Spoiled Plans, Dog Hair, and Other Things I Can’t Seem to Sweep Up

Everything hurts and I’m doing my best. Kind of.

Well. I broke down.

I totally burned myself out.

I screamed. I cried. I told Jose I wanted to quit—no, maybe needed to quit—my job.

I stressed myself out so badly that I got sick. Just a cold at first. A fun little summer cold! Which got better after about a week… and then turned into a sinus infection, because of course it did.

In a lot of ways, this whole miserable process is holding up a mirror and showing me what still needs my attention. Like:

• Not waiting until I’m on the verge of rage-quitting before I speak up at work.

• Maybe needing accommodations or additional support at work. Because 20 years of shift work and a job that banks on my anxiety in order to function well? Yeah, that adds up. And I’m seriously over it.

• Being kinder and softer with myself instead of a complete asshole all the time.

I’ve been trying to focus on regulating my nervous system before diving deeper into trauma work with my therapist. But the truth is—I’m so fried that on workdays, all my energy is funneled into just getting to work. That’s it. That’s the win. On those days, the only other things I manage are:

• Taking my meds

• Eating something

• Making sure the animals are taken care of

• Attempting to maintain some semblance of a normal hygiene routine

• Putting on clean clothes (jeans don’t count - they don’t have to be freshly clean all the time!)

That’s it. The house is a wreck. Jose isn’t doing much, if any, better than I am, at the moment, so of course I don’t feel good asking him for help.

The only time I make any progress at all is on weekends—and even then, it’s mostly small stabs at decluttering and organizing. It feels like doing something, but I never actually get to the cleaning. The floors are covered in dog hair. Goblin keeps rogue pooping in the basement. We had to gate it off. Now Roo’s afraid of the gate and won’t go near the back door to go outside.

And last night, after work, I came home to… dog diarrhea. Right in front of the rats’ cage.

Poor little guys had to smell that for who knows how long. They were definitely disgusted. Littlefoot, Petrie, and Spike (who inhabit the bottom portion of the cage and are thus, the closest to where the incident occurred) were all gathered up sniffing up a storm while I cleaned up the mess. My boys all got a couple extra treats for putting up with the stench.

I’m exhausted. I feel like I’m just barely treading water.

And honestly? It feels like I’m right back where I started before I ever began this healing journey.

But—

I’m trying really hard not to look at it that way.

Because even if it feels like I’m back at square one… I’m not.

This time is different.

This time, I know what to look for.

This time, I’m not giving up—I’m just pulling back. Trying to preserve what little energy I have while still keeping some focus on the path forward. I’m not where I was way back before I joined The Emily Program, with a full blown eating disorder, completely shut down, and disconnected from my body, and my own emotions - no I’m not that far gone. Thank goodness for that. But 6 months ago, dead of winter, seasonal depression, sleeps until 2 hours before work, gets up and doesn’t even brush her hair before work Heather? Yeah, that’s where I feel like I’m at. Bare minimum to survive the day Heather. And I don’t like it.

I haven’t gone on a walk in weeks, and I’m mad at myself for that. I’ve fallen back into sleeping late and escaping into TV and social media. And I hate how easy it is to slip into those patterns.

But I texted Jose earlier:

“I hate the past few weeks, how I’ve kind of returned to sleeping late and escaping into TV and social media. But it’s really hard to get myself out of that too. And I know some of it is to be expected when I’ve been sick and stressed, so I need to be a little more self-compassionate.”

And there it is.

Right there.

The answer isn’t in being tougher on myself. It’s not “just do better.” It’s not “you’re such a failure.”

It’s kindness.

It’s compassion.

It’s understanding myself the way I understand Roo, trembling by the gate, too scared to move forward.

I don’t get mad at her. Even when it’s frustrating.

I soothe her. I adjust. I meet her where she is.

Where is that grace for me?

🍫 Emergency Snack Pack for Burnout Brain

Zero effort. Zero performance. Just something small and kind.

• 👃 Take one breath through your nose. Let it go.

• 🐢 Let your shoulders drop.

• 🧍‍♀️ Gently touch your own arm—like you’d reassure someone else.

• 🎧 Find one soft thing to rest into (song, blanket, light).

• 💧 Drink a sip of water. No pressure. Just… sip.

🍟 Leftovers from the Shame Buffet

(a.k.a. Journal Prompt)

“If I treated myself like I treat ___ when they’re struggling, what would I do differently right now?”

Fill in the blank. No overthinking.

Or, try this one:

“What’s one thing I don’t have the energy to do right now—but I wish someone else would do for me?”

Even wishing counts.