I Made Six Figures and Still Couldn't Get Out of Bed

For the Creative Who's Burned Out on Performance Culture

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, and I’m not talking about Christmas. At least that’s not the main event if you’re the unfulfilled creative who has spent the last year keeping the world cool, aligned, and fighting for what to care or not to care about. I’m talking to the voice of truth in the room who has probably been working overtime to maintain some ounce of integrity and humanity while everyone else in the virtual office carries on like it’s business as usual – projecting stoicism to keep from falling apart while the world feels like it’s falling apart around us.

Trust me. I know what it feels like. I spent 15 years in PR where I prided myself on being the person who could connect the dots between consumerism and impact. Between profit and purpose. But after a while, it just felt exhausting. Like I was spending all this energy trying to make something be true instead of just aligning myself with a place (and a mission) where it was already true.

I had tried everything to feel like things were okay—hired a trainer, attended retreats in Mexico, spent more time with family. I was even working with a mental health coach. But nothing was helping. I wasn’t motivated to get out of bed, let alone think about my future. The deeper question I kept asking myself wasn’t just “is this working?” but “does it even matter that I’m here?”

So if you’ve felt that way before or even now: You’re not crazy. Something is off.

The Most Wonderful Time

So what’s the most wonderful time of the year I’m talking about? These last two weeks of the year.

This is when the world does what you might be too afraid to do the rest of the year: it stops. Clients are off. Talent is on vacation. The media coverage slows down. The machine that normally demands your constant attention finally goes quiet. And because everyone else is doing it, there’s not as much resistance as there normally is. There’s collective permission to pause.

I’ve experienced this kind of pause on different scales—from a single day off to these two weeks at year’s end to the two years I spent after leaving my job at Netflix. What they all share is the same opportunity to rest—from working, from worrying, and from wanting.

When I left Netflix two years ago, I had to learn what each of these actually meant. You don’t need two years to start—these next two weeks are enough to begin.

Rest from Working

Rest from working meant putting down anything that felt like work. Anything that felt forced or required angst, a feeling I used to think meant I’d earned my keep for that day. I can’t believe how much time and energy I wasted doing things that were not actually my work. Debating over the politics of who gets invited to a press junket. Volunteering on DEI task forces that would never have been needed if my colleagues had been more curious about the consumers we were serving and more inclusive in their hiring practices. Responding to emails and Slack pings that weren’t really urgent but were a reflection of my manager’s inability to control her own anxiety.

For you, these next two weeks are a chance to start noticing what’s actually your work and what isn’t. What are you doing out of obligation versus what’s naturally pulling you? What gives you energy versus what drains you? You don’t have to quit anything yet. Just pay attention and write it down.

Rest from Worrying

Figuring out how to rest from worrying was much harder. I was someone who, up until then, was probably in denial about the repetitiveness of my anxiety. Partially because I worked in a career like PR, where we ate anxiety for breakfast. But after leaving my job, there was something real to be anxious about: not getting a paycheck. Up until that point I had made well over six figures, so I was used to a monthly income that left room for plenty of leisure and savings. Without a paycheck coming in, I was worried about how long the savings would last. The emergency fund. The 401K. The credit card debt.

The only way I could survive was to stay in the day. Whenever I would find myself thinking about what would happen next month, I brought myself back to this verse: “Do not worry about tomorrow.” It became a mandate. A survival tactic. Over time, remaining present became my norm.

For you, these next two weeks are a chance to practice staying in today. Not planning for January yet. Not worrying about what’s next. Just notice when your mind jumps to tomorrow and gently bring it back. That’s the practice.

Rest from Wanting

Rest from wanting was easier because by the time I made the decision to leave my job, I’d already worked on projects from some of the most prolific creators in entertainment and some of the biggest movie franchises. There wasn’t a red carpet I wanted to be on, a star I wanted to meet, or an event I was missing. I had seen enough and gotten to what I thought I wanted from my career.

So when I left Netflix, I told God, “If we’re going to leave AGAIN, then this time, I don’t want anything. I want what you want.” I was surrendered. I just wanted to do it another way that wouldn’t leave me feeling like I had gained the world and lost my soul.

For you, these next two weeks are a chance to put down what you want—or what you think you’re supposed to want—long enough to see what just is. Sometimes the life we’ve always dreamed of, the one our parents wanted for us, the one we’ve climbed so far up the ladder to reach, becomes a trap. We’re so close to having it all that any other path feels like going backward. And then our wants become handcuffs to an old life. A life that’s no longer working.

I had to stop wanting. When I worked on the film RUSTIN, I heard filmmaker and playwright George C. Wolfe say, “Stay in the unknowing long enough for something deeper to emerge.” Sometimes we force ourselves into an answer—five-year plans, vision boards, round-ups on Instagram. Instead, try noticing. Watching. Waiting for the answer to reveal itself to you.

Rest Is Just the Beginning

These next two weeks aren’t just time off. They’re your first creative act going into 2026. A chance to cultivate a rest practice that you can carry with you all year.

Rest isn’t the reward at the end of hard work. It’s the foundation you build everything from. It’s the beginning of alignment. When you practice rest from working, worrying, and wanting, you start to see more clearly. You respond with more conviction. You begin removing what’s holding you down. It’s like a cork underwater—when you remove the weight, you see how much easier it is to rise.

You don’t need (almost) 40 years like I did to figure this out. These next two weeks are enough to begin. Pay attention. Write down what you notice. And when you go back to work in January, you’ll know what you’re being called to release.

You’re not crazy, friend. Something is off. And rest is where you begin to find your way back.