Quiet Quitting: The Silent Shift That Speaks Volumes

When caring quietly becomes self-protection, not surrender.

Hello, I’m Jenn, and if you’re new here, welcome to Naturally Healing. In this space I explore mindful slow living for wellbeing, the power of nature to help us heal, and the importance of showing up as our authentic selves. Here, you’ll find honest reflections, personal stories, and a reminder to prioritise what truly matters—our health, our peace, and the way we live each day. I post twice a week: Tuesday is all about Authenticity Unfiltered, where we dive into honest, real conversations about living authentically, embracing imperfections, and showing up as our true selves. Fridays are our Wellness Edit, where we explore all things related to healing and wellness, with a special focus on the power of nature. Thanks for reading 🤎

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There’s a phrase that’s been floating around for a while now—quiet quitting.

At first, I didn’t like it. It sounded passive-aggressive. A bit defeatist. Like something whispered behind closed doors in workplaces where no one felt safe to speak honestly. But the more I sat with it, the more I realised: quiet quitting isn’t really about quitting at all.

It’s about reaching your limit.
It’s about self-preservation.
It’s the slow, deliberate decision to no longer pour every last drop of yourself into places that don’t see or value you.

It’s the mother who closes the laptop at 5pm, even when the work isn’t finished—because home matters too.
It’s the teacher who stops saying yes to every club, every extra duty, every after-hours message.
It’s the nurse who realises that martyrdom won’t change a broken system.
It’s the young person entering the workforce and daring to ask, “Is this what the rest of my life is meant to feel like?”

Quiet quitting is not laziness.
It’s the quiet refusal to keep over-functioning in roles that treat burnout as the price of belonging.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s long overdue.

For years, many of us were conditioned to believe that the more we give, the more we’re worth. We internalised the idea that good people stay late, pick up the slack, keep smiling—even when the smile is hiding exhaustion. Especially in care-based professions—teaching, nursing, social work, parenting—we’re praised for our selflessness. But selflessness, by definition, is the absence of self.

And I don't know about you, but I'm tired of abandoning myself in the name of being ‘good.’

I’ve done the version of life where you hustle for your worth. Where your calendar is full, but your spirit is empty. Where your value is measured in how much you tolerate without complaint. And let me tell you—it’s not sustainable.

Quiet quitting, for many of us, is a quiet rebellion.
A shift from survival mode to self-respect.

I remember the first time I truly understood what was happening. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no resignation letter or big announcement. I just stopped. Stopped replying to emails after dinner. Stopped volunteering for things I didn’t believe in. Stopped feeling guilty for resting.

Instead, I started going for walks. Started drinking my tea while it was still hot. Started saying, “That’s not something I can take on right now,” and meaning it. I still cared deeply about my work, my students, my family. But I also began to care about myself.

That’s the part people miss about quiet quitting.
It’s not about doing less because you don’t care.
It’s about doing just enough because you care enough—about your health, your energy, your boundaries.

We’ve confused burnout with dedication. But being constantly exhausted isn’t a badge of honour. It’s a warning light.

Of course, there’s a risk in using a catchy phrase like quiet quitting. It can be misunderstood. Some see it as a lack of work ethic. A sign of entitlement. But I think that says more about the culture than the individual.

Because let’s be honest: most people don’t quietly quit until they’ve quietly tried everything else first.
They’ve gone above and beyond, and burned out.
They’ve spoken up, and been ignored.
They’ve been praised for their ‘can-do’ attitude, then punished for needing a break.

So they learn. They adapt. They protect themselves. Not with loud exit speeches, but with quiet recalibration.

And in a way, that’s a powerful form of wisdom.

Quiet quitting also invites us to rethink how we define success. Is it the longest hours? The most sacrifice? Or could it be something softer—something slower?

Could success be going to bed with peace of mind? Having energy left for your loved ones? Living a life where you're present, not just productive?

We weren’t meant to be machines. We’re meant to be human.
Messy, tired, evolving, full-of-feelings human.

And sometimes, protecting your humanity means stepping back. Not out of resentment, but out of reverence—for yourself.

So if you’ve found yourself doing the bare minimum lately—not because you don’t care, but because you’ve been caring too much for too long—know this: you’re not broken.

You’re wise.
You’re protecting what’s left of you.
And maybe that’s not quitting at all. Maybe it’s healing.

Let’s stop glorifying the grind and start honouring the quiet courage it takes to rest, recalibrate, and reclaim our time.

Because the loudest shift doesn’t always come with a bang.
Sometimes, it arrives in a whisper: “No more.”

Thank you for reading.

Take care,

Jenn x