"I was volunteering in raptor rescue, monitoring eagle nests as the busy season ramped up, juggling consulting work, supporting adoption placements, writing, creating. I was showing up fully in every space except the one I lived in: my body. And yet I refused to let go. I told myself it was just a busy season. That if I could push through, things would calm down. That my exhaustion was noble, temporary, necessary."
"It was one of my regular volunteer shifts. I'd worked with this particular great horned owl before-had caught her successfully more than once. It felt like business as usual: enter the enclosure, take a breath, begin the catch. Except this time, it wasn't usual. And I wasn't ready. I took my eyes off her for a split second. That's all it took. She flared, leapt, and with perfect precision, delivered a full-force kick to my face before escaping. Pain blurred into shock."
Months of hidden burnout accumulated while volunteering in raptor rescue, monitoring eagle nests, juggling consulting work, supporting adoption placements, writing, and creating. Exhaustion manifested physically but was dismissed as a temporary busy season because identity centered on usefulness. Raptor rescue became integral to identity, making walking away difficult despite lessons about rest, boundaries, and overfunctioning. A great horned owl unexpectedly kicked the face during a routine catch when attention lapsed, causing pain, shock, and shame. Confidence and months of progress felt unraveled in an instant. The incident forced confrontation with limits, wounded pride, and the necessity of letting go and prioritizing bodily care.
Read at Tiny Buddha
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