I woke up on Monday with the unmistakable heaviness that the onset of a sickness brings—the kind that doesn’t just tug at your body but weighs down your spirit, too. But there was an important training workshop that I needed to attend in person and which I was also looking forward to.
The heaviness persisted as I got myself ready. At some point, I briefly considered working from home instead, as a light wave of nausea and fatigue washed over me. But the "adult" habit won so I continued to push myself through it. I went to the workshop, attended meetings in between, endured the sensory and social overload of interacting and being present with more than 60 people in a single space.
But my body had other plans. It wasn’t just asking for a slow-down; it was demanding it.
It’s a humbling thing when the body becomes the ultimate authority. We like to think we’re in control, that sheer willpower can outpace exhaustion or stave off illness. But the truth is, when we refuse to listen, the body speaks louder. It stops us in our tracks, forcing us to confront the things we’ve been neglecting—not just physically but emotionally and mentally. (This has already happened to me a number of times through the years yet I seem to always forget it and repeat the same mistakes.)
Lying in bed in the evening of that same Monday, my to-do list hovering like a specter, deadlines like doom clouds, I started spiraling as waves of pain and discomfort overtook my senses. What about the projects I had been leading? What about the tasks only I could do? Surely everything would unravel because I wasn’t there to catch the threads. But then, slowly, I realized something else. There are always things beyond my control. Even on my best days, perfection isn’t guaranteed. And no amount of micro-planning or overextending myself would ever change that.
I had been carrying more than my fair share, and it was taking its toll. The late nights and too few hours of sleep, the grim determination to carry all the load business-as-usual as two team members are on their way out, picking up the slack of a junior who has poor work ethics and professionalism —they all added up. This week, my body simply cashed in on the debt I had been ignoring. It felt like a betrayal at first, but in hindsight, it was an overdue act of self-preservation.
If there’s a lesson in all of this, it’s that things will always unravel in some way or another. Deadlines will shift. Projects might stumble. But these moments don’t have to define us or our worth. What does define us is how we choose to recover and what we learn from the pause. One thing I noticed is that I have become apologetic for being absent from work. I was sick and yet I found myself feeling I was letting people down. I wanted to check the group chats, update that pitch deck, respond to emails, get projects on track -- but my body repeatedly took me to the bathroom, making me throw up all the toxic stuff from my body. Then it kept me in pain so that it was all I could think about. No more work. Take the effing break, it said.
So here I am, still tired, not yet 100% myself, but resting, still healing but hopeful. I’m reminded that this isn’t just a period of being unproductive; it’s a necessary chapter in taking care of the one project that truly matters: me.
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