Breah sits at her kitchen table, Sunday morning light slanting across the notebook where she’s been writing for forty minutes.

The list is color-coded. Urgent items in red. Important-but-not-urgent in blue. Personal development in green. Three columns: Work, Home, Self.

Her hands feel restless, nails drumming on the table, fingers curling and uncurling on their own. She flexes them once, then adds another item to the Personal Development column: Research morning routines.

Her coffee has gone cold. She hasn’t eaten. Her stomach makes a small sound—hollow, requesting—but she’s almost done organizing the week. Just needs to cross-reference the list with her digital calendar, make sure nothing overlaps, block out the deep work sessions.

The tightness moves into her jaw. She unclenches. Adds another task: 10-minute meditation daily.

Her phone buzzes. A text from Lin about lunch next week. Breah opens her calendar app, scans the week. Every slot has something in it. Even the white spaces have tasks written in the margins of her planner: Meal prep. Laundry. Read 20 pages.

She types back: Crazy week. Rain check?

Her chest feels compressed, like something sitting on it. She takes a breath—notices it doesn’t go all the way down—then highlights three tasks in yellow. Priority.

The Sunday she’d planned to rest has become Sunday she’s spending planning how to be more productive during the week so she can rest better next Sunday.

She writes another list: Habits to build. Morning pages. Gratitude practice. Evening wind-down routine. She’s read that successful people have routines.

Her hand is starting to cramp. She flexes her fingers, keeps writing.

The kitchen is perfectly clean. The counters empty. Nothing out of place. She’d spent an hour yesterday organizing the pantry by category and expiration date. Productivity.

Her body feels heavy. Tired in a way that sleep doesn’t seem to touch anymore. She notes it—briefly—the fatigue sitting in her bones. Then flips to a new page in her notebook.

Research: How to have more energy naturally.

She starts a new section: Energy Optimization Plan. Starts writing. Sleep schedule. Supplements. Exercise timing. Protein intake. There are so many variables to optimize.

Three hours have passed. The Sunday morning is gone. Her neck aches. Her eyes feel dry. Her stomach is hollow and angry now.

She looks at the list. Thirty-two items for the week ahead.

She adds one more: Schedule self-care.

Then she begins transferring everything to her digital task manager on her phone, checking items off as she enters them, setting reminders.

Her phone buzzes again. Her mother: Coffee this week?

Breah looks at her calendar. Tuesday has a small gap between the dentist appointment and the grocery shopping block. Forty-five minutes. Not really enough time.

This week is packed. Let’s aim for next week?

She sends it. Feels the small twist in her chest—something that wants to say yes, something that misses her mother—but there’s so much to do. So much to optimize. So much to organize.

She’ll be more present once she gets her systems in place. Once she’s more productive. Once she’s figured out the perfect routine.

She returns to her notebook, flips to a fresh page: Best productivity methods.

Her body is screaming now—a dull roar of hunger, fatigue, tension. She notices it the way you notice traffic noise. Background. Manageable.

She’ll eat after she finishes this planning.

She’ll rest after she gets organized.

She’ll be available after she optimizes her time.

The list grows longer. Her breath rides high in her chest. The morning dissolves into afternoon.

And Breah keeps writing.