[STORY] The Day I Burned Out in a Smoothie Bar

It was supposed to be just another Tuesday.

I was sitting at a smoothie bar in Lekki, sipping a “Detox Glow” made of spinach, ginger, and guilt.

My laptop glowed like an unpaid bill, and my smartwatch buzzed with “You’ve been sitting too long”—as if it knew I was drowning inside.

I was burned out.

Not the kind of burnout you fix with sleep or a spa day—this one was quiet, invisible, and looked good on Instagram.

“Hey, are you okay?” the barista asked, her brown eyes narrowing as she handed me my green sludge.

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a smile.

But my body had other plans. My vision blurred, my heart raced like a Jumia delivery bike, and before I knew it, I was gripping the counter for balance.

Next thing I heard was,

“Somebody get water! She’s fainting!”

When I opened my eyes, I was on the floor, head on a cold tile, my laptop bag serving as a makeshift pillow. My smoothie had spilled like melted hope.

A guy in gym shorts crouched next to me. “Hey, breathe… deep breaths, okay? Inhale. Exhale.”

I did as he said. The air felt heavy but alive.

He introduced himself as Tunde, a fitness coach and wellness instructor. The kind that drinks cucumber water unironically.

“You probably had a panic attack,” he said gently. “When last did you rest?”

I laughed weakly. “Rest? I have deadlines, clients, and a rent that doesn’t care about my chakras.”

He chuckled. “See, that’s your problem. You think wellness is luxury—it’s survival.”

Something in me snapped at that line. It wasn’t anger. It was truth.

I hadn’t eaten breakfast in three days. I’d been living off coffee, stress, and dopamine hits from Instagram likes.

Tunde became my accidental therapist. He gave me small assignments:

“Drink water before coffee.”

“Take a 10-minute walk without your phone.”

“Try journaling before bed.”

At first, I rolled my eyes. But one night, when insomnia had me scrolling through TikTok wellness videos, I decided to try it.

That night, I wrote:

“I’m tired of performing happiness. I want to actually feel it.”

For the first time in years, I slept without my anxiety playlist.

A few weeks later, I walked back into that same smoothie bar—new journal in hand, slightly more human.

“Back again?” the barista teased.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “Just needed a quiet place to think.”

I ordered a mango-peach blend this time—no detox, just joy.

Halfway through my drink, I saw Tunde walk in. But he didn’t look the same. His face was pale, his eyes tired.

“Hey,” I said. “You okay?”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah… just leaving the hospital. My sister’s been battling depression. It’s been rough.”

Silence.

For a man who had saved me from breaking, he was breaking too.

I reached across the counter and said, “You told me something once—wellness isn’t luxury, it’s survival. You need it too.”

He nodded slowly, tears in his eyes.

That day, we talked for hours about grief, healing, and how sometimes the helper also needs help.

Months later, I started a small online community called “Unplugged Sundays”—where people like me, stressed Gen Zs juggling work and wellness, share stories, mindfulness tips, and emotional check-ins.

We talk about mental health, self-care routines, stress management, and holistic healing—without judgment or fake positivity.

Sometimes, Tunde joins our live sessions, guiding us through breathing exercises.

Sometimes, we just cry and laugh together.

And every time someone new joins, I start by saying:

“This isn’t a place for perfect people. It’s for those of us trying to find peace in a noisy world.”

Two weeks ago, I went back to the smoothie bar again—same stool, same barista.

She smiled, “Welcome back. Your usual mango-peach blend?”

I nodded.

Then she handed me the cup—and I noticed something scribbled on the lid:

“Your story helped me quit my antidepressants. Thank you.” — Tunde’s Sister.

I froze.

My throat tightened. The world went quiet again—but this time, it wasn’t burnout.

It was peace.