Maybe I pushed too far.

I stayed longer than I usually do. I was enjoying it — genuinely enjoying it — so I lingered. I thought I was okay. And maybe I was, in the moment. But now? I feel completely burnt out. Like something inside me got crisped from the inside out.

I’m not sure if this is what it means to be introverted, or if my nervous system just isn’t used to that much openness yet. I don’t think I regret staying — not really. But I can see now that I was done before I actually left. I just didn’t listen soon enough.

Maybe this is how I learn my limits. Not by getting it perfect. But by testing them, gently, and noticing what happens after.

Right now, I can’t play poker. I can’t run. I can’t even take a bath — my ear still hurts from the last one. All I can really do is lie in bed and let myself be horizontal.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe recovery doesn’t have to be productive. Maybe I don’t have to turn this into a lesson right away. Maybe I just let myself rest.

I connected. I shared. I showed up.

Now it’s time to let my system come back down.

Rest is not a reward for surviving people — it’s a right.