There is a specific moment in recovery that nobody warns you about. You have done the work. You understand the mechanism. You have tracked the cycles, learned to identify activation and shutdown, developed some relationship with the signals your body sends. The acute phase is behind you. You are no longer floored. And then you notice that nothing quite fits. The understanding is in your head, but your body is still doing what it always did. You know the response is old. You know the…

There is a particular moment in recovery that breaks more people than the crash itself. It doesn’t arrive at the beginning, when everything is acute and terrible and at least legible. It arrives later. When things have begun to stabilise. When you’ve dared to let yourself believe the worst might be behind you. When some capacity has started to return and you’ve begun, quietly, to make plans again. And then, without warning, something hits that feels heavier than anything in the early months. A layer…

There’s a point in the crash where you stop being able to explain what’s happening to you. You’ve tried. You’ve told the doctors. You’ve used the word “burnout” because it’s the closest the vocabulary offers. You’ve mentioned stress, exhaustion, overwork. Some of them have nodded and suggested rest. Some have ordered tests that came back normal and said, with what you recognise as polite dismissal, that there’s nothing physically wrong. A few have offered a label — Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, anxiety disorder, burnout — that…