It is 11:30 PM. The office is empty, the lights are dimmed, but my Slack status is still green. My laptop is open, casting a pale, ghostly blue light across my living room. I don’t have any urgent tasks. I don’t even have the energy to type. But I can’t close the lid.
Because if I close the lid, I might fall behind. If I disconnect, I might disappear.
For a long time, this was my reality. I wasn't just a workaholic; I was running a race where the finish line kept moving. I want to share a story about starting over, the crushing weight of "proving yourself," and how I eventually learned that the world doesn't end just because you stop to breathe.
The Clock Was Ticking
Deciding to change careers in your 30s is terrifying enough. Deciding to do it in a completely new country, in a language that isn't your mother tongue, feels a bit like jumping out of a plane and hoping you can knit a parachute on the way down.
When I landed in this new country, I didn't just bring my luggage; I brought a deadline. To secure my Permanent Residency (PR)—my right to stay here—I needed to graduate from university and, crucially, gain at least one full year of continuous work experience.
The problem? I was older than most of the graduates. The immigration age limits were looming over me like a storm cloud. One mistake, one gap in employment, one layoff, and my points for the visa application would drop drastically. I wouldn't just lose a job; I would lose the life I was trying to build.
That fear became my fuel.
The Year of "Yes"
I landed a job, but I never felt like I truly "had" the job. I felt like I was auditioning for it every single day.
I became the person who always said "yes." Extra project? Yes. Weekend work? Yes. Meeting at 8 AM? I’ll be there at 7:30. I convinced myself that if I made myself indispensable, if I worked twice as hard as the person next to me, the company wouldn't dare let me go before my one-year mark was up.
I wasn't working for a promotion. I was working for survival. And it worked. I clocked in that year. I submitted my paperwork. And finally, the email came: Permanent Residency Granted.
I should have popped the champagne. I should have slept for a week. But something strange happened. The external pressure was gone, but the internal engine didn't know how to turn off.
The Phantom Pressure
After getting my PR, I moved to a new company. This was supposed to be the fresh start. I was safe now. No one was going to deport me.
But the anxiety had morphed into a habit. I had spent so long proving I was "worthy" of being here that I couldn't stop. I fell into a deep obsession with proving my competence. I felt that if I wasn't producing something tangible every hour of the day, I was failing. I felt like a fraud who was about to be exposed.
💡 The "Open Laptop" Syndrome
This is when the syndrome started. Even on weekends, even when I was drained to the point of numbness, I kept my laptop on. That glowing screen was my security blanket. It whispered to me: "Look, you are present. You are trying. You are safe." I was trying to outrun a threat that no longer existed.
When the Body Says "Stop"
You can only ignore your biology for so long. My wake-up call didn't come in the form of a realization; it came as a physical crash.
It started with the sleep. Or rather, the lack of it. I would lie in bed, body exhausted, but my mind would be racing at 100 miles per hour, replaying emails I hadn't sent or code I hadn't written.
Then came the heart. I developed arrhythmia. My heart would skip beats or race suddenly while I was just sitting at my desk. It was terrifying. The depression followed shortly after—a heavy, gray fog that made even the simplest tasks feel like climbing a mountain.
I went to a doctor, and the diagnosis was clear: stress, burnout, and a nervous system that was stuck in "fight or flight" mode. I had achieved everything I wanted—the career, the visa, the new life—but I was too broken to enjoy any of it.
The Hardest Lesson: Doing Nothing
I had to learn a lesson that sounds ridiculously simple but was agonizingly difficult for me: Nothing bad happens if you do nothing.
I remember the first time I tried to just sit without my phone or laptop. Five minutes felt like five hours. My brain screamed at me that I was being lazy, that I was falling behind.
But I forced myself to sit. I watched the wall. I listened to the traffic outside. And you know what? The world kept spinning. The company didn't collapse. My career didn't vanish.
Finding My Rhythm Again
This is where the concept of "Breathing Rhythm"—the tool you see on this website—became my lifeline.
I couldn't just "relax" on command. My brain was too noisy. I needed something to focus on, something simple and rhythmic to anchor me. I started practicing guided breathing.
💡 The 4-7-8 Rhythm
Inhale for 4... Hold for 7... Exhale for 8. It wasn't magic. It was physiology. By slowing down my breath, I was physically signaling to my vagus nerve that I was safe. I wasn't running for a visa anymore. I wasn't running from a predator. I was just here, in a chair, breathing.
Those moments of breathing were the first times in years that my heart stopped racing. It was the first time I felt a sense of "spaciousness" in my mind.
To You, The Reader
I built this website, and specifically the Breathing Rhythm simulation, because I know I'm not the only one.
I know there are many of you out there who feel like you're always behind. Maybe you're an immigrant like me, fighting to stay. Maybe you're starting a new career late in life. Or maybe you just feel the crushing weight of needing to be "productive" all the time.
I want to tell you what I wish someone had told me: You have done enough.
You don't need to keep the laptop open. You can close your eyes. You can take a breath. The work will be there tomorrow, but you need to be there too—healthy, whole, and rested—to do it.
Let's take a breath together. Right now.