We’ve all stood in front of the fridge at the end of a long day, staring at a random bag of spinach, half a tomato, and something we think used to be cheese, wondering how is it that I just bought groceries and still have nothing to eat?
Some summers are for passports and piña coladas. Others—let’s be honest—are just for getting through.
The word hustle used to feel like a badge of honor. Like proof that I was hungry, driven, and resilient. I bought into the late-night emails, the stacked calendars, the “rise and grind” energy that turned productivity into personality. I equated worth with output. And I’m not alone—many of us were raised on the idea that if you’re not maxing out every hour of the day, you’re somehow falling behind.
