which point I should have headed towards the ER already.
Call me stubborn, but I saw no cause to panic yet, and simply went back to bed, did my reiki, fell asleep again. When I woke up the bp was back down to the 160s, which is still in the critical area, but since I am not seeing spots, or having chest pains (surprisingly), I am not sounding the alarm bells yet. I know, I know, those of you with a medical background will want to reach out and smack me, but call it clairvoyance or the intuition a reiki healer, I can sense I am not in danger. Nevertheless, I haven’t had such a spike in almost 5 years, and I wondered what could have triggered it. Then I thought about the past three weeks at work that were intense and roller coaster like, followed by the nights I pushed myself after hours to finish a book and it comes as no surprise that I dug myself into a hole. Long story short, I got a scolding and a sermon from the doctor, a prescription and have been put on mandatory medical leave.
There comes a point when the mind pushes too hard, and the body simply can’t keep up. It might start with small whispers, tired eyes, a restless night, a heavy chest. Ignore it long enough, and those whispers turn into a full collapse. Yes, I’ve learned the hard way that the body does have the final word. That’s why rest isn’t optional. It isn’t laziness or weakness—it’s the quiet, radical act of survival. Rest is where healing begins, whether you’re recovering from burnout or from the kind of loss that leaves you hollow. It’s the moment you stop running, even just for a while, and give yourself permission to breathe.
But rest alone isn’t enough. When you’ve poured yourself out completely, you have to refill. Sometimes that means sleep, food, and stillness. Other times it means stepping outside and letting the air on your skin remind you you’re alive. It might be laughter with a friend, journaling your grief, or listening to music that holds you gently when words won’t do. These small moments refill what life has drained away.
Then comes the slow, tender work of retraining. After burnout, retraining might mean learning to set boundaries or finding a rhythm of work and rest that doesn’t break you. After loss, it might mean rebuilding a sense of identity, crafting new rituals for days that no longer look the same, and choosing not to let the emptiness define you. Retraining body, mind and soul is the re-shaping of life, one choice at a time, until something steadier starts to take form.
Eventually, you will find yourself on the path towards a return. But it’s not a return to what was. It’s a return to life with new eyes, new strength, and maybe even new purpose. You don’t come back the same, and you’re not supposed to. Instead, you return carrying the wisdom of rest, the nourishment of refilling, and the resilience of retraining.
The danger is in pushing so far that you pass the point of no return, where exhaustion becomes illness or grief hardens into despair. That’s why it matters to pause before you’re forced to. To rest before you break.
To refill before you run empty.
To retrain before old patterns undo you.
I keep coming back to this rhythm: rest, refill, retrain, return. It’s not a neat four-step process but a gentle cycle, a way of reminding myself that it’s okay to stop, to mend, and to start again. In burnout and in loss, in endings and new beginnings, it’s become my compass.
FrogDiva Thoughts 