Cocooning Through Burnout: Choosing Stillness When Life Won’t Slow Down

I didn’t have the luxury of stepping away from work when burnout and compassion fatigue collided with the slow, grinding harm of being bullied. At a point I was considering checking into a mental health clinic just to take an inbreath, lie in bed and decide on my next steps. I was anxious, overwhelmed, overwrought and confused by what had happened. My biggest misstep was not asking for help, support and guidance soon enough. I had let my brain and mind invent all sorts of worst case scenarios around what was going on and then suddenly the house of cards all came tumbling down; leaving me in a complete panic!

I felt like a failure, because I had transgressed my own advice on getting support in difficult situations. I hadn't listened to myself and reached out. I had been a proper Enneagram Eight, and decided I was tough enough to handle any situation all by myself! When I realised I was more or less unravelling emotionally, I took myself off to the doctor who listened and empathised, and put me on a course of antidepressants.

Cocooning is choosing stillness when life won’t slow down

Before going into complete cocoon mode I had attended an online silent retreat which was emotionally and spiritually excruciating. My mind was an asshole the entire weekend and made up the most disastrous scenarios, leaving me completely exhausted and trapped in my own head. I loved the meditations and hated the in-betweens where my mind ran amok to car crashes, gas explosions and abandonment and betrayal. Not such a fun 72 hours! I also attended a very powerful holotropic breath workshop which left me feeling a bit more settled and somehow nurtured. However, neither even shaved a little ice off the tip of the burned out and bullied iceberg.

Then I did what I felt was the right thing for me.

What I didn't have the privilege of doing was to take time off and stop working. What I did have was the option to pause almost everything else.

I chose stillness over stimulation: no podcasts, no meditation or breathwork, no non‑fiction reading or learning, not even music. No social outings and very little personal interaction with anyone, except my wonderful partner, outside of my professional space. This is how I “cocooned” while keeping the lights on and the bills paid, and how that period helped my nervous system settle and I began to reregulate.

Cocooning is a deliberate, time‑bound retreat from inputs and obligations that are not essential to survival or safety.

It’s not isolation forever, avoidance, or giving up on life. It’s creating a softer container - like a chrysalis - so the body and mind can rest, repair, and remember what safety feels like. In practice, cocooning meant I did the what I needed to at work, and almost nothing outside of it. I replaced effort with ease, speed with slowness, noise with quiet. I treated rest as a requirement, not a reward. And I did this for about four months.

Cocooning helps the nervous system heal and reregulate, because under chronic stress, the body leans hard on survival chemistry: fight/flight energy (anxiety, urgency) or collapse (numbness, exhaustion). Cocooning reduced s stimulation and lowers the number of decisions my brain had to make. Fewer inputs → fewer threat signals → more chances for the “rest‑and‑digest” system to come back online. The goal isn’t perfection; it’s creating consistent cues of safety so the baseline can settle. It was hard and I felt guilty at times for not doing very much, but innately I understood that if I was going to "survive" and recover myself and my wellness, this needed to be the choice that I made.

I literally stopped doing anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. Journaling, is usually helpful, was pulling me into overthinking and rumination; analysis paralysis! I needed less thinking, more being. Podcasts and learning, which are a mainstay of my wellness, felt like too much work for my brain. I needed silence, not more ideas and teachings. Surprising to me, guided mediation and music had also become too stimulating and it was quiet that supported my system better than sound. Social plans, ambitious routines, “growth” projects all needed to wait until my body felt safer. Again, I did not stop working, but I simplified everything I could.

I reduced the amount of inputs and stimuli wherever possible, and weekends were spent in gentle rest and nourishment. I tried to untether myself from my phone and social media as much as possible, and didn't post much workwise. I spent a lot of time in silence. Even when I was in my car I didn't listen to the radio or any music. I spent a lot of time in quiet contemplation about this and that, but held a gentler space for myself than I ordinarily would in terms of stretching myself mentally, professionally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. I slept a lot! And most weekends I didn't leave the house from Friday afternoon until sometime on a Monday - not even to go to the shops. People in unmanaged spaces were just too triggering!

It did feel weird and uncomfortable in the beginning but over the weeks and months I felt myself slowly reenergising. I felt more regulated more often. Safety started to return and I didn't feel filled with anxiety and dread every morning when I opened my eyes. Checking my phone didn't terrify me and I started to feel less afraid to be out in the world. By resting I was also able to show up for my clients and be present with them, because that is a non-negotiable in my professional values. I am sure there were times I could have been more present and available, but I was open and authentic about what was going on for me, and found healing and support in the collective and collaborative healing spaces I work in.

