Teachers make 1,500+ decisions a day. Sleep doesn't fix that. 9 questions reveal which depletion pattern you've developed — and the exact protocol to reverse it.
Modern teaching does something no human brain evolved for. 600 decisions before lunch. 30 nervous systems to regulate. Yours last.
I forget words mid-sentence. I used to be sharp. I don't know where that went.
I get home exhausted. I lie in bed at midnight replaying tomorrow's lesson. I cannot turn off.
I'm not stressed anymore. I'm just flat. I used to love this job. Now I watch the clock.
Coffee barely touches it. I drink three cups and my head is still thick by 2pm.
I sleep. It doesn't help. I wake up exactly as empty as when I went down.
I'm short with my own kids at home. The version of me they get is whatever's left over.
Burnout is a mindset problem. Depletion is a chemistry problem. They look similar. They need completely different fixes.
Most solutions fail because they treat all exhaustion identically. The quiz identifies your exact depletion pattern so you stop guessing.
"Words disappear. The 2pm wall. Coffee does nothing."
"Exhausted and can't turn off. 3am replaying everything."
"Sleep stopped helping. Summer stopped helping. Just flat."
Questions about your sleep, energy