The Space Between Burnout & Becoming

Burnout strips away everything that isn’t real. The question is—what’s left when the fire dies down?

I never fully gave myself the proper pause from burnout. I would stop, but then the fear would creep in—financial pressure, the feeling that I had to create something, anything, just to keep moving. And when you create fast, you create hasty. You make choices you wouldn’t have made if you had just let yourself rest for a little longer.

What’s different this time is that I was forced to pause. There’s something about my story that I haven’t shared yet—something legal, something big. And I will share it, but not here. That’s a book moment. A TSC Podcast moment. A wow-factor moment. But that situation forced me to sit in the stillness. And that pause? It was the best thing I’ve ever done.

In that pause, I let go of everything—expectations, attachments, even the version of myself I had been clinging to. Maybe it was because of what I was going through, but I exposed myself. I laid it all out. My stance, my mistakes, my beliefs. It was like a deep parasite cleanse, a full-body reckoning. I had nothing, so I had nothing to lose. And when you’re at zero, you stop filtering yourself. You get raw. And from that space, you start again.

I also did something I never thought I would: I made my political stance public. Not just subtly, not just in passing—I exposed myself. Maybe it was part of the breakdown, maybe it was part of the purge, but it felt like something I had to do. Like peeling off a layer that had been suffocating me. And once it was out there? It was freeing. Because I wasn’t holding onto the fear of what people might think anymore. I had already ripped the band-aid off. I had already let go.

Giving Yourself Space

If you’re in burnout, let yourself actually be in burnout. Don’t rush out of it just because it’s uncomfortable. Sit in it. Let it do its job. Let it strip everything down so you can see what’s actually left.

Burnout doesn’t happen because you’re weak. It happens because you cared—too much, too fast, for too long. You poured out more than you had. And now? You need to let yourself replenish. If that means a month, six months, a year of doing nothing, then so be it. This isn’t about laziness. It’s about recalibration. Because if you don’t actually pause, you’ll just repeat the same cycle over and over again.

For me, I had to let go of the fear of losing momentum. The fear that if I stopped, I’d disappear. But here’s the truth: the right things survive the pause. The things that matter will still be there when you come back. And anything that falls away? It wasn’t meant to be yours anyway.

The Void Before the Return

No one talks about the in-between. The part where you’ve burned out, but you’re not back yet. The part where you’re just... floating. No clarity, no rush of new ideas, no plan. Just silence.

It’s terrifying. But it’s necessary. This is the part where you become. This is the part where you let the old version of you fully dissolve so something new can take its place. And that doesn’t happen overnight.

If you’re here, in this void, don’t rush to fill it. Don’t panic. Don’t try to force a breakthrough. Trust that your next move will show up exactly when it’s meant to. And when it does, you’ll know. Because it will feel like relief, not pressure.

Finding the Spark Again

You don’t have to wait for inspiration to return. You just have to start noticing what pulls you in.

— What are you curious about?

— What feels effortless?

— What makes you want to take notes, save images, or linger just a little longer?

This is how it starts. A flicker, not a fire. A whisper, not a shout. Follow the smallest obsessions, even if they seem random or insignificant. A color palette. A phrase. A texture. A song you play on repeat. These are breadcrumbs. They are leading you somewhere.

For me, it was the slow realization that I wanted to come back. But more than that—I wanted to come back to Brule. Because Brule is not just a brand. It’s the thread that runs through everything I’ve built, everything I’ve torn down, and everything I’ve started again. It is the thing I always return to. The thing that exists even when I stop. The thing that survives every version of me.

Brule is not just a business. It’s a constant, a knowing, a place I find myself in again and again, no matter what burns down around it.

The Discipline of Reinvention

The thing no one tells you about reinvention is that it’s not about inspiration. It’s about discipline. It’s about trusting that when the spark comes back, you’ll know what to do. And when it does? You rebuild—but this time, with precision. With intention. With all of your past experience sharpening your choices.

Reinvention isn’t bouncing back. It’s rising different. It’s stepping forward with a knowing you didn’t have before. And if you do it right, you don’t just return—you arrive.

As always…

X,

KB