And Three Pinky Promises I Made To Myself That Changed Everything.
It wasn’t a bad performance review that actually forced me to realize something in my world had to change. It was Stan the Hot Dog Man.
For the third time this week, instead of reading the words, I was skimming. Skipping parts of this 64-page book to get through it quickly and hoping my little one would be none the wiser. I had just gotten home late, in time for bed time to check off the “mom box” and all I wanted was to quickly kiss my kiddos goodnight, collapse on the couch, open Netflix, and stop being needed for five minutes. But Bubba wanted Mama to read Stan the Hot Dog Man, so I caved and obeyed such a tall request from a 45lb six-year-old.
As I turned each page, I told myself I left work at the door. But the anxiety about the last email, the follow-ups, the research I still needed to do, it didn’t stay at the office. It showed up at home, in the most unassuming way, in my voice.
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My Kids Felt It Before I Named It
There’s a specific kind of fear that lives in a child’s eyes when they realize the person they love most is not quite themselves.
I saw it one morning when I asked my kids to put their shoes on. I’m dressed for work, we need to go. Why aren’t they moving fast enough? I stopped asking and started barking. And they froze. Just stood there and looked at me with this wide, cautious stillness that hit me like a ton of bricks.
– “Mama, why are you mad at us?” Bubba questioned.
– “I’m not mad.” I lied.
– “Pinky promise?” Bubba added back in a questioning tone.
– “Pinky promise.” I said slowly in response as I locked my pinky finger into his and forced a smile across my M.A.C. Stained lips.
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Burnout Doesn’t Clock Out When You Do
Here’s what the productivity world doesn’t tell you: workplace stress doesn’t stay at work. It defers. And it collects interest.
I was skipping real lunches, running back-to-back meetings with no buffer, absorbing everyone’s urgency and calling it leadership. By the time I walked through my front door I was running on fumes, and the smallest friction (slow shoes, a repeated story, a request I’d already answered twice) felt heavy.
– The eye twitch. The tight shoulders. Sighing before 8:15 am. I thought these were signs I needed to push harder. They were signs I needed to plug the leaks.
I didn’t need to blow up my career to stop bringing its wreckage home. I needed three small pinky promises.
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The Three Pinky Promises That Changed Everything
Promise #1: I started packing a real lunch.
– Not because I became a meal-prep person overnight. But because I finally connected the dots: hungry plus overwhelmed equals “I’ll just do it myself.” Every. Single. Time.
– When I was running on a protein bar by noon, I had no patience for the slower, messier process of actually delegating. It felt faster to absorb the task myself. Which meant I was chronically overloaded, which meant I was chronically depleted, which meant I was bringing a shorter and shorter fuse home every evening.
– A nourishing lunch gave me permission to pause before reacting. It sounds small. It wasn’t.
Promise #2: I gave myself a screen-free break mid-morning.
– Ten minutes. No phone. No email. Just space.
– It felt indulgent. It wasn’t. Without it, I was spending my entire day responding to everyone else’s urgency. Reactive instead of strategic, a thermostat set by whoever sent the most alarming email. Those ten minutes were the only time my brain could actually think forward instead of just catching up.
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Promise #3: I gave my phone a bedtime.
– Not just “I’ll try to put it down earlier”. I physically tucked it into a drawer. Like a child. Because the nights I spent “just checking in” weren’t recovery, they were unpaid overtime. My body was in my home but my attention was still at the office, and I was showing up to bedtime half-present at best.
– When the phone went in the drawer, the evening became mine again. I had energy to read Stan the Hot Dog Man (all the way through, no skips). To hear that story one more time without impatience brooding in my eyes. To just… be there.
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What My Kids Got Back
I didn’t need to quit. I didn’t need a dramatic exit. I needed to stop leaking energy at work and wondering why I had none left at home.
Burnout as a woman, as a mother, doesn’t just cost you your career clarity or your ambition. It costs the people watching you closest, the ones who can’t articulate what they’re feeling, but freeze when you raise your voice. The ones whose hair you stop noticing.
If you recognize yourself in any of this: you are not a bad mother. You are not weak. You are a woman who has been running on empty and calling it strength.
– Start with lunch.
– Start with ten minutes.
– Start with the drawer.
Action Step: Start somewhere. Your kids (and the woman you’re becoming) will feel the difference.
Name: T. Sophia Mikelionis
Professional Title: Founder, Principal Consultant
Bio: Sophia Mikelionis climbed the corporate ladder and enjoyed every moment. After changing industries and taking a fancy title, she knew by day two, the role was a mistake. To survive, she used tiny habits to break the burnout cycle. Now she hosts workshops to build burnout awareness for driven women.
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