From Burning Out to Breaking Free: Why I Created Gentle Nook

There’s a moment when everything breaks.

Except for me, it wasn’t really a moment. It was a slow undoing that unfolded over months in a fluorescent-lit office, staring at case files while my capacity quietly dissolved.

I couldn’t concentrate. My executive functioning had vanished. All I could manage was going to work and coming home. That’s all the energy I had left. Then my psoriasis flared worse than it ever had, angry red patches spreading across my skin like a map of my stress. The inflammation triggered psoriatic arthritis, and suddenly my joints were screaming along with my mind.

I was 37, a therapist, a single mother. And I was disappearing.

I didn’t have language for it then. I just knew I was failing at being “normal.”

The Hidden Epidemic

It turns out I wasn’t alone. Many women spend decades feeling almost functional. We’re told it’s anxiety. Or depression. Or burnout. We internalize it as a personal flaw. Try harder. Push through. Take a different pill. Be more grateful. That we’re dramatic.

Only later do we each discover our own truth. Sometimes it’s a diagnosis that finally makes sense of everything. Sometimes it’s recognizing toxic patterns we’ve been calling normal. For me, the revelation was simple but profound: I was trying to force my autistic brain into neurotypical systems, and something had to give.

The missing puzzle piece came through my son as it does for many autistic moms. After his autism diagnosis, I stumbled across an article about women on the spectrum. I had never seen myself described so clearly. It was surreal. It was like someone had written my inner experience and published it for the world to see.

I knew then. I contacted a psychologist for testing. Got diagnosed fairly quickly. Suddenly, everything made sense.

The Weight of Constant Performance

Looking back, the signs were everywhere. The overwhelming sensory overload. The deep fatigue from constant masking. The confusing experience of being “so smart” and yet always feeling a step behind professionally and personally.

But it was more than that. Sitting in meetings drained me completely. Being “on” for eight hours straight felt impossible. Having to talk all day, maintain a professional facade, constantly monitor every word and gesture—the emotional labor of being a therapist while masking my own neurodivergence was crushing.

I was good at my job. Really good. I helped countless people and felt deeply honored to do so. What I understand now is that my brain, my wiring, my sensitivity—the very things I thought I needed to fix—made me better at what I did.

But the cost was everything else.

By the end, I had one or two friends left. The energy it took to maintain professional relationships had consumed everything I had for personal ones. I had no hobbies, no interests outside of work. I didn’t know who I was anymore beyond my professional identity. And that’s an enormous responsibility to carry when you’re already running on empty.

I was drowning in depression, isolated and exhausted. I’d stopped returning calls, declined invitations until they stopped coming, retreated so far into survival mode that I’d become a ghost in my own life. I was solely defined by being a therapist, pouring everything into holding space for others while my own world quietly collapsed around me. There’s a lot to tell about that story on another day.

Breaking Free from “Should”

My diagnosis didn’t come with a triumphant aha moment. It came when I was already in crisis; physically, emotionally, spiritually. I had tried to keep up. I had tried to do everything “right.” I had pushed past my limits for years without ever questioning the cost.

Eventually, my body told the truth I could no longer outrun. The psoriasis and arthritis weren’t separate from the mental exhaustion, They were part of the same story. My autoimmune system was rebelling against the constant stress of performing neurotypicality while carrying everyone else’s emotional weight.

That was the moment I realized: sometimes breaking is really breaking free.

I walked away from my career. Not because I had to, but because I chose to live differently. I wanted a life that wasn’t built on burning myself out to prove my worth. I needed one where I could simply exist.

Building a Life That Fits

Now, at 39, I’m creating something different. A life that moves with my rhythms instead of against them. One that honors slowness, softness, and the parts of me that never fit into conventional systems.

I’m still recovering from burnout, so I design everything around my actual needs. I track my energy levels. I adjust plans and expectations based on my stress. After an emotionally demanding meeting last week, I spent the rest of the week being intentionally gentle with myself.

I’ve released so much shame around needing support. I don’t apologize for using systems that work for my brain, or for resting when I need to, or for saying no to things that drain me. The energy I used to spend on guilt now goes toward actually living.

For the first time in my life, I have genuine hobbies—not recovery activities, but pursuits that light me up. I get lost in creative projects. I dive deep into interests with the same intensity I once brought to work, except now it feels like play. The hyperfocus I was taught to see as a problem? It’s become my superpower for joy.

For the first time, I have the space to discover who I actually am when I’m not just surviving.

Why I Created GentleNook

This space exists because we need softer places to land.

Because you deserve:

Permission to stop burning

Recognition that your sensitivity is a strength

Freedom from the guilt of not being “on” all the time

Room to figure out what actually works for you

A community that doesn’t expect you to perform

Burnout isn’t just about doing too much. It’s about constantly performing a version of yourself to survive. That kind of effort adds up. But here’s the hopeful part: when we stop contorting ourselves to fit what’s expected, and start building lives that actually support us… we begin to thrive.

When we stop contorting ourselves to fit into what’s expected,

When we create systems that serve us,

When we rest, dress, care, and build at our own pace

We glow.

Since my diagnosis, the biggest change hasn’t been external. It’s been in how I relate to myself. I understand who I am now. I know how to support my brain instead of battling it. And for the first time in a long time, I like who I am.

I want that for you, too.

Maybe you’re questioning your path. Maybe you’re deep in burnout. Maybe you’re just tired of trying to be good at a life that doesn’t feel like yours.

You’re welcome here..

At GentleNook, we’re building a different kind of self-care. One that’s messy, doable, and made for actual humans, especially the ones who’ve been told they’re too much.

Because breaking free is better than breaking down.

And you don’t have to do it alone.

Welcome to GentleNook.