Work Is Endless, But Life Isn’t — A Hard Lesson I’m Still Learning

Lately, I’ve found myself standing on the edge of exhaustion — physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I’m not sure if it’s purely due to the relentless workload, the constant pressure from administrative tasks, or the emotional toll of trying to be responsible for everything and everyone around me. Perhaps it’s also the gradual, quiet onset of perimenopause, with its unpredictable impact on my emotions, hormones, and physical strength. Whatever the cause — or combination of causes — the result has been clear: my body has been under siege. I could feel it tightening, rebelling, warning me. I ignored it for a while. And then, suddenly, I couldn’t anymore.

A wave of illness hit me — so forcefully, it felt like I had been run over from the inside out. My immune system gave way completely. I was bedridden, helpless, and humbled. What started as a few symptoms quickly turned into something much worse. It felt as though my body had reached its limit, and if I didn’t slow down, it would make that decision for me — permanently. And maybe it already had.

More than a week has passed since I first fell ill. I’m no longer in bed, but I’m far from fully recovered. My body still feels weak. My mind is foggy. My emotional energy is barely flickering. I’m functioning — barely — but I’m not thriving. Not yet. Not again.

During this time, I’ve received countless words of concern and advice from people around me. And I’m grateful.
They say things like:
“Don’t push yourself so hard.”
“Work is endless — it will always be there.”
“Be present during working hours, but once work is done, it’s time to rest.”
“Stop bringing work home with you.”

And truly — I know they mean well. I hear them. I agree with them, even. But the truth is much more complicated.

You see, I can’t just leave work at work — at least not always. The nature of my responsibilities, my role, my expectations — they don’t fit neatly within fixed office hours. If I don’t bring the work home, if I don’t use my after-hours to catch up or finish the tasks that were impossible to complete between meetings, unexpected issues, and daily demands — the work simply doesn’t get done. Or worse, it gets passed around only to circle back to me again for final approval or damage control.

So here’s the painful truth I’ve been wrestling with:
Is it because I have too much of a sense of responsibility? Or is it because my efficiency is declining, and I’m no longer as capable as I used to be?

This question haunts me.

I’ve always been someone who takes my work seriously. I care deeply about doing things well. I care about people. I care about results. I want to be reliable. I want to be the kind of colleague, leader, and person who others can count on. I don’t like cutting corners. I don’t like leaving things half-done. And more often than not, if I see something falling apart or being mishandled, I step in — even when it isn’t technically my job.

But at what cost?

In the name of professionalism, responsibility, and high standards, I’ve often sacrificed sleep, meals, rest, and peace of mind. I’ve ignored headaches and skipped lunch breaks. I’ve pushed aside emotional stress, telling myself I’ll deal with it later. But “later” never comes — and eventually, the body keeps the score.

This illness was my body’s way of saying, “Enough.”
And I’m finally listening.

It’s become painfully clear to me that this way of living and working isn’t sustainable. I used to pride myself on being someone who could “handle it all,” but the truth is — no one can handle it all forever. Sooner or later, something gives. For me, it was my health. For others, it might be their relationships, their sleep, their mental well-being, or even their joy in living.

So I’ve come to a few realizations — difficult, but necessary ones:

1. I’m not failing because I need rest. I’m failing myself if I don’t take it.

2. Responsibility is not about doing everything myself — it’s also about setting limits and teaching others to share the load.

3. Health isn’t something to prioritize after the work is done — it’s the foundation that allows me to work in the first place.

Moving forward, I know I need to draw boundaries — not out of laziness or selfishness, but out of love and respect for my body and my life. I need to stop feeling guilty for resting, for saying no, for logging off, for not replying to every message immediately. I need to start believing that things can still function — maybe even flourish — without me micromanaging or overextending myself.

This isn’t a complaint. It’s a confession.
And more importantly, it’s a reminder.

If you, too, find yourself drowning in endless tasks…
If you, too, carry the burden of always being the one to “fix it”…
If you, too, are hearing your body whispering — or screaming — for relief…
Please listen.

Work will wait. Life won’t.
You matter. Your health matters. Your peace matters.
Let’s stop glorifying burnout and start honoring balance.