What If You’re Not Burned Out — Just Misaligned?

What if your exhaustion isn’t about doing too much — but about not doing what lights you up?

When I reread the draft of an unpublished essay, I was startled. Somewhere between the edits and the reflections, it dawned on me: I had been describing burnout.

Had I really burned out?

That couldn’t be, right? I was still functioning, not completely overwhelmed like the stories I’d heard.

But as I closed my laptop and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, I felt a deep need for clarity. I sat by the window, cross-legged, and breathed. Slowly. Intentionally.

Breathing in, breathing out.

Meditation has become a way for me to access truth. To listen to what’s real beneath the noise. And this time, I had a specific question: Had I been experiencing a burnout?

Breathing in, breathing out.

I let myself sink. Told myself, whatever comes up, it’s okay.

And then: a memory.

A dim storeroom. My old job. I was supposed to fetch something, but somehow I couldn’t. My hands lifted to my eyes. No tears, though, just a deep sigh. My body slumped slightly forward. Tired.

I remembered that moment in the storage room. The crammed shelves. The clutter. Things no one noticed, no one missed.

Was I just like that?

Not because of how others treated me. But because of how I seemed to have forgotten myself, lost connection with myself.

There, then, in the dark, was the moment I surrendered.

A clear thought cut through everything:

I can’t do this anymore.

And then:

I need help.

Seen, Finally

Another scene:

An online coaching call, a few days later. A younger version of me sat in front of my laptop, looking into the calm face of the coach I had just met. Hopeful, afraid. Her presence made me feel at ease. Within minutes, I was crying. Not a quiet tear, but full-body sobs. All the grief and sorrow I hadn’t known how to voice came pouring out.

I told her: I think I’ve lost something.

My lightness. My enthusiasm. My connection to the world.

She didn’t fix it. She didn’t interrupt. She just witnessed.

And when I was ready, when the tears had dried up and I could feel strength returning to my body, she said:

You have to change something, actively, if you want your life to feel different. No one is coming to save you. If you don’t move, nothing will.

It Wasn’t the Job

It wasn’t about the job. I explained to her: It doesn’t matter what job I take. Something deeper isn’t working.

This was the second full-time job I had entered with optimism. And again, I couldn’t hold it.

Well, I could. But only at the cost of my energy.

Something Was Off

During the meditation, I felt that fear again. The disorientation. I would never want to go back there.

The job wasn’t hard, but it drained me. Small tasks took forever. Social gatherings no longer energized me. I was getting through the days, but they weren’t mine.

And yet, technically, I was fine: I slept well. I meditated, every morning (maybe that was what kept me going). I moved my body. I laughed with friends.

But in the quiet moments, I felt empty. Bored. Unfulfilled.

I wasn’t me anymore.

This wasn’t just a rough patch. It was a rupture. A loss of direction, meaning, and internal coherence.

And I knew: if I kept going, this slow erosion would become a collapse.

No job, no city, no country could fix that. Not Berlin, not Barcelona. Even Bali would blur into burnout if I kept abandoning what brings me to life.

The problem wasn’t location. It was misalignment. I wasn’t doing too much. I was doing too little of what gave my life meaning.

Redefining Balance

“What makes you feel truly alive?” my coach asked.

Easy, I thought. I knew the answer: Singing. Writing. Deep, real conversations.

These weren’t hobbies. They were signals. They were portals back to myself. So I followed them. I did more of what gave me energy, less of what drained me.

Simple — but not easy.

Because knowing what I loved came with a cost: naming what didn’t.

I left my job. I feared what would come next. But luckily I had savings, and was ready to use them. For reasons I still can’t fully explain, my childhood city didn’t feel right, either. I went volunteering in France, just for a few weeks.

Was I fleeing? Maybe, but mostly, I needed space.

And there, it came.

I wrote, sang, and watched the sunset every single evening — small acts that lit me up from within. I read Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, moving through it like it was sacred. And something in me began to open.

Maybe I wasn’t made for a "balanced" 9-5 life. Maybe my kind of balance looks different: Creative days. Spaciousness. Soul.

I made a quiet vow:

Write every day.
Sing every day.

Not for success. Not for anyone else. Just for me because it brings me home.

Tiny Shifts, True Direction

This is the truth I keep coming back to: Nothing moves until you do.

And no, it doesn’t mean you have to hustle. It doesn’t mean fixing your life overnight.

It means this:

Something has to shift.

Even the tiniest motion counts.

James Clear puts it perfectly in Atomic Habits:

"You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems."

It’s not about motivation. Or vision boards. It’s about the things you do again and again. The small things that compound. The things that make you feel like you. Your habits, your environment, the people around you — all of it shapes you. Everything you do, think, produce, or consume matters.

So I continued, step by step. Choosing what fueled me, letting go of what didn’t, and accepting that I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to do it all. Or always be available. Peace, grace, and gratitude followed. Slowly but surely.

The Drought Had Meaning

Here’s what I’ve learned: My emptiness wasn’t random. It was speaking, and I was right to listen.

Emotions move in waves. Life moves in seasons.

Some are blooming. Some are dry.

Mine had been a drought. My creative reservoir had emptied. And I didn’t yet have the words for what was missing.

Eventually, I did.

With the help of a coach, books, music, meditation, and trusted people, I found the language for what I needed. And more than that: I took the steps. Because no one could choose a different life for me. Only I could. And so I did, and still do, every day.

Others have made different choices, and I respect that. It’s beautiful to see how we all build our own lives, how we each find meaning in our own way. We don’t have to understand each other’s choices. We all have different needs. And that’s okay.

This isn’t comparison. This isn’t judgment. Some systems simply weren’t built for me. I couldn’t stay and remain whole. And so I left — not to be better, not to be right — but to be honest.

Your Ache Is Pointing Somewhere

Was it burnout? Maybe. But I prefer to name it something else — a deep state of misalignment. Too little space. Too much noise. Too many things that drained me, and too few that brought me back to life.

I’m writing this because I see the pressure to perform, the fear of not being enough. The urgency. The rush. The endless comparison.

We rarely talk about creative drought. Or invisible misalignment. Or that quiet ache of not feeling like ourselves anymore.

But we should.

Because these moments matter. They point somewhere. We were never taught that creativity, slowness, or emotion matters. We were taught to fit in. To produce. To ignore the ache.

If you’re feeling misaligned, know that it’s not your fault. And it doesn’t have to be your future.

There’s always a choice. Even if it’s just dancing in front of your mirror for ten minutes. Or humming a song you loved as a child. Or saying no. Doing these things every day can make a huge difference. You have the power to change your life.

You alone.
Not your partner. Not your boss. Not your friends.

You.

If something in this moved you, pause. Just for a moment. Ask yourself: What is stirring in me? Is there something I’ve been missing? A voice that’s been quiet for too long?

Start there. Light a candle. Breathe. Write. Move toward it, even if it’s small.

I’ve come to believe this:
Your longings aren’t distractions.
They’re directions.

I wrote this from a real place, because I know what it means to feel lost, to ache for more, to want your days to feel like yours again.

That’s why I now offer psychological coaching — grounded, thoughtful sessions for those who want to shift gently toward a life that feels more aligned, creative, and truly their own.

Curious? You can book a free intro call here. We'll see if it feels like a good fit.