When Disgust Replaces Burnout — And Coming Back Feels Impossible

Something landed in my comments recently that deserved more than a quick reply. It deserved a full window into a conversation most people never have out loud.

Someone asked me:

It’s a thoughtful question — but the truth behind it is heavier than most people expect.

Because honestly, there’s no perfect “go-to” when you hit a wall. We all process differently. We all carry different lives, different pressures, different wiring. But I can tell you this: a return is possible, even when you’ve gone past exhaustion… past burnout… all the way into disgust.

And if you’re there — if you know exactly what disgust feels like — you’re already beyond the phase everyone gives advice for.

Burnout is the point where you still believe you can adjust your pace, take a weekend, reorganize your schedule, breathe deeper, and keep going.

But disgust?

Disgust is different.

Disgust is the moment you’ve crossed your limits so quietly and so consistently that something inside you finally shuts off. It’s when the thing you once cared about becomes untouchable — not because you don’t care anymore, but because you cared so intensely that you started borrowing minutes from the rest of your life just to keep up. And each minute you stole created a deficit somewhere else, until you were caught in a loop of trying to ‘win back time’ that never actually existed.

And when that happens, you don’t feel tired.

You feel repelled.

And this doesn’t only happen to people who are disorganized or overwhelmed or undisciplined. It happens even to the most structured, self-aware, boundary-practicing individuals.

Because boundaries don’t make you invincible.

You can practice them, teach them, live by them… and still, something can slip through.

It happens in those seasons where you’re “in the zone”—when life feels fast and full and purposeful. You’re juggling momentum, ideas, responsibilities, and because you’re functioning, you mistake functioning for being okay. You convince yourself the small breaks you take are enough. You take a breath and call it recovery. You pause for a moment and call it rest.

But breaks aren’t resets.

A break gives you air.

A reset gives you direction.

And sometimes the pressure grows in the background while you’re focused on goals, timelines, or a deeper purpose — until suddenly the very thing you thought you were protecting becomes the thing you can’t even look at without feeling your stomach twist.

That’s disgust.

That’s the shutdown that arrives after pushing yourself too far for too long.

And yes — I know that moment personally.

There have been seasons where I held too many roles inside the same purpose: creating, planning, refining, building, showing up, improving — all in the direction of something I deeply cared about. It wasn’t chaos across my life. It was one path overloaded with too much responsibility at one time.

And somewhere in that push, I slipped out of alignment with myself — slowly, the way water erodes stone. Bit by bit. Until one day, I looked at the work and felt nothing but resistance. A full-body rejection.

Here’s my truth:

I cannot move until I understand why I collapsed — until I can see the cracks in the work and the breaks in the flow that pushed me past my limits. Once I name them, I take my time resolving them. I put the project back together in my mind, give myself structure again, and only then can I return with a clearer direction and a pace that makes sense.

So when someone asks me, “How do you reset?”

Here’s my real answer:

1. I acknowledge the disgust.

I name what tipped the load.

2. I stop. Fully.

Not a pause. Not a moment of breath. A full stop.

3. I tell myself the truth about what broke me.

Clarity dissolves shame. Shame thrives in avoidance.

4. I rebuild one boundary before rebuilding one habit.

For me, that means making sure the work doesn’t spill into everything else. I set smaller goals, write down whatever ideas rush in instead of chasing them, and protect the parts of my life that keep me grounded.

5. I return slowly — without demanding a timeline.

Slow, is balancing real life while giving yourself room to return.

This "stop" is the beginning of your return — slower, wiser, stronger.

And you’re not alone.

This happens to millions of people.

The guilt you’re carrying for stepping back doesn’t deserve your energy — it’s not a sign of weakness, it’s proof of how deeply you were invested. Your pause isn’t the end. It’s the recovery that makes progress possible again.

So keep hope close. You’re not “done.” You’re rebuilding strength — the kind that allows you to reach your ultimate goal fully rested… and finally appreciate the outcome when you arrive.

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