Eject disk.

A manifesto for everyone stuck in the system that keeps crashing you.

What follows here isn’t a framework or a fix—it’s a declaration. A reckoning. And a call to return to ourselves before we try to rebuild anything else. We’re all watching the wheel spin, hoping it doesn’t crash, but we're way past that point. This is the truth and the work that many of us need right now—myself included—so let's go.

I see you.

You’re not burned out because you’re weak.
You’re burned out because you’ve been relevant, valuable, over-functioning for too long—inside systems that reward your ability to endure dysfunction and call it leadership.

You’ve spent years in roles that were never meant to hold your whole self.
Making it work.
Keeping the peace.
Delivering, exceeding, performing.

You showed up when no one else did.
You swallowed your rage to keep the team “aligned.”
You turned chaos into clarity—while bleeding out behind the scenes.

And when you finally cracked—or collapsed—someone handed you a mindfulness app.
Or a coach with a four-step framework.
Or a TED Talk about resilience.
Or, if you were lucky, a conference keynote with a slide that read, “Breathe.”

This isn’t about bouncing back.
This isn’t about polishing your story for LinkedIn.
This isn’t about pretending your trauma is a brand asset.

This isn’t burnout.
It’s the moment you realize you’ve adapted so well to dysfunction that you can’t hear your own voice anymore.

Long enough to ask: Who am I when I’m not performing?
Long enough to see the cost of the systems you’ve adjusted to—and decide you’re done paying it.

We don’t need another motivational quote.
We don’t need another productivity hack.
We need restoration.

Not spa-day self-care.
Not “find your joy.”
Actual restoration.

As in—
Unearthing what got buried.
Facing what you’ve been outrunning.
Naming what you’re no longer willing to tolerate.
Learning how to rebuild without disappearing again.

This is the work.
It’s not clean.
It’s not linear.
And it sure as hell isn’t marketable.

But it is hopeful.

Not hope as a mood. Not blind optimism.
Hope as a warrior emotion.

Like Nick Cave declared—hope that fights.
Hope as an act of resistance against burnout, cynicism, and collapse.
Hope that shows up in the smallest, quietest decisions: telling the truth when it would be easier not to, sharing something you love, not disappearing when things get hard.
Hope that keeps the devil down in the hole.

But on the other side?

You stop chasing the validation loop.
You stop contorting yourself into leadership roles that kill your soul.
You stop being everyone else’s source of stability while losing your own.

You remember your shape.
You recover your boundaries.
You stop clinging to the version of yourself that was rewarded for being useful, agreeable, productive.

You start remembering the version that was dangerous.
The one that still exists, buried beneath decades of making it work.

This isn’t a course.
This isn’t a brand.
It’s a reckoning. A restoration. A return.

If you're ready, step in.
If you’re not, keep performing.
If you don't have a choice, I see you—and I hope you get free.
But know this:

You are not the problem.
The system was never built for you.
And you don’t have to shrink yourself to survive it.

I’m not here to help you bounce back.
I’m here to help you stop pretending.
And start returning.

Okay, so now what?

Choose your move. Light your fuse.

You don’t need a workbook.
You don’t need a 10-step plan.
But you do need to do something.

Here are three ways to turn the spark into motion—pick the one that fits you best, or try them all. Just don’t stay still.

The Inner Call: Write Your Declaration
For the ones who feel first and speak later.

Go somewhere quiet. Bring a pen and a notebook. A real one, dammit, not a stupid app. Write your personal declaration. For you. Not for LinkedIn. Not for likes. For yourself.

Start with:
“I’m done…”
“I’m ready…”
“I remember who I am when…”

Make it raw. Make it honest. Then read it back to yourself out loud. You don’t need to post it—just let it ring in the room. Repeat it when you need it.

The Public Signal: Say It Out Loud
For the ones who need the world to know they’re done hiding.

Choose one sentence. One truth. One moment you’re no longer willing to swallow.
Write it. Post it. Text it. TikTok it. Tell someone. Say it in a meeting. Say it in your art.

“I’m no longer available for this.”
“I don’t do contortion anymore.”
“This is who I actually am.”

No disclaimers. No emojis. No emojis! No tidy lesson. Just truth in motion.

The Rebuild Act: Make One Change
For the ones who need to feel it in their hands.

Choose one part of your week—your work, your boundaries, your habits—and reclaim it.

Cancel the meeting.
Say no without the apology.
Ask for help. Yes, ask for help.
Build the thing you’ve been postponing.
Let something crumble that’s been holding you hostage.

Start small if you need to. Just make it real.

You don’t need to do all three.
But you do need to pick something.

If it’s not any of these cool, but do something.
Otherwise, all of this was just catharsis and you’ll be back to the bottom soon.

And you’re here for more than that.

Also...

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Not after—now.