As a woman in her early 20s, I always feel like an impostor, be it in my achievements or the well-deserved rewards that come after them
College life changed me in more ways than one.
I became time-smitten, always rushing through deadlines, meticulously planning every hour of the day. Like a race, I needed to have a head start; otherwise, I’d fall behind.
Sleep was my reward. But, it was never as rewarding as it should’ve been. I would wake up all groggy and tired, miss a few fun, chaotic moments in the household, and fail to find deeper connections with the people who mattered. All because I prioritized my sleep—aka, my catalyst for tomorrow’s work.
I had a love-hate relationship with it. Sometimes, I would serenade myself with songs I overplayed over the weekend just so we could have our peaceful resolution. Still, sleep eluded me. Even if I was in a current state of relaxation with nothing to do, many thoughts came through.
Why did it feel like I was resting but never well-rested? Beyond being burned out, perhaps it was because I only used it to help with the dreary routine I had planned for the next day—not because I really needed it. That’s when it hit me: I don’t know how to rest.
READ: ‘I want to be great, or nothing’: How YA media tropes tackle pressure, burnout, and parentification
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Variations of rest
Rest or self-care comes in different variations, from a good cry book and an oddly nostalgic new series to relatably quirky stories with friends and a hearty meal and laughter with family and friends. These used to be my forms of self-care. Since the feeling of being burned out came looming over—I don’t know if they still are.
I still eye a good book to read. I still put new shows and movies on my watchlist. I still send my “I miss you” and invites to hang out or set calls with friends. And I still think of treating my family to aesthetically appealing, mouthwatering meals.
But that’s all just there waiting. I want to do all of those yet I continue to wait for a rewardingly great day to have them. And when I finally have the time, I will do none of them because they overwhelm me and I see them as a chore that I have to do to appease my hardworking self.
Oftentimes, I compare myself to those who have lives outside their careers. They buy themselves gifts and go to lavish treatments—be it a mani-pedi or a spa massage. Some go athletic, seemingly trying out sports and workouts despite a tight schedule. Looking at the unread books on my shelf, I find that I simply just never have the energy to pick one up.
Clearly, I’m burned out. I see taking care of myself as too much of a responsibility or a burden for a grown woman. Finding and discovering what excites me takes so much time and energy (even money) to begin with.
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A mere impostor
As a woman in her early 20s, I always feel like an impostor, be it in my achievements or the well-deserved rewards that come after them.
I always ask my friends, “Deserve ko bang magpahinga?” “Deserve ko bang bumili ng bagong sapatos?” “Deserve ko bang gumala?” Believe me when I say that I had to go through constant validation and assurance just to stop myself from overthinking and overworking.
While impostor syndrome is known to have unfounded feelings of self-doubt and incompetence in one’s performance and profession, I often associate it with self-care. My accomplishments serve as the currency I use to buy myself my rest. I always have to prove myself, working early ahead of others, otherwise I will inevitably feel unaccomplished and fueled with anxiety and guilt.
Resilience is hardwired in my consciousness. A people pleaser who has to keep everything together. A career woman who has to keep “distractions” away. But the thing is, I’m just longing for the day when this will be over.
As Filipinos, we are likened to cog machines who work tirelessly until we feel satisfied and deserving of good rest—a means of recharging only for the sake of the next working day—not a necessity to avoid the risk of getting burned out.
To be frank, I still don’t see the end of this dreadful cycle of loathing. But all I know is that I have to forgive myself for being human. I am allowed to be one—to rest in ways I feel like it, to abandon my perfectionism, and to make compromises and be kinder. Maybe after writing this, I’ll read one chapter of the book I’ve been gatekeeping myself or watch a good cry movie. I’ll probably send love letters to my friends and plan hangouts or find a restaurant for another food crawl with my family.
But for now, the recovery from being burned out starts with the chocolates I have in my crate.