It's important to understand that cocooning is not…

• Hiding forever. It’s a season with a beginning and an end.

• Numbing or escape. Doom-scrolling, overworking, or substance use aren’t cocooning—they spike or flatten the nervous system rather than soothe it.

• Failure or weakness. It’s a trauma‑informed strategy where I was choosing conditions that help the system recover.

• A solution to unsafe environments. Rest supports me, whilst boundaries and systemic changes protect me.

• Self-punishment or exile. It’s care, not hiding from people forever or “earning” rest through suffering.

• Rigid or moralized. It’s flexible; if silence stops helping one day, you can adjust without “failing.”

• Ghosting everyone. Keep at least one or two safe tethers for practical help and co-regulation.

• Avoidance of necessary action. It supports you while you set boundaries, document harm, seek HR/union/legal advice, or tell trusted people.

• A productivity hack. The aim is healing and safety cues, not squeezing out more output.

  
  

The signs that I was ready to reemerge into a more normalised state eventually started to move into my energy field. Curiosity returned and I wanted to start reading and learning again. Music began to feel more neutral or quietly supportive, not jangly or loud. My body recovered a little faster after everyday stressors and I was more resilient in the face of triggers. I started to catch myself lightly planning instead of bracing against the future. Readiness was gradual, not a switch. I tested gently and respected the feedback that I got from my body, heart and mind.

I am extremely grateful to be moving out of this period; spring and a powerful moon cycle seem to have given me permission to step back into the world. I have also learned some extremely valuable lessons. Rest is not the opposite of productivity; it’s the prerequisite. My worth is not measured by how much I can absorb before breaking. Being bullied distorted my self‑trust; cocooning helped me hear myself again. Asking for help and support from the people I trust is not a nice-to-have, it's essential. Compassion fatigue builds silently. My soul and nervous system need regular signals that I’m safe now and I need to learn to honour that in myself.

If you’re reading this because everything feels like too much, you’re not broken. Consider trying a small cocoon: one week with fewer inputs, simpler food, and earlier nights. If you can’t stop working, simplify what you can and choose stillness wherever possible. And if the stressor is an unsafe environment, you deserve safety - rest can support you while you make a plan.

Permission slip: You’re allowed to need quiet. You’re allowed to do less. You’re allowed to heal at the speed of safety.

To sum up what I've learned about cocooning:

• Time-bound sensory retreat. A deliberate reduction of inputs - like sound, screens, and social chatter - to lower arousal and decision load so the nervous system can downshift and return to a healthy baseline.

  Examples: no podcasts or music; soft lighting; phone on "Do Not Disturb" from 7 pm.

• Essential-only functioning. Keep “survival + the minimum for stability”; pause activities and practices that spark rumination or activation.

  Example: do core work tasks in short, single-task blocks; pause journalling, non-fiction reading, and growth routines.

• Physiological safety cues. Use simple body-based practices to signal “I’m safe now” and widen the window of tolerance.

  Example: inhale for 4 seconds - exhale from 6 seconds (for about 2 minutes); warm baths or showers; a weighted blanket; hand on heart/belly while lying quietly on the floor for a few minutes. .

• Titration, not exposure. Reintroduce stimulation in tiny doses and stop at the first signs of overwhelm - aim for 1% more, then rest.

  Example: try 5 minutes of instrumental music at low volume; if agitation rises, return to silence and try again tomorrow.

• Clear, kind boundaries. Reduce social and work demands with brief scripts to protect limited capacity and prevent retraumatisation.

  Example: “My capacity is limited this week. I can deliver X by Friday; Y will need to wait until next week.”

• Predictable routines over productivity. Prioritize steadiness - same meals, sleep windows, micro-breaks - so the system learns to expect safety.

  Example: same simple breakfast daily, two 5-minute “do nothing” pauses; simple and repetitive tasks; lights out 30–60 minutes earlier; aim for 7 - 9 hours of sleep.

By following these types of practices, I feel myself awakening with the spring. I'm noticing the new leaves and gorgeous blossoms. I can feel my breath filling my lungs and the sun warming my skin. I have learned some hard lessons over the last six months, and I have given myself the grace and space to recover. I've also been reminded that it's okay to not be okay and it's especially important to protect myself before I try and protect others. I am feeling more alive and open, and truly humbled by this experience, which I have embraced it and seen it as honouring my value of life-long learning. I mean no one said the lessons were going to be easy after all...

This piece reflects my personal experience and is for information and support—it’s not medical advice. Please reach out to a qualified professional if you need personalized care.