Traveling from Kansas City to Las Vegas with a five-hour layover in Atlanta, I was reminded that as a woman my age, I don’t handle burnout the same way anymore. Midlife changes everything.
A long day filled with busy airports, flight challenges, motion sickness (because that’s a thing now), and impatient passengers pushed me to my limit. I was overheated, exhausted, and ready to shut down mentally and physically before I even finished the first leg.
When I walked off the plane into an overcrowded gate, I spotted a small open space along a window ledge. I pulled over to the side and sat down. Ate. Tried to gather myself, hoping the nausea would subside.
After eating, instead of turning to my phone for relief, I gave my body some love with a few seated stretches, twisting right then left, moving my head up and down, circling it slowly in both directions.
It felt better to respond to the overwhelm and uneasiness of this midlife burnout episode by listening to what my body is telling me. Giving it gentle movement and letting my mind be still for a moment, even when I know patience isn’t exactly one of my midlife superpowers.
HOT
Thanks to this stage of life I’m in, the moment I start to move, my body temperature rises. It’d be fine if it could just level out at hot, but no, it does what it wants and throws me all over the climatic map.
This becomes a problem when I’m traveling. I go back and forth on layering, which shouldn’t even be a dilemma right? One should play the plus or minus game. Not for me, it gets me irritated fast, creating another kind of heat…frustration.
A not-so-fun combination, overheating literally and mentally. If I were an anime character, I’d be surrounded by fiery flames with a face that says, “you do not want to be near me right now, I’m going through it.”
It usually starts with my body. Feeling the heat, the discomfort as it gets hotter, and not being able to cool down fast enough. Then my brain kicks in, scrambling for a solution that doesn’t exist, which ties right into my surroundings.
When I left Kansas City, it was 43 degrees, and I loved it. Since airports are generally on the cooler side and I wanted to stay comfortable, I wore a hoodie, thin shirt underneath, sweats, and shoes. Comfort is key when I’m on the go.
I ended up playing the layering game but kept it simple, only 2 layers. I even had my slippas with me (since walking around barefoot isn’t an option) for when my feet need to breathe.
At the gate, I had time before boarding, so I pulled out my laptop to get some work in. Even when I’m thinking, writing, using brain power, my body temp starts to rise. Sitting there, I could feel sweat drip in all the places.
The simple solution would be to take the hoodie off, right? Nope, not for me. I kept it on because I didn’t want to deal with taking it off just to put it back on again once I boarded.
After the first leg, I arrived in Atlanta, busy, crowded, hot, and immediately felt the body heat surrounding me. I wanted to take off every layer of clothing. Not legal, so I didn’t. My brain followed suit, overheating right along with me.
No practical solution in sight. Just more heat, more irritation, and I’m pretty sure those around me could feel it too.
TIRED
Now in the Atlanta airport, body overheating, I walk past gates and through walkways flooded with travelers waiting to board, anxious to get wherever they’re going.
Getting through all this feels heavier than it used to. My body and mind are already hot and overstimulated, but I keep searching for a space, any small corner, to pull over, park it, and stay still long enough to cool down.
Almost an hour into this layover with four and a half hours left to go, the effort alone just to settle was draining. My body wanted to stop moving and just be still, even though it had already sat for two hours on a plane. Go figure.
My mind had already checked out from the overload. The first thing I do when this happens—and did—is feed my face immediately. It didn’t matter what space I found; I pulled to the side and ate. Feeling full and a little more grounded, I started searching for an empty gate. I found one, dropped my bags to the side, sat down, planted my feet on the ground, and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths.
I don’t count how many. At that point, it doesn’t matter. I take as many as my body and mind need until I feel less like a walking heater, physically and mentally.
DONE.
I was already done when the nausea kicked in at the end of my flight from Kansas City to Atlanta. I was done walking into a crowded airport, trying to find a space of peace and stillness. I was done feeling like a portable hot pocket.
I was done again on my flight to Las Vegas when my neighbor decided to talk to another passenger across the aisle, their voices blasting like a megaphone in my ear while I was trying to nap.
I was done when I got to baggage claim and saw my suitcase on the conveyor belt, unzipped, zipper broken, packing cubes barely hanging on, items missing. At that point, all I could do was laugh. I closed it up and managed to rig it so I could at least make it to my accommodations.
I was done with being done. By now, in this midlife chapter, my body and patience run thinner than ever.
I stood there, closed my eyes, and took deep breaths. Reminding myself it could always be worse. This happened. I’m safe. I’m here. There’s no sense in getting upset.
If I get upset, my body gets hot, my emotions get hot, and my already emotional emotions will get the best of me, making me react in an unproductive way. So I stand, breathe, and I don’t move forward until I’m ready.
SIGNS + SIGNALS
My body always tries to tell me when I’m experiencing midlife burnout, even though I may not listen right away, attempting to push through whatever it is. I start feeling sensory overload coming from every direction. There’s no time to think about why it’s happening.
Sometimes I don’t listen well and I push through the heat, push through the overwhelm of thoughts and the goings-on around me, push through the nausea. To the point where my body is about to shut down, and not in a reset way. It’s literally throwing its hands up in the air, like, “this chic is not listening.”
Once I start feeling the shift, hearing the imaginary internal sirens and flashing red lights of caution that this system will shut down in 3.5 minutes, my brain kicks into back-up mode, finding solutions to counter the malfunction. My brain finds the solution, the best route to take, acting as general counsel to the situation as a whole.
Each time things go left, I reach for a reset. And it’s not always a grand one. Just a little space off to the side, finding my own quiet moment, feet touching the ground, breathing in, letting air fill my lungs and exhaling, releasing whatever I may be holding inside. That’s my coping pattern, a necessity now in this phase of life.
I don’t spiral. I assess the situation, accept what it is, and decide I’m going to learn from it and apply it to the next experience.
The contradiction is that I push through, almost ignoring what my body is telling me. It’s the inner voice convincing me, “You can hang in there for 10 more minutes, you’re okay, you’re not a crybaby, it’s not all that serious, you’ll be fine, just hang in there.” I don’t give myself permission to stop, even though I crave grounding, to be still. My body is definitely screaming for a break before my brain allows it.
The wall looks different every day, and each experience helps me check in with myself faster, shortening the time before I hit a breaking point. I’ve learned that slowing down, breathing, and getting grounded is what I need to maintain, especially now that burnout doesn’t look the same way it did a decade ago.
If you’re looking for a little structure during those small reset moments, my Self-Discovery Journal walks you through whenever life gets overwhelming.
