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I used to be excited about learning. I used to stay up late because I wanted to—because I was curious, because I was inspired, because I cared. Studying felt like choosing something, not surviving it. I miss that version of myself more than I expected to.
Somewhere along the way, that excitement turned into exhaustion. The workload got heavier. The expectations got louder. Rest started to feel like something I had to earn instead of something I needed. I stopped asking myself what I was interested in and started asking what was due next.
Now I count deadlines instead of ideas. I finish assignments, submit papers, show up to class—but I don’t feel proud. I feel relieved. Like I made it through another week without falling apart. People tell me I’m doing great because I keep pushing through, because I don’t complain, because I get things done.
But pushing through costs something. It costs energy. It costs joy. It costs the part of me that used to care without feeling overwhelmed. No one asks what it takes out of me to keep going, or how much of myself I leave behind just to meet expectations.
I’m not lazy. I’m tired. And I’m starting to understand that burnout isn’t a personal failure—it’s a warning. I’m learning that rest isn’t quitting and it isn’t weakness. It’s survival. And maybe, slowly, it’s the first step toward finding myself again.
