How an Unexpected Friendship Helped Me Through Burnout (women supporting women)

Sometimes, you meet someone in the most unexpected place—a grocery line, a yoga class, a random comment on social media. But for me, it was behind the counter of a French bakery, in the middle of a regular weekday morning.

That’s where I met Miss Ch.

She wasn’t a friend. Not at first. She was just a client—someone I saw regularly in 2023 while she was pregnant. She had this calm, gentle vibe. The kind of presence that makes you slow down just a little. Always stylish, always kind, always smiling, even when the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. I noticed, but I didn’t push. You never really know what someone’s carrying.

I admired her without knowing much about her. We’d chat briefly when she came in—comments about the weather, motherhood, cravings, outfits (because she is always serving looks, even with a baby bump). She was the kind of customer who brightened the bakery just by walking through the door.

And then she had her daughter.

She kept coming in—sometimes with the baby, sometimes alone. But there were days when I could sense something was... heavy. You know that mom look? The “I’m fine but I’m really not” face? The one you wear when you’re doing all the things—waking up early, feeding, diapering, showing up for work, life, family—but inside, you're fraying at the edges?

Yeah. That one.

One day, I decided to ask her—not the quick, passing “How are you?” we usually throw around—but the kind that comes with eye contact and intention.

“How are you doing?”

She paused. Looked at me. And then she broke. Tears rolled down her face, no holding back. It wasn’t dramatic—it was real. Honest. Raw. She didn’t even try to stop them, and I didn’t want her to. That kind of pain? It needs to be released, not bottled up in “I’m fine”s.

I stepped away from the register and sat with her. Right there in the bakery. We talked for thirty minutes, maybe more. I don’t even remember everything we said. What I remember is how it felt—two women, two moms, strangers in theory but connected by something deeper: shared experience, empathy, understanding.

I tried to comfort her. And something shifted that day. We exchanged numbers before she left, and from that point on, I made it a point to check in. Not out of obligation, but because something in me wanted to. I genuinely cared.

And this is where the story flips.

Fast-forward a few months. Life was coming at me hard—work stress, family responsibilities, endless juggling. The kind of burnout you can’t even name at first because you’re too busy functioning through it. But my body knew. My mind knew. I was running on fumes, and it was starting to show.

Guess who noticed?

Miss Ch.

She caught it. She saw it before I could say it out loud. I remember her telling me, "Fabi, this isn’t just tired. I think you’re in burnout."

And she was right.

She didn’t stop there. She did research. She found therapists. Not just a quick Google—she looked into it, curated a list, and sent me real, helpful options. She made it easier for me to say yes to taking care of myself.

One of the therapists on her list? That’s who I see now. That’s the person helping me heal and grow and work through the very real burnout I had been denying for too long.

Here’s the wild part: I didn’t even know she was a life coach back then. Yup. Miss Ch. is literally a life coach. And looking back, of course she is. Everything about her energy, her presence, the way she listens without judgment and offers help without hesitation—it all makes sense now.

We’re both moms in our 40s. We’ve seen things. We’ve lived through the highs and the heartbreaking lows. And we’ve found a friendship that holds space for all of it. We text at least once a week. We grab coffee, go for walks, check in with each other. Sometimes we vent. Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we say nothing, just share the moment. That’s what real friendship looks like.

And to think... it all started over a counter, in the middle of a workday.

There’s something sacred about women holding space for each other—especially when it's unexpected. We don’t always know who’s going to be a fleeting interaction and who’s going to stay. Miss Ch. stayed.

I didn’t know how much I needed her until the day she showed up for me. And she didn’t do it with grand gestures or big drama. She did it the way real healers do—with presence, patience, and love.

We talk so much about finding our “village” in motherhood, adulthood, and healing. But no one tells you that sometimes your village finds you—in the form of a stylish stranger who walks into your bakery, shares her pain, and ends up being the person who helps you carry your own.

So this one’s for Miss Ch. A reminder that you never know how someone will impact your life. And that sometimes, the biggest blessings come in the smallest, most ordinary moments.

Like a conversation by the cash register.

-Fabi