Dear Sagebrush Sally,
I care a lot about Tecopa, maybe too much for my own good. I’ve gone to meetings, spoken up, helped with projects, and tried to support neighbors when things get rough. But lately I feel completely burned out. Every week there’s a new conflict, a new crisis, or a new situation where people say, “If you really cared about the community, you’d show up for this too.”
I’m tired, overwhelmed, and starting to resent the very place I’m trying to help. I don’t want to turn my back on Tecopa, but I also don’t want my whole life to revolve around putting out fires—literal or metaphorical.
How do you set boundaries and rest without being painted as selfish or uncaring in a small town where “good people” are expected to be endlessly available?
— Running on Empty in the Desert
Dear Running on Empty in the Desert,
First things first: caring this much is not your problem—it’s your gift. What’s burning you out isn’t your love for Tecopa; it’s the idea that love means you have to be on call for the town 24/7 like some kind of volunteer emergency services for everyone’s emotions, projects, and politics.
Here’s a truth small towns rarely say out loud:
You are allowed to step back.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to say no even when the cause is “good.”
A community is not meant to be carried on the backs of the same three tired people until they break. When you start resenting the very place you’re trying to help, that’s not selfishness—that’s your spirit telling you the well is running dry. And nobody benefits from a neighbor who is present in body but checked out in heart.
In a town like Tecopa, guilt is cheap and plentiful. “If you really cared, you’d show up,” is usually code for, “I don’t want to carry my share.” You are not required to prove your love for this place by sacrificing your health, peace, or sanity. The desert is demanding enough already.
So what do you do? You set clear, simple boundaries and then you keep them.
You can say:
“I can’t take this on right now.”
“I’m stepping back for a while.”
“I support the idea, but I don’t have the bandwidth to be involved.”
No explanations owed. No long apologies. Just the truth.
If someone decides that makes you “selfish” or “uncaring,” that’s a story they’re telling themselves. Let them. Your job is not to manage other people’s narratives—it’s to manage your own energy so you can still feel like a human being living in Tecopa, not a utility owned by it.
And here’s the quiet miracle: when you step back, two things happen. One, you start to remember what you love about this place outside the meetings and crises—the sky, the silence, the oddball conversations at the bathhouse, the way the mountains glow at the end of the day. Two, other people sometimes step up, once they realize you’re not going to keep saving the day for them.
Community work is a relay, not a hostage situation. You’re allowed to put the baton down for a while. The desert will still be here. Tecopa will still be here. And if you come back to the work later, it should be because you want to, not because you were shamed into it.
Protect your peace. The town doesn’t just need your effort—it needs your joy.
— Sagebrush Sally
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