The breaking point
It’s strange to look back now, knowing how far we’ve come, but I still remember that feeling like it just happened yesterday – that quiet, personal breaking point.
The pandemic changed everything. For all of us. Over a short span of time, I witnessed things I never thought I’d see in my lifetime – businesses folding one after another, prices of basic goods surging overnight, people grieving through glass, and the slow, relentless weight the lockdowns placed on everyone’s mental health.
In our company, there was a moment I thought we’d have to let go of more than half of our team just to survive the year. We didn’t know what we were dealing with. No rulebook. No script. Just daily uncertainty. And while I tried to show up for others, I kept quiet about how heavy it all felt. I was listening, comforting, problem-solving but quietly, I was exhausted too.
Eventually, my business partner and I made the call to keep everyone. We stopped taking salaries for the year and gave up our Ortigas office, the space we built from scratch. We poured so much of ourselves into that space. Closing it down, boxing memories, disconnecting routers, peeling things off walls felt like losing a part of our identity.
It was too heavy for me. To slowly pack up the office we’ve built from scratch is one of the greatest pain of my life. The office felt like our baby. I tried to appear normal, I even actively participated in different charities to keep myself busy, but the truth is I was depressed and exhausted. Yeah, it was too much. One day, I just woke up, took my dog, and decided to pack my bags and leave for Baguio.
A Kind of Escape
I know how fortunate I was to be able to do that to get away, to start again. Not everyone could. For a long time, I didn’t even want to share it. But now, I’m writing this down for three reasons:
- So I don’t forget why I made the move.
- To mark the start of something new.
- And maybe, in some small way, to remind others they’re allowed to choose themselves, too.
It wasn’t a romantic mountain escape. It was a response to burnout. But slowly, it helped. Days became softer. I started waking up early, walking Yakult, brewing coffee, reading books, working remotely, cooking with fresh vegetables from the market. I built a rhythm again. I found stillness. Some days were still difficult. The calls, worries, and guilt but the space gave me clarity. And that was enough. I’m doing okay.
Deciding to go up to Baguio and stay here for a few months is not a decision I made without considering a lot of factors. The closing of our main office played a big role in my decision of staying here. It wasn’t so bad after all. Because of the pandemic, I’ve been able to work remotely. Client meetings and internal correspondence have become online. While it’s tiring to do consecutive voice and video calls, having the privilege of working in a relaxed area made me more productive than ever.
Being thankful despite the shit that is COVID-19
I say this without fanfare: I’m thankful. To my family for understanding. To my friends who checked in – even in silence. To the team who kept on going. And to Yakult, for staying beside me when I had nothing left to give but chimkens.
To all those who have lost someone because of the pandemic, I can only imagine the pain you’re going through. I’m sorry for your loss, take all the time you need to heal but please, don’t forget yourself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about my escape, it’s about loving myself better. As my yogi said earlier in her class, thank yourself for giving yourself time for your own.
We always talk about filling our own cup before we pour into others. That year taught me to live by it. Your cup doesn’t have to be big, doesn’t even have to be fill – but when it’s completely empty, you owe it to yourself to stop. Take a step back. Refill.
I drove here alone, but I didn’t feel alone. Because I was never really alone, Yakult was in my passenger seat. And in that strange quiet, in the foggy early mornings, I found a kind of peace I didn’t know I needed.
I hope you find yours, too.
