By Adreanna

There is something I need to admit that I have not said out loud yet.

I keep talking about this like it is new.

Like this idea of not overextending, not saying yes unless it is an enthusiastic yes, not being useful all the time just came to me.

It didn’t.

I have been here before.

Not once. Not twice. But in small, quiet rotations.

Testing the waters. Pulling back. Trying again.

Seeing what I could “get away with.”

And every single time, I learned the same thing.

I was still safe.
I was still loved.
I was still accepted.

And yet… I keep circling back to it like it is brand new.

The Burn Still Happened

Two years ago, I hit a wall of burnout so intense it felt like my being was being ripped from my body.

Everything I wrote before still stands. The symptoms. The unraveling. The year of watching myself burn physically, emotionally, neurologically, financially.

That part does not change.

What I understand now is that even in the middle of all of that, I was already trying to find my way out.

Just not in big, bold, life-altering ways.

In micro doses.

Testing the Waters

Long before I called it an “experiment,” I was already experimenting.

Saying no to one thing.
Letting a text sit unanswered a little longer.
Not offering advice in a conversation where I normally would.
Leaving a little bit of space where I would usually fill it.

Small things.

So small they almost did not count.

But they did.

Because every time I did it, my anxiety would spike.

My body would react like I had just done something dangerous.

Heart racing.
Chest tight.
That familiar feeling like something bad was about to happen.

And then… nothing would happen.

No one would abandon me.
No one would explode on me.
No catastrophic consequence would come crashing down.

And eventually, my body would settle.

Every single time.

Why It Has Taken Me So Long

If I am being honest, this is why my progress has felt so slow.

Because even though the outcome is safety, the process feels like danger.

Trying something new ramps my symptoms up before it calms them down.

So sometimes I stop.

Sometimes I retreat.

Sometimes I convince myself that I am not making progress at all.

And sometimes I forget that I have been here before.

Until the idea comes back again, dressed up as something new.

Another attempt.
Another “experiment.”
Another realization.

But I am starting to see it differently now.

I do not think I am starting over.

I think my nervous system is catching up.

Each time I revisit this work, it feels new because my body has finally settled into the last layer.

What once felt impossible now feels normal.

So the next edge appears.

The Part That Breaks My Heart

What has been hardest to sit with is not the slowness.

It is the why.

I am coming to terms with just how afraid I have been to simply exist without being useful.

To be relaxed.
To be unhelpful.
To not be “on.”
To stop working mentally, physically, emotionally all the time.

Afraid.

Not uncomfortable. Not resistant.

Afraid.

And that realization has been heavy.

Because it means I have been moving through my life like rest itself was dangerous.

Like stillness needed to be earned.

Like my safety depended on how much I could do, carry, fix, and be.

Moving So Slowly It Feels Like Not Moving

Right now, I feel like I am testing the waters of my own life.

Slowly.

So slowly that sometimes it feels like I am not moving at all.

And sometimes, I am not.

Sometimes I pause the work completely.

Sometimes I fall right back into old patterns because they feel familiar and certain, even if they are exhausting.

And then eventually, I find my way back here again.

Trying again.

A little more aware than before.

A little more willing than before.

A little less convinced that I am in danger.

What I Know Now

I know now that this process is not linear.

It is layered.

It is cyclical.

It is returning to the same lesson until my body believes it, not just my mind.

And I know that every small attempt matters.

Every no.
Every pause.
Every moment where I choose not to overextend.

Even when it feels insignificant.

Even when it feels like I am failing.

Even when it feels like I am starting over.

I am not starting over.

I am reinforcing something new.

The Work Ahead

Because there is still one piece left.

That lingering feeling that I am not safe unless I am excelling.

Unless I am the fastest, the best, the most.

Unless I am operating at a level that proves my worth before anyone has the chance to question it.

I know where that comes from.

We grow up hearing that Black women have to be twice as good to get half as much.

And somewhere along the way, my body turned that into something else.

That I had to be twice as good just to be safe.

Just to exist without consequence.

And unlearning that is not something I can rush.

That is not something I can logic my way out of.

That is something I have to go back and heal at the root.

At the level of my inner child.

Where I Am Now

So this is where I am.

Not fully on the other side.

Not completely free.

But no longer unaware.

I am in the slow work.

The repetitive work.

The kind of work where progress does not always look like forward movement.

Sometimes it looks like trying again.

Sometimes it looks like remembering.

Sometimes it looks like doing one small thing differently and letting that be enough.

All so one day, I can exist without having to think twice about whether I am in danger for not being twice as good while receiving half as much.

All so one day, being at peace does not feel like a risk.

But something my body recognizes as safe.