There’s an art to filling our cup.
Maybe you’re like me and have had many seasons where you were running on fumes—trying to run a marathon of life with just a final sip left in your tank.
We hear it all the time:
Put your oxygen mask on first.
You can’t pour from an empty cup.
But how many of us actually do it when it matters most?
The Burnout Loop
Maybe it’s our programming:
Do more. Be more. Achieve more. Accumulate more.
So when life challenges us—or our companies or communities—we spring into action.
We don’t pause to assess our actual capacity.
We give, and give, and give.
And what happens?
Burnout. Exhaustion. Resentment. Hopelessness.
We are giving from an empty well.
When I coach founders or senior leaders—often managing complex organizational and personal challenges—the first question I ask is:
What does your self-care look like right now?
Most of the time, they look at me like I’m speaking a foreign language.
“Who has time for that?” they say.
But we have to make time.
These past couple of months reminded me of my own medicine.
A series of snowballing challenges.
My 98-year-old grandmother—my last living grandparent—was being forced to leave her home of over 40 years in Los Angeles. No retirement. No savings. Her dementia far more progressed than anyone had realized. Navigating the public care system in the U.S. for elderly people in poverty is its own kind of heartbreak.
In a moment of deep compassion, I flew with her to El Salvador—back to her birthplace, hoping it could be a place of rest, dignity, and care for her final days.
But what I encountered was far more complex:
Confusion.
Disorientation.
A heartbreaking realization that what once was “home” no longer felt safe or familiar to her.
It was a collision of generations, systems, and stories.
It was grief in real time.
And it was a reckoning—for her, and for me.
Those five days were filled with cascading decisions, doctor visits, phone calls, emotional unraveling, and a kind of bone-deep exhaustion I can’t quite describe.
There was no space to process.
There was only the next task.
I was managing caregiving, international travel, healthcare logistics, my business, and deep grief—all at once.
The exhaustion crept in. The alarm bells sounded.
I knew: I had to refill my cup.
So I went to the volcano.
To the waterfalls.
To the sea.
To the land of my ancestors.
To move. To breathe. To be.
To cry.
To ask for guidance.
To make sense of it all.
I longed for one of those bear hugs—when someone tells you, “It’s going to be okay.”
Instead, I found the hug in nature, as I always do.
My nervous system reset.
My sleep returned.
My mind cleared.
From that space, I could make decisions with care and clarity.
We returned to LA. My grandmother is now placed in a skilled nursing facility. It’s not what any of us envisioned—but it’s what she needs.
Yes.
“The seed of suffering in you may be strong, but don’t wait until you have no more suffering before allowing yourself to be happy.”
— Thich Nhat Hanh
Joy is the revolution.
Little joys. Big joys.
Joy refills the cup.
I spent so much of my life feeling guilty for joy.
Growing up in survival mode, I was taught to chase stability, not joy.
Joy was a luxury.
Joy was frivolous.
Joy was something other people had once everything was figured out.
Even as I stepped into leadership and activism work, the guilt lingered.
How can I celebrate when others are suffering?
How can I feel joy when there’s injustice, war, hunger?
There is something broken in that.
And I’ve been healing it.
Joy is not a betrayal of suffering.
Joy is a companion to it.
Joy doesn’t mean we’re ignoring the pain—it means we’re choosing to stay alive through it.
Joy and suffering can—and must—coexist. It’s the duality we do not talk about enough.
“Don’t throw away your suffering. Touch your suffering. Face it directly, and your joy will become deeper. Learn the art of cultivating joy.”
— Thich Nhat Hanh
If you’ve ever run a marathon, you know:
There are waves.
Moments of power, and moments where everything hurts.
Life is the same. Mountains are the same.
Sometimes suffering and joy meet at the summit.
Sometimes they meet at mile 19.
You need your cup full to keep going.
How can you invite joy in—even in a small way?
Can you sit with the impermanence? This too shall pass. Sit with your breath.
Can you pause and simply be?
Can you extend yourself the compassion you may be craving?
You are doing the best you can.
And with a full cup, we can all go further—especially as leaders, changemakers, and caregivers.
With love and gratitude,
Georgina
I’m honored to be an ambassador for Zen and the Art of Saving the Planet, a powerful online course based on the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh and the Plum Village community.
It’s a beautiful reminder that nourishing our inner planet is essential if we are to take care of the outer one.
Registrations are now open for the upcoming course cohort:
English— 19th Oct - 7th Dec
Spanish—24th Oct - 12th Dec
If you or your organization are navigating transition, transformation, or simply need support refilling your cup—let’s talk.
📩 hello@georginamiranda.com
🌐 georginamiranda.com | sheventures.co
IG: @georgina.ventures | LinkedIn
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