Breaking the Cycle: Jordan’s Breakthrough

Jordan had always been the first one in the office and the last one to leave. As a social worker in an underprivileged community, he had dedicated his entire career to helping others. He worked long hours, took on extra cases, and sacrificed sleep to make sure that every client received the support they needed. He believed that if he didn’t push himself, people would suffer.

But somewhere along the way, he forgot to take care of himself.

At first, the exhaustion was manageable. A cup of coffee in the morning, a quick meal in between meetings—he convinced himself he was fine. But then the headaches started. The constant fatigue. The moments of forgetfulness. He started snapping at colleagues, losing patience with clients. The passion that once fueled him was slipping away, replaced by resentment and exhaustion.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, he found himself sitting in his car, staring at the steering wheel, unable to move. His chest felt tight, his breathing shallow. The weight of everything pressed down on him. He gripped the wheel, willing himself to push through like he always had. But for the first time, he couldn’t.

He didn’t go into work the next day. Or the day after that.

His supervisor, Lisa, called him. “Jordan, we need to talk.”

He expected a lecture about responsibility, about duty. But instead, Lisa’s voice was gentle. “I know you think you have to do everything, but you don’t. You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

Jordan scoffed. “If I don’t do it, who will?”

Lisa sighed. “There will always be more work. More people to help. But if you burn out, you won’t be able to help anyone—including yourself.”

The words struck something deep inside him. He had always equated self-care with selfishness. But now, sitting in his silent apartment, surrounded by unopened mail and half-eaten meals, he saw the truth—he was running on empty. And he wasn’t helping anyone by ignoring that.

With Lisa’s encouragement, Jordan took a leave of absence. At first, he felt guilty. But slowly, he started rediscovering himself. He went for walks in the morning, read books that had nothing to do with work, reconnected with old friends. He started therapy, where he finally admitted how overwhelmed he felt.

Through self-reflection, he realized that his need to be everything for everyone stemmed from his own fears—fear of failure, of not being enough. But he also realized something else: asking for help wasn’t weakness. It was strength.

When he finally returned to work, things were different. He set boundaries. He took lunch breaks. He learned to say no when his plate was full. And most importantly, he made time for himself, knowing that in doing so, he was actually becoming a better social worker.

One afternoon, a new caseworker approached him. She looked exhausted, overwhelmed—the same way he had felt months ago. She hesitated before saying, “How do you keep going?”

Jordan smiled, recognizing the same desperation in her eyes that he had once seen in his own reflection. “By remembering that I can’t save the world. But I can take care of myself so I can keep helping.”

She nodded, taking in his words. And as Jordan walked away, he felt lighter than he had in years. He had broken the cycle. And he wasn’t going back.