Crashing After the Storm

Mood : 2.5/10

I crashed.

Not during the conference, not when everything was on fire.
I held it together for all of that — the meetings, the pressure, the pretending I was fine.
I waited until the storm passed. Until everyone else could breathe again.

And then I fell.

Sunday night into Monday morning — panic clawing through my chest like it wanted to kill me.
Hospital. Meds. Fog.
I thought it would pass after a day or two.
It’s Thursday now.
I’m still not okay.

I keep thinking about work. About the emails piling up. About the deadlines I’m supposed to meet.
About the people who might think I’m slacking.
About my boss who’s been nothing but kind — and how much I still care about not letting him down, even when I dream of quitting.

I said I’d come in today.
Because I felt guilty.
Because the anxiety about falling behind was louder than my own body telling me, “Not yet.”

But this morning, when I stood up, the world tilted.
My head felt like it wasn’t screwed on right.
Everything inside me screamed no.

So I asked to work from home.
And even then — even now — I feel like I have to justify it.
I feel like I have to prove I’m not lazy.
That I’m still trying.
That I’m not taking advantage of their kindness.

I hate feeling like this.

I hate feeling like my body is betraying me at the exact moment I’m trying so hard to be good, to be responsible, to not make anyone’s life harder.

But one thing I’m glad for —
At least I didn’t crash during the madness.
At least I didn’t collapse when it would’ve hurt more people.
At least my body held on long enough to give them breathing space first.

Somehow, even in breaking, I still protected everyone else.

I don’t know if that’s strength or stupidity.

All I know is I’m here.
Tired. Foggy. Ashamed. Grateful.
All of it, all at once.

I keep asking myself — if I’m this fragile, how will I ever survive freelancing?

But maybe surviving isn’t about never falling.
Maybe it’s about falling and still crawling forward anyway.

Maybe it’s about saying, "I’m here," even when here feels like a mess.
Maybe it’s about showing up slow, but still showing up.
Maybe it’s about not needing to be everything for everyone all the time.

Today, I work from home.
Today, I move slow.
Today, I take one small step — even if no one sees it.

And maybe that’s enough.