This morning, I woke up with a familiar feeling in my chest—not dread, but pressure. That buzzing, humming, tightening sensation that comes when you’ve stacked your to-do list a little too high, a little too fast, and you realise you’re running at a pace that belongs to someone who already knows what they’re doing.
But I’m a learner driver again. In life. In work. In boundaries.
I’ve just started a new job—yes, another one—and this time, it’s a job I really like. I feel like I’m contributing, like I’m making a difference. And for me, that’s everything. The clinical side of the role is no issue; it’s the systems, the protocols, the budgets, the “who does what and when” that are tripping me up. I want to learn, and I will learn—but right now, it’s overwhelming.
And here’s where the old pattern rears its shiny, dangerous head.
I could easily fall back into work-work-work mode. Push through. Prove my worth. Learn it all in a week and perform like a pro. That used to be my default. And it nearly broke me.
Literally.
Burnout wasn’t a metaphor in my life. It was a crash-and-burn collapse that forced me to look at everything differently. So now, as I feel that pressure mounting again, I know I need to pause. I need to look at the pace I’m trying to move at and ask a really simple, slightly confronting question:
Who am I trying to be right now? And why do I think she already knows everything?
Reality Check: I’m Not There Yet
I’ve realised I’m scheduling my days as if I’m already across everything. As if I’ve been in this job for a year, not three weeks. As if I’ve mastered the back end, the budgets, the responsibilities, and the expectations—not just the ones others have, but the ones I’m quietly piling on myself.
I don’t yet have the rhythm. I don’t yet have the capacity. And that’s not a failure.
That’s just the truth.
So today, I’m resetting. Slowing down. Speaking up. I’ve decided to tell the people I work with that I’m struggling with the workload right now. Not because I’m failing—but because I’m human. Because I want to do a good job. And because I know that saying, “I need a little more time to learn this properly,” is actually a strength.
What This Has to Do With the Price of Eggs
Good question.
What does this have to do with all the work I’ve already done on boundaries and leadership and rebuilding my life post-burnout?
Everything.
Because it’s one thing to write about self-leadership and setting boundaries, and quite another to live it when the pressure mounts and the expectations start screaming. This is the part where the theory becomes practice. Where I walk my talk. Where I remind myself:
“You can’t lead yourself if you’re pushing yourself at a pace that disregards your actual needs.”
The Traffic Light System: A Sanity Saver
One of the most practical and powerful tools I’ve been using lately came from my psychiatrist—a lovely human with a no-nonsense, compassionate approach. It’s called the Traffic Light System:
- Red: Must be done today. (E.g. Walk Wally. Feed Anita.)
- Amber: Can be done over the next couple of days. (E.g. Follow up on house insurance quotes.)
- Green: Can wait a while. (E.g. Editing the book. Deep cleaning the kitchen cupboards. Reorganising the sock drawer.)
It’s deceptively simple, but it’s keeping me sane. When I start to spiral into overwhelm or stare blankly at a list that looks like the shopping docket of a hyper-organised CEO with three PAs, I remember: Red first. Then amber. Green will wait.
And I’ve noticed something surprising. Once I’ve cleared the red, my brain starts to breathe again. The tunnel vision fades. My creativity trickles back in. My sense of humour too (thank God).
The Gypsy in High Heels Needs a Break Too
I have big dreams for A Gypsy in High Heels. Courses. Newsletters. More blog posts. A beautifully curated collection of tools for women walking their own winding paths.
But right now? That’s a green light goal.
If I write two blog posts this month, I’m a happy girl. If I do a reading on a Saturday and feel energised rather than drained, I’ve nailed it. I might even take every fourth Saturday off—just for me. To breathe. To regroup. To go barefoot and lie under a tree.
The truth is, when I’m in overwhelm, I stop seeing possibilities. I stop dreaming. I forget that good things take time and that going slow isn’t giving up. It’s the grace-filled middle ground between burnout and balance.
What’s Helping Me Right Now
In case you’re here too—standing on the edge of “too much,” wondering how to ease off without falling apart—here’s what’s helping me:
- The Traffic Light System. Prioritise with love, not urgency.
- Nature. Standing barefoot on grass is medicine. Free, fast-acting medicine.
- Water. Drink lots. Our brains are 70% water and mine needs all the help it can get.
- Sleep. I’m now falling asleep on the couch by 8.30pm and I love it. Sleep is the underrated queen of recovery.
- Speaking Up. Using my voice to say, “I need help” or “I need to slow down” is more powerful than pretending I’m fine.
Final Thoughts: Lead Yourself Gently
So if you’re reading this and feeling behind, overwhelmed, or on the brink—pause. Ask yourself what colour your task is today. Let go of the green lights. Honour the red ones. Speak kindly to the part of you that’s trying so hard to get it all right.
You don’t need to perform to be worthy. You’re not behind. You’re learning.
And there is so much grace in that.
