This piece really moved me—thank you for writing it. The line “you get to go home” caught me in the chest. I’ve worked in roles where I carried the weight of others’ stories long after the shift ended, and I’ve wrestled with that guilt: of stepping away, of being able to rest, of having the option to disconnect when others can’t.
What you’ve written here names something I’ve been slowly learning—that caring deeply doesn’t mean being endlessly available, and that our effectiveness (and our humanity) actually depends on knowing when to “go home,” whatever that looks like for each of us.
The idea of some things being beyond the reach of morality feels like such a relief. Permission to not justify rest, relationships, or joy as long-term strategies for impact—but to hold them as inherently worthwhile. I’ve struggled with the impulse to optimize everything, even the personal, and this gave me a way to reframe that.
This piece really moved me—thank you for writing it. The line “you get to go home” caught me in the chest. I’ve worked in roles where I carried the weight of others’ stories long after the shift ended, and I’ve wrestled with that guilt: of stepping away, of being able to rest, of having the option to disconnect when others can’t.
What you’ve written here names something I’ve been slowly learning—that caring deeply doesn’t mean being endlessly available, and that our effectiveness (and our humanity) actually depends on knowing when to “go home,” whatever that looks like for each of us.
The idea of some things being beyond the reach of morality feels like such a relief. Permission to not justify rest, relationships, or joy as long-term strategies for impact—but to hold them as inherently worthwhile. I’ve struggled with the impulse to optimize everything, even the personal, and this gave me a way to reframe that.
Thanks for your thoughtful words.
Really glad to hear this resonated with you. Good luck figuring out how and when to go home x