The satellite images came back the same every month. Eighteen miles of ice, retreating faster than our models predicted. 'Baffled,' we wrote in the paper. Professional language for: we're watching something die and we don't know how to stop it. I stopped checking my email after the third grant rejection. Started avoiding the lab coffee machine where people ask how the research is going. The glacier crossed a tipping point in 2019. I think I crossed mine somewhere around rejection number two. My advisor says the data tells a story. But what story do you write when the ending is already known? When every measurement confirms what you're afraid to face? The ice is detaching from bedrock. I'm detaching from everything I thought I wanted to be. Some mornings, I wonder if eighteen miles of ice has more stability than I do. The planet is warming. I'm burning out. Neither feels reversible. #Science #ClimateAnxiety #ResearchBurnout