Running on Empty: A Woman’s Journey Back to Herself

There comes a point in every woman’s life when the quiet voice inside gets drowned out by the relentless noise of responsibilities, deadlines, family obligations, and the never-ending demand to be everything, for everyone, always.

We wake up early to answer emails before breakfast, run errands between meetings, and stretch ourselves thin across careers, caregiving, partnerships, and community roles. Somewhere along the way, we forget ourselves.

We wake up tired. We can be surrounded by people yet feel achingly alone. Our patience wears thin. The small things that once made us smile suddenly lose their spark. Our cups run low, and though frustration sometimes makes you want to hurl that cup across the room, but we keep going.

Why? Because we’ve been taught that it’s the right thing to do. Over time, after consistently placing ourselves at the bottom of the list, we find ourselves running on “empty”.

I know this feeling oh, so well.

These days, I’m balancing 50–60-hour work weeks, 4 a.m. wakeups to tackle doctoral coursework, and caretaking having moved from New York, where life was different but no less demanding. The so-called “simplified life” turned out to be anything but however, I am adapting.

Between trying to build my consulting business, keeping my plants alive (and yes, I talk to them it works), and misplacing the oat milk in the cabinet while the olive oil chills in the fridge, it’s no wonder exhaustion creeps in.

Then one day on a quiet trail, clarity found me.

As I found my pace throughout the pine needles and soft ground underfoot, trying to unpack the heaviness that had been sitting in my chest, I realized something: I know what drives me. I know my goals. But I have always long tied my worth to them. Detangling that belief was uncomfortable, but necessary.

Culturally, I’d been conditioned to play certain roles:

The Caretaker: Drawn to nurturing, always the one to step in, often at my own expense.

The Emotional Anchor: The steady, neutral presence when things fall apart. A gift in my profession, but when unbalanced, a burden in my personal life.

The Nurturer: Despite years of trying everything under the sun, motherhood wasn’t my path, but nurturing is in my bones. I offer to others what I often lacked such as presence, empathy, and emotional safety.

The Protector: Raised under double standards and suffocating expectations, I now realize that I was “tasked” with upholding the family image while quietly advocating for fairness. Talk about conflict!

For years, I wore these roles like armor. They helped me survive when things were difficult, but survival skills aren’t meant to be lifelong strategies. We are constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, there truly isn’t a sense of peace. However, I have learned through A LOT of self-reflection that we have a choice.

We can stop shrinking our true selves to serve the comfort of others. We can stop believing that our worth is measured by how much we can endure. We can begin to recognize that setting boundaries might shake old dynamics, but it won’t shatter us.

In environments marked by tights traditions or known/unknown dysfunction be it personal or in the workspace, we adapt. We over-function. We sacrifice, and in doing so, we totally lose ourselves.

We learn to:

• Believe our value lies in how much we can tolerate.
• Feel guilty for prioritizing ourselves.
• Fear that boundaries will lead to rejection or anger.

We stay in the martyr role because it feels safer than the fallout of claiming space. What I am learning is that it does not have to be this way. We have a choice to reframe the roles that we unknowingly take on. We can be the conscious caretaker, doing so out of desire not due to expectation. Being that anchor, developing the boundary to hold space for others without carrying that burden. We can still nurture but realize that we also deserve it in return. We can continue to protect by advocating for ourselves and others by upholding what is right without sacrificing our own truth.

Continue to allow nature to be your sanctuary. As trail enthusiasts, one of the simplest, most restorative acts we can offer ourselves is to step outside and allow nature to help us heal. There’s something truly profound about finding a trail and letting your feet carry you forward. The trees don’t care about your deadlines. The birds aren’t asking for status updates. The path ahead only asks that you show up.

Trail therapy isn’t a trend, it’s a reclamation of self, a physical and emotional reset. It gives you the space to remember that you are part of something bigger than your to-do list. That life hums beautifully on, with or without your constant striving.

In a world that asks women to be everything to everyone, it’s so easy to forget who we are beneath the titles, roles, and obligations.

So, lace up your sneakers, find a trail. Let the air kiss your face and seep into your bones. Do your thing until the noise fades into the rhythm of your steps. Let yourself be a person on a path, let go of what no longer serves you, let go of what you cannot control.

Dear Trail Sister: You deserve rest. You deserve joy. You deserve to be seen, held and whole, not just a container for everyone else’s needs. May you never again mistake exhaustion for strength, and may you always find your way back to yourself.