The truth is: I’m tired. I’m beyond levels of tired previously known to me. Every motor neuron in my body is repulsed by the very idea of work.

At this time last year, everything was going fine—great, even. I could balance all my commitments, feel passion for all of them equally, do well in class. I never missed a meeting for any of my orgs, never submitted anything asked of me late. I never disappointed anyone.

When my friends talked to me, they’d say, “You’re heading to great places. I can’t wait to see where you’ll go.”

I did head to great places. I had positions I was proud to hold, orgs I was proud to be a part of. But somewhere in those great places, I got lost. I wanted to expel all my work from my life. I was physically ill at the thought of my work. To remedy this, I pushed my work far, far away from me, and the people I work with began to notice it: “Where are your deliverables? Why haven’t there been updates from your department?”

If you’re someone like me—if you’re someone who allows herself to be defined by her work—that’s a dangerous place to be in. You have responsibilities, but they make you sick.

The work was getting routine, and, in turn, I was routinely resentful. Somewhere in the sleepless nights, I lost any sense of purpose I thought I had. I had begun to ask myself why I was doing all these things to begin with.

“Burnout” is what this is called, apparently, but I don’t think it even begins to encapsulate what it’s really like. I didn’t just burn up all the energy I had. I didn’t just feel temporarily tired, like I just burned out now and will set myself aflame again some other time. The things that used to wake me up, I now detest. Every day, I just disappoint everyone. Worst of all, every day, I just disappoint myself. Every day, I scramble for my “why.”

I hear of people who have similar experiences—people who adored their work and then ended up hating it, when they’ve had the same thing again and again. I don’t know what causes this. A lack of willpower? A lack of perseverance? A general decline in stamina as time goes on? I don’t know what makes a person passionate one day and then passionless the next, but I can sympathize with the feeling of being lost that comes in between. Maybe we push ourselves too hard, only to end up crushed under the pressure. Maybe we push ourselves too much in the direction we set for our lives, only to find we’ve also forced ourselves off-track.

Count this as a personal account of someone who spread herself too thin in the name of résumé, in the name of advocacy, in the name of the sheer masochistic joy of having so much work. Now, I’m not too sure where the great places are anymore. I’m not even sure if they’re great in the first place.

For the longest time, I thought there was something wrong with me for feeling this way, but I’ve since learned that everything that shines eventually burns out—and that’s okay. That’s physics.

The trick is to learn to rekindle the flame, to nurse the fire. I’m still working to catch the light again.