To be honest, it’s really hard for me to tell when I’m overworking myself. The normal fatigue and feeling of impending doom that is associated with doing far too much is ingrained in me from a strenuous childhood of trying to prove that I was the best at everything (and I was the best at everything, so it wasn’t a complete wash).

It didn’t hit me until I had a painful panic attack in the school bathroom, and again when I was trembling as I revised my schedule for the end of the year. 

And it’s funny, because these are normal occurrences for me–which is a little bit concerning, in hindsight.

Panic attacks aren’t an experience that I’m unused to, in fact the inability to get any oxygen to stay in my lungs as I struggle to recall my five senses is quite familiar to me. I just didn’t realize it was because I had so much to do.

Books to read, videos to edit, papers to write, photos to take. There’s always so much going around me and I either don’t register it, or register far too much all at once and break down before chugging a bottle of ice water and sucking it up.

But as I look at my planner, a mountain stacked with obligations and assignments, I’m realizing that I should probably take a breath. When, I’m not sure—there isn’t much time for a break in the well oiled machine that is my brain.

There’s just always something for me to do. Even when I watch TV to unwind, I’m still writing, still planning, sometimes analyzing for character studies that I’ve promised someone; I am on my grind at all times, and as many times as I’ve been called a ‘girlboss’ for it, I’m starting to think I may just be severely unwell.

Not to mention all the social aspects that factor into my life. Worrying about if I’ve offended someone by being unfiltered and/or opinionated is a weekly occurrence, attempting to dodge the title ‘recluse’ and leaving my room is an agent of unadulterated anxiety, and lastly trying to connect with more people around me (especially if we have overlapping interests and/or humor) really stirs the panic attack pot.

So naturally, I cry in the bathroom, tremble, tough it out and am fine about 10 minutes later, then keep moving forward. 

That may be the closest thing to the textbook definition of ‘unhealthy’ but, hey, I’m only human! A completely inundated human. 

For anyone else who’s like me, I recommend not bottling everything up, and really trying to find time for yourself. Take a break from some things, carve out a schedule that doesn’t make you physically retch when you take a peek at it, and develop some healthier habits, modes of communication, and coping mechanisms. I’m trying, and I think it’d be beneficial for you if you did the same.

Now, if you’re not like me and do not become the living embodiment of the ‘shaking, crying, throwing up’ meme, then please be patient with people that are overwhelmed, and try to help them as best you can! It’ll make things easier for everyone if people who have too much going on can get some help, time to themselves, and the opportunity to deal with things before they’re reeling at the effects of biting off more than they can chew.