The project consumed everything. Starting earlier, finishing later. I lost count of the hours I took from the days. They blend into each other with such little time now in between. Meals became afterthoughts. Sleep was a lesser priority. My neck, lower back, and hips turned stiff and I had the audacity to wonder why.
But I called it dedication. This is what excellence required. This is how important work gets done.
Yet after the weeks became months, I log off and lie on the floor, hardly able to think about anything. Clear thinking was a luxury I only had time for in the shower or on a morning walk—because they were the only places I wasn't always checking messages. The work that should be nothing but my best was at risk of mediocrity as a reflection of exhaustion.
Throughout my first major project at work, I've learned that boundaries aren't barriers to good work; they're the foundation that makes good work possible.
Your energy is finite, as you well know. Your attention has limits—pretending otherwise doesn't make you more committed. It makes you less effective.
We're conditioned to believe that caring means being always available. That dedication equals endless hours. That saying yes to everything demonstrates your value.
That is a lie which destroys the very thing it claims to protect.
Your brain operates like a battery; every decision drains it slightly. Every context switch costs cognitive energy. Every interruption fragments your focus into smaller, weaker pieces.
When you refuse to acknowledge these limits, you don't transcend them. You hit them harder. The person who works eighteen hours, in the same role, often produces less than the one who works eight focused ones. Even then, an old boss helped me learn long ago that no one works eight focused hours straight.
The mind that's constantly reactive can't access its deeper capabilities. The body that never rests begins to shut down essential functions. I watched this happen to myself. From poor sleep, I'd spend hours writing things that should have taken a fraction of the time. Gym had been skipped, again. Fewer things done overall for the week and not much to remember it by.
My supposedly dedicated approach was making me useless.
But a new lesson, something my new colleagues actively teach that I love, is we must practively say no to the non-essential. Whether it's a meeting, cheeky email requests, or out-of-work obligations like a social outing where you just don't need to drink anything tonight. It's better to protect your mornings for proactive activations than reactive tasks and battery drain before you’ve even started anything meaningful.
Soon after, the quality improves dramatically. It doesn't take long to see it. Not despite the boundaries, but because of them.
So they create focus. When you know exactly when you're working and when you're not, both become more intentional. It becomes almost exciting to say no. Your mind stops fragmenting across a dozen half-commitments and demonstrates great concentration that deserves respect.
Standards work the same way. When you're unwavering about what level of work you'll accept from yourself, you stop wasting energy on internal negotiations. No more "Is this good enough?" spirals or doing everything to look more useful. You know what great looks like, and you don't submit to anything less.
Forget perfectionism because it has no boundaries—it expands to fill all available time and energy. Standards have clear endpoints. They say: "This meets the mark. We're done."
When you protect your energy this way, happiness stops being something you chase and becomes something you inhabit. Proper rest means you wake up curious rather than depleted. Clear boundaries mean you're fully present in the moments that matter. The contentment that comes from sustainable intensity feels entirely different from the brittle satisfaction of unsustainable effort.
You're not constantly running towards some future state of relief. You're simply here, rested enough to appreciate what's in front of you.