I kept hearing the phrase over and over again: “You need to pour into yourself.”
And for a while, I nodded like I knew what that meant.
Self-care, right? Candles, face masks, sleep.
Put your phone on Do Not Disturb. Play some music. Breathe.
But here’s the thing no one talks about:
What do you do when you’re too tired to even take care of yourself?
I’m not talking about the kind of tired a nap can fix.
I’m talking about the tired that settles into your bones. Where you wake up feeling like you’ve already failed the day. Where everything feels loud, even silence. Where texts feel like obligations. Where your to-do list doesn’t scare you anymore, because you’ve already accepted that none of it will get done.
Burnout. Real burnout.
Not the cute “I need a break” kind.
The “I’m disappearing into myself and no one notices” kind.
The kind where you want to pour into yourself, but your hands are shaking and the cup has a hole in it.
So when someone says “just pour into yourself,” I have to ask
pour what, exactly?
When you’re emotionally exhausted, mentally scattered, spiritually blank… there’s nothing left to give. Not even to you.
And that’s the part people don’t talk about.
They say rest, but rest doesn’t always work when your mind won’t shut up.
They say take care of yourself, but how do you do that when you barely feel like a person?
I’m learning that real self-care — like actual pouring — isn’t always pretty.
It’s not always baths and scented candles.
Sometimes, it’s admitting you’re not okay.
Sometimes, it’s crying on your bedroom floor because you’ve been holding too much for too long.
Sometimes, it’s not answering messages because they feel so overwhelming.
Sometimes, it’s being messy. Or quiet. Or completely still.
It’s scary how hard it is to choose yourself when you’ve been conditioned to serve, smile, and survive.
But choosing yourself — even in tiny ways — is still choosing.
Lately, pouring into myself looks less like “doing more” and more like letting go.
Letting go of pressure. Letting go of guilt. Letting go of the need to always be okay.
I still don’t always know what I’m pouring.
Some days, it’s just breath.
Some days, it’s journaling one ugly, unfinished paragraph.
Some days, it’s sending a voice note to a friend and saying, “I don’t have anything to say, I just needed someone to hear me”
And sometimes?
It’s nothing.
And I let that be enough.
So yeah, pour into yourself.
Do it in the quiet ways. In non-aesthetic ways.
Do it clumsily. Do it tired.
Do it even if all you can offer yourself is stillness.
Because maybe pouring into yourself doesn’t mean filling a cup.
Maybe it just means not letting yourself go dry.
this is a beautiful read. i felt so seen.