Not long after I started, a co-worker we will call Stacy and I became fast friends. We had so much in common, and we grew close quickly. We spent weekends together running errands, handling business, or just hanging out. For a while, it was a blast.

Then she started dating a man we will call John.

At first, John seemed charming. Over time, though, he started feeling less charming and more slick and sneaky. Something about him made me uncomfortable. Eventually, I started making excuses about why my boyfriend and I could not spend time with them anymore.

Around that same time, I was dealing with problems in my own relationship and decided I would rather be single than continue forcing something that no longer felt right.

Later, Stacy won a custody battle involving her sons, and I thought a barbecue would be the perfect way to celebrate.

John called and asked if he could come over a half hour early since Stacy would be picking the boys up from school.

“Fine,” I told him naively.

The moment he arrived, I regretted it.

If he had only made a pass at me, I probably would have just thought he was a jerk. But he would not keep his hands off me until Stacy arrived. I spent the entire day uncomfortable and anxious.

Several times, Stacy asked me what was wrong. The look in her eyes made me wonder if she already knew.

The next day, she came over wanting to know why I had been upset at the barbecue. Telling her the truth was one of the hardest things I had ever done, but I pushed through it anyway.

And she called me a liar.

We did not speak for weeks after that, and I missed my friend terribly.

Eventually, I guess she caught him with another woman because she finally broke up with him. Afterward, we tried to rebuild our friendship, but we never got back to the place where we were happy and comfortable in each other’s company. She always seemed uneasy around me. Sometimes she would sit with me at lunch, but we mostly talked about nothing.

In the end, I lost my best friend.

It was a painful lesson, and one I will never forget.

She was not always so cold toward me. But there was always this thick, impenetrable emotional wall. All my life, I tried to bring that wall down or even pierce it. But she passed away three years ago, and all my efforts were of no avail. I cannot explain why that wall was there, since I first felt it as a child.

I only have one sibling, and my mother showered her with love and attention. I often wondered what made me inferior and unworthy of that same love. I was different: quiet, introverted, with only a few very close friends. I wasn’t clean by her standards, which were close to military, but I wasn’t filthy either.

I cooked, cleaned, and did laundry, but this did not earn her love. In eighth grade, I finally gave up and attempted suicide. I chose the wrong method and became terribly ill. So I was rushed to the hospital and had my stomach pumped. I told the psych team it was because my father was not in my life. That was a lie.

Occasionally, she would do something totally out of character. For one of my pre-teen birthdays, she gave me a card that said I was a real beauty. It touched my heart so much that all I could do was try to keep myself from crying. I teared up anyway.

As an adult, our relationship was a little better, but not by much. She did recognize my adulthood, though. I always loved my mother so much; all I ever wanted was a good relationship with her. One thing I’m angry at myself about is that I never said those exact words. Maybe she needed to hear something from me as well. I’ll never know. But I have made the decision to remember the good times and to be okay with the fact that I still love my mother and always will.

She applied everywhere she could. She revised resumes, filled out applications late into the night, and showed up to interviews exhausted but hopeful. She did not perform poorly during interviews; she simply did not stand out. Without a college education or specialized skills, she was often passed over for someone with more experience or stronger credentials.

Still, she kept trying.

Eventually, life began slipping beyond her control. Childcare arrangements kept falling through, and finding a school that met her child’s needs felt impossible. She accepted jobs that paid far less than she needed because some income was better than none. Bills piled up on the kitchen counter unopened. The rent became overdue. Her migraines returned after years of being manageable, and depression slowly crept back into her thoughts.

Then came the eviction notice.

She did not bother fighting it in court. Deep down, she already knew she could not afford to stay.

The next step filled her with shame. She needed help, but her family refused to support her, and to this day she still does not understand why. She had never been involved with drugs, gangs, or crime. In fact, faith had always been central to her life. Whenever possible, she took her child to church, attending services faithfully as long as they could get there safely.

For a long time, she hid the truth from her friends.

When they asked how she was doing, she would smile and say work was demanding and single motherhood kept her busy. Technically, both statements were true. What she never admitted was how lonely she felt or how desperately she wanted someone to notice she was struggling.

Eventually, everything stopped working.

Trying to survive homelessness while raising a child and maintaining employment became impossible. Every day felt heavier than the one before it. Fear, exhaustion, and uncertainty followed her everywhere. At night, after her child fell asleep, she often sat awake in silence, staring into the dark and wondering how much longer she could endure life like this.

All she had left was her child and her faith, and she clung to both with everything she had.

Then she made a decision she would later regret. Vulnerable, isolated, and emotionally exhausted, she became involved with a man who claimed to share her beliefs and values. At first, he seemed kind and understanding. For a brief moment, she thought she had finally found safety.

She was wrong.

After discovering something she was never supposed to know, the relationship changed quickly. His behavior became threatening and unpredictable. Soon he was showing up unexpectedly wherever she went, demanding she leave with him so they could “talk.” Fear consumed her daily life.

So she ran.

She left the city and eventually the state, trying to disappear quietly. She knew people in other places who may have helped her, but pride, shame, and fear kept her from reaching out.

She convinced herself she had a plan: stay away for a year, then return quietly and rebuild her life somewhere new.

But her mental health was deteriorating faster than she realized.

The stress, isolation, fear, and exhaustion finally overwhelmed her. She began hearing voices. Sometimes she thought she saw things no one else could see. She became terrified of her own mind. Realizing she could no longer trust herself completely, she made the painful decision to take her child somewhere safe.

After that, she tried to keep going for a little while longer, but eventually the fight left her.

No more plans. No more hope. Just survival.

Some days she no longer cared whether she existed at all.

Eventually, she lost custody of her child. Given her mental state at the time, she understood why it happened, but the loss devastated her in ways words cannot fully explain. Even now, years later, she is still trying to rebuild some kind of relationship with her adult child. It has not been easy, but she continues trying because giving up completely would hurt even more.

There is no perfect ending to her story.

What she does have now is awareness.

She understands her warning signs. She recognizes many of her triggers. She has coping tools, support systems, and a crisis plan in place for moments when her mental health begins to decline. Medication management has helped stabilize her for years, and practices like mindfulness, rest, and regular check-ins with trusted people help her remain grounded.

Her relapse prevention plan was not created in a classroom or pulled from a workbook. It was built from loss, fear, survival, and experience. It exists because she knows firsthand what can happen when emotional pain, isolation, trauma, and untreated mental illness collide.

And although she still carries grief for everything she lost, she continues moving forward one day at a time.

To rest is to cease work or movement in order to relax, refresh ourselves, and recover our strength. Too many of us practice only part of that definition. We stop working for a few hours. We pause long enough to get five or six hours of sleep. Then we wake up and begin again before our minds and bodies have truly recovered.

We do it because we are committed to the people and responsibilities in our lives. We do it because we want to be dependable. Many of us are balancing demanding careers while raising children, maintaining relationships, supporting family and friends, attending events, and for some, continuing our education. If we looked honestly at our schedules, we would probably wonder how we manage to carry so much at once.

For a while, we convince ourselves we are superhuman.

Until burnout arrives.

Sometimes burnout does not look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like sitting in your car for a few extra minutes because you are too exhausted to walk inside. Sometimes it looks like waking up tired no matter how long you slept. Sometimes it is answering one more phone call, attending one more event, or completing one more task while quietly realizing you have nothing left to give yourself.

That is why real rest requires courage.

It takes courage to tell people, responsibilities, and even ourselves, “Wait for a while.” It takes courage to believe that pausing is not laziness and that recovery is not selfishness. Real rest means allowing ourselves time to recuperate and return to ourselves fully.

It is okay to spend a quiet afternoon in a jacuzzi or beside a fireplace with a good book and a comforting drink. It is okay to take long walks through nature without feeling guilty for being unproductive. It is okay to reconnect with the things that make you feel alive, peaceful, and whole.

What are you passionate about? Do not let it disappear beneath your responsibilities.

Putting ourselves first is not an act of selfishness. It is an act of preservation. We cannot continue pouring into others when we never allow ourselves to be replenished. Strength is not found in constantly pushing beyond our limits. Sometimes strength is found in knowing when to stop, rest, and begin again.