Lessons Learned from Being Forced to Live a Slower Life

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Burnout has forced my brain into submission.

One month ago, I achieved something I didn’t think I could do. I broke my brain.

I was experiencing a personal loss, but instead of sitting with the grief, I threw myself into intellectual pursuits. I worked on essays, read and analyzed dense text, and strategized and pressure-tested new ideas for work. If I had the free time to turn anything into a project or thinking exercise, I would. I remember one night I pushed myself so hard that I felt literal pain that felt like it was coming from somewhere deep in my brain, and even pushed through for a while longer before stopping.

In addition to deep work, I was still scrolling social media for multiple hours a day, like I have been in the past year, which would constantly overstimulate me. I also slept less, but I was still exercising and eating regular meals, so I wasn’t too worried about my health. I felt good about the milestones I was achieving both personally and professionally, and I think it masked what was really going on underneath the hood. 

Then one day, after about 2 weeks of this, I woke up, and I could barely function. Symptoms like mental fog, irritability, and sensory sensitivity made it difficult to work or do much else.  And the interesting piece is that my brain was still begging to write, learn, and strategize, but it was forced into submission. 

I’m about a month into this burnout period and still recovering. My best guess, from my limited research, is that I depleted all my reserves by doing deep work 24/7, and all the dopamine hits I received from doing it overrode most of the danger signals from the brain. 

The closest I found to an apt description is autistic burnout. I’m not diagnosed, but as someone on the neurodivergent spectrum, it was helpful to read about. The most alarming thing I learned was that this kind of burnout could take months to resolve itself. So this past month, I’ve dedicated every waking moment to helping my brain recover. 

The first step was figuring out how to slow down my thoughts, which were moving at an alarming pace. And to slow down my thoughts, I had to slow down my life. Lucky for me, that’s currently trending.

I took some of the obvious steps, like taking time off from work, cutting screen time on my phone by more than half, and increasing slower “analog” activities like drawing and coloring (although even those became too much at one point). Through meticulous care in the past month, I’ve learned things about the way my brain works that I never realized before. 

1. Even healthy coping mechanisms can be harmful in excess.

I learned the hard way that even activities that are healthy and fulfilling can be harmful if overdone. Back before this all started, I had just gotten back into my writing practice and, in seeking an outlet and relief, ignored signs my body was giving me about capacity overload. I would sit and work at my desk on a single piece for up to six hours at a time, the satisfaction of my work overriding biological signs like thirst or back pain. And even after taking physical breaks, I’d lie in bed at night, continuing to brainstorm and pressure test ideas, pushing my brain to the brink of its limits, my excitement masking exhaustion.

I’ve since learned that I can’t do daily marathon writing sessions on my computer with no breaks and follow up with dense reading and research in bed, not without trade-offs. In the past month, I’ve had to cut activities like essay-writing and strategizing completely, which I’d never imagined would be necessary. 

2. When your mind is quieter, you’re more attuned to your physical needs.

I think the biggest mistake I’ve made throughout the last decade is not being in sync with my physical body, and I’m not just referring to exercise. By slowing down and trying to figure out what my brain needs, I’ve formed a closer relationship with my entire body. Hunger and fullness signals are louder, my circadian rhythm is more aligned, and I’m more sensitive to how my environment affects my mood.

Being attuned to what my body needs has made all the difference in burnout recovery. It’s allowed me to identify key accommodations, like purchasing a new lamp to help with eye strain. It’s also allowed me to remove friction my brain had filtered out before burnout, simple things like clutter on my desk that was causing unnecessary anxiety, or cutting down on excessive multitasking at work. I was able to identify things that were under my control that were creating cognitive stress and made adjustments that provided instant relief.

3. Your inner narrator is not always your friend.

I’ve always prided myself on being extremely self-aware, and for the most part, this has served me well. But when the burnout first hit, the inner voice was on overdrive, and I felt trapped in my own mind. Many times, my inner voice is seemingly well-meaning, and every spiral feels like I’m a step closer to a solution—until it isn’t, and the narrator comes up with additional caveats or critiques that end up being counterproductive.

I realized my narrator could probably find any way to sabotage what I was doing in the name of being helpful or problem-solving, so I had to turn the volume down. Meditation is difficult for me, so I started simple. I did what I called “2-minute resets,” where I’d turn on a timer for 2 minutes and focused intensely on clearing my thoughts. I stopped listening to music or podcasts while doing household chores so I could stay mindful. I’ve learned how to stay present, which has helped me observe thoughts that don’t serve me and let them pass.

As an overthinker, I promise you this was no picnic. But eventually, the narrator has quieted down to the point that I feel I’m able to trust her again. 

4. Clarity comes from removing noise.

I was never much of a TV or movie watcher, so I replaced a lot of my free time with social media scrolling in the past few years. I’m not against it, and it’s been a great way to connect to others, but lately the algorithm has made it feel like a cognitive nightmare. 

The TikTok algorithm felt like whiplash, each swipe a gamble. I couldn’t predict whether the next video would be something funny, interesting, or frightening. On LinkedIn and Instagram, I felt constant FOMO of things I “could” be pursuing—hobbies, interests, careers, professional development. I wanted to chase down every thread, which meant I didn’t commit to very many.

But now, having to reckon with an actual capacity, I’ve had to exercise discernment in how I decide to spend my time. Cutting down on social media use has given me clarity as to what pursuits are actually important to me and make sense for my life. Constraint has been necessary, and a good thing.

5. Setbacks are data points, not moral failures.

Every day of recovery, I make mistakes. Things I “should” already know. I push myself through eye strain to finish a drawing, or I’ll start reading dense text after I’ve been overloaded at work. Sometimes I spiral and burn out from doing so. The difference is that I no longer spend a large amount of energy flagellating myself for it, because that’s energy I can use elsewhere. 

In the past, I viewed mistakes as reflections of my character or abilities. I stayed fixated on them, and sometimes it was productive, but I didn’t realize until now that excessive reflection, guilt, and shame are cognitively expensive. That mindset shift alone has been a game-changer in burnout recovery. I quickly reflect, learn from mistakes, and try to do better for myself the next day, because that’s all I can do.

Conclusion

As much as my brain has benefited from consistency and routine, I’m not preaching a regimented or slow lifestyle. We all have different brains and capacities, so burnout recovery (and prevention) won’t look the same for everyone. 

What I do think is important is paying closer attention to what you spend your time on and what’s worth using up the finite cognitive energy we all have as humans. In my case, if I decide to reintroduce more social media time after recovery, I plan on being more intentional about what and who I engage with and use my energy to consume quality content that actually matters to me.

You don’t have to delete social media apps cold turkey like I did or curate an “analog bag” like the ones trending on TikTok. Just by being more intentional about how you’re using capacity, whatever that looks like for you, creates space for what actually matters.

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