33 and Building Back

Today I turn 33, and I’m taking a minute to appreciate how different this birthday feels from the last one.

33 and Building Back

Thirty-two was the year I learned what burnout actually means – not just being tired, but that bone-deep exhaustion where even your favorite scrubs feel heavy and you catch yourself staring at the wall during your breaks.

I’ve started saying no to extra shifts. I know, revolutionary concept for someone who spent five years trying to prove she could handle anything the hospital threw at her. But here’s what I learned: taking care of everyone else while running on empty isn’t noble, it’s just unsustainable. My patients deserve a nurse who’s present, not one who’s operating on fumes and spite.

Pilates has become my new obsession – three times a week at the studio downtown, and yes, I’m that person who corrects everyone’s form now. Marcus thinks it’s hilarious that I went from “I don’t have time for exercise” to planning my entire schedule around class times. But there’s something about focusing on breath and alignment that quiets all the noise in my head. Plus Dr. Reeves says movement is just as important as our therapy sessions, so really I’m just following doctor’s orders.

Thirty-three feels like the year I stop apologizing for taking up space. For saying no when my plate is full. For prioritizing my own oxygen mask first. Marcus made my favorite tres leches cake this morning, and I’m going to eat a giant slice without calculating the macros. Some things are worth celebrating without conditions.