How Advocacy, Expectations, and Group Chats Pushed Me Past My Limits
Part of The Pieces of Me Series—reflections from my AuDHD journal.
I’m still learning, unlearning, and putting language to my experiences in real time. What I share here reflects what I understand right now—not a final or complete picture.
What looked like success on the outside was quietly becoming exhaustion on the inside. Last year I learned the hard way that being “booked and busy” can come at a cost—especially when you’re masking, people-pleasing, and ignoring what your body is trying to tell you. This is the story of how I burned out… and what I’m learning from it.
Last year was the tip of the iceberg.
On the surface, it looked like I was at the top of my career. Booked and busy.
The start of 2025 came in with force as I began leading the charge to bring together the entire Delaware Valley for maternal health advocacy. As chair and visionary of the Greater Philadelphia Promise Walk for Preeclampsia, I took on the task of curating a community maternal health and wellness event unlike anything the area had seen in years.
We raised over $10,000 and more than 200 people attended.
The planning—which I had never done anything remotely close to before—became what I ate, slept, and breathed for four months. Meeting upon meeting upon meeting.
By the end of it all, I was completely Zoomed out.
At the time, I thought I was just working hard. Looking back now, my body was already starting to wave a little warning flag.
At the time, I thought I was just working hard. Looking back now, my body was already waving a little warning flag.
Sprinkled throughout those same months, if I wasn’t already busy seeking sponsorships, crafting social media content to keep people engaged, obtaining quotes, negotiating terms and conditions, securing vendors, recruiting volunteers, and managing a planning committee, I was hosting workshops for doulas and new moms.
I shared my 13 years of babywearing experience to help make their lives—and their families’ lives—a little more manageable.
Between phone calls, video calls, and physically showing up with my humongous lavender suitcase full of demo dolls and carriers, I somehow still made time for advocacy.
The year before, I somehow ended up lobbying for maternal rights on Capitol Hill. Last year, that work looked like focus groups, patient advisory boards, and speaking panels.
My advocacy for Black maternal health even reached the radio waves and printed publications. There was a moment where I accepted an award for all the work I had been doing in the community.
And week to week, I was still a wife navigating the ups and downs of marriage while providing the best home education I could for my three children. Our weeks were filled with trips to band rehearsals and homeschool co-op.
Oh! And I was still doing my writing jobs, working with two well-known curriculum and education companies.
“How, Sway?”
The truth is, I was doing a lot.
Maybe too much.
Public speaking. Small talk. Leading the charge.
All things that were already challenging for me on some level became even more draining. I could do one workshop and then need a month or two to mentally prepare myself to do another.
I became less and less engaged in meetings, putting on my best “happy-go-lucky” face until I simply couldn’t anymore.
Group texts became the bane of my existence—STILL!
At one point I was in so many group chats I lost count. Little by little, I muted them.
Slowly backing into the bushes like Homer Simpson.
Every time I heard a ping, a ding, or some other notification, I would sigh. Eventually I started tuning them out completely.
It was just too much.
Too many places demanding my attention.
Even the spaces that once excited me because of my interests began to feel draining.
There were moments when I would let my phone battery die on purpose just so I’d have an excuse not to respond to messages—at least temporarily.
It was just too much. Too many places demanding my attention.
Life was emotionally, physically, and socially exhausting.
Everyone needed something from me.
Do this.
Fix that.
Write this.
Schedule that.
Come here.
Go there.
Just leave me alone!
(Even though I had willingly signed up for half of this nonsense.)
Why didn’t I just back out?
Because I rarely do.
I start things with every intention of finishing them. I make promises that I genuinely want to keep. I see needs that feel like they’re mine to meet.
And sometimes I convince myself that I’m the only one who can fulfill them.
Whew.
I was wrong about that.
My ADHD was in overdrive—completely satisfied by the variety of tasks, the excitement of going here and there, trying new things, and tackling new challenges.
But it was also completely overwhelmed by those same things.
I loved creating workshops. I loved crafting social media posts. I loved seeing the impact of my work and feeling empowered by using my voice.
But then people wanted me to show up.
Speak in front of virtual rooms of 20+ people. Stand in front of live audiences of 200.
All eyes on me.
Sound interesting.
Sound intelligent.
Be relatable.
Insert humor.
And I wasn’t just showing up for myself.
I felt the responsibility to stand for those who couldn’t—Black and Brown mothers like me who had experienced birth trauma or lived in urban maternity care deserts.
It was deep for me.
But it was also draining.
I don’t prefer small talk or networking—but I showed up.
I don’t like sustained eye contact—but I forced myself to make it.
I don’t prefer public speaking—but I had a lot to say.
I overextended myself. And the reality was…
I didn’t have to.
So one step at a time, I started slipping back into the bushes.
Homer.
Eventually, I just ghosted. And honestly?
It felt good.
I had no more energy or capacity.
Things that once felt incredibly important no longer felt like priorities. Instead, I got lost in books. I prioritized my energy for my family and my home.
And sometimes… for nothing at all.
I allowed myself to sink into the couch cushions, binge watch YouTube, and enjoy football whenever I felt like it. I even traveled down to a Baltimore Ravens home game by myself and grabbed the tastiest crab cake from Mo’s Seafood. (So stinkin’ good!)
Now that I know I have AuDHD, I understand what that season was.
Burnout.
Looking back now, I realize I overstretched myself in ways I thought were benefiting me.
On the outside, it looked like a win—awards, opportunities, community impact, confidence boosts.
But on the inside, I wasn’t winning.
I was compromising.
I wasn’t listening to my body.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that my nervous system was begging for regulation.
I also didn’t know what I didn’t know.
So I’m giving myself grace.
Lots of grace.
On the outside, it looked like a win. On the inside, I was compromising.
Burnout has a way of forcing you to pay attention to things you’ve been ignoring for far too long.
For me, it meant learning that impact, recognition, and opportunities aren’t worth much if they come at the expense of my own wellbeing.
I’m still learning what it looks like to listen to my body, to set limits before I reach the breaking point, and to build rhythms that actually support the way my brain works.
If you’ve ever found yourself in a season of doing too much, saying yes to everything, or slowly disappearing into the bushes like Homer Simpson… you’re not alone.
I’d love to hear from you! Have you ever experienced burnout in a season that looked successful on the outside?
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