
The workload is like a shadow that looms over every waking moment, growing longer as the day progresses, until it becomes a suffocating blanket that wraps around me at night, refusing to let me rest. It’s not just the tasks themselves—the emails, the meetings, the endless to-do lists—it’s the sheer weight of expectation that seems to press down on my chest, making it hard to breathe, to think, to function.
As the night approaches, instead of winding down, my mind revs up, going over the details of what I did, what I didn’t do, and what I have yet to do. It’s like my brain is on a loop, constantly replaying every little thing I could have done better, every deadline that’s inching closer, every project that feels like it’s slipping out of my grasp. I tell myself to stop, to just close my eyes and sleep, but the anxiety of the workload grips me tight, like a vice around my heart, and all I can do is lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the minutes tick by.
Palpitations become my nightly companions. They start as a flutter, a subtle, almost imperceptible quickening of my heartbeat that I try to ignore. But as the night deepens, so does the intensity. My heart races, pounding in my chest like a drum, each beat reverberating through my body, making it impossible to relax. It’s as if my heart is trying to keep pace with the torrent of thoughts in my head, each beat a reminder of the workload that waits for me in the morning. I try to slow my breathing, to calm myself, but the anxiety is relentless, feeding off my fears and insecurities, growing stronger with every passing hour.
The worst part is the helplessness. The feeling that I’m not in control, that no matter how hard I work, how many hours I put in, it’s never enough. The workload is a beast that can’t be tamed, always demanding more, always pushing me to the brink. And yet, I can’t seem to step away, to disconnect, to say “enough.” I’m trapped in this cycle of anxiety and exhaustion, unable to find a way out.
I wake up in the morning more tired than when I went to bed, the anxiety lingering like a hangover, dulling my senses, making it hard to focus, to care. The workload is still there, waiting for me, as demanding as ever, but now I face it with a mind clouded by fatigue and a body weakened by sleepless nights. I go through the motions, ticking off tasks, attending meetings, responding to emails, but it feels like I’m just going through the motions, a robot programmed to work without pause.
The anxiety of the workload is a silent thief, stealing my peace, my sleep, my health. It’s a constant presence, a reminder of the pressures and expectations that come with my responsibilities. And yet, no matter how much it takes from me, I keep going, driven by some internal need to prove myself, to meet every deadline, to exceed every expectation, even as it slowly wears me down.
But something has to give. I know this. I can feel it in the way my body protests, in the way my mind rebels. I can’t keep going like this, living in a state of perpetual anxiety, sacrificing my well-being for the sake of the workload. I need to find a way to manage it, to regain control, to reclaim my nights from the grip of this relentless anxiety. Because if I don’t, I know that eventually, there will be nothing left of me but the shell of a person, worn out and broken by the weight of the workload that I couldn’t carry.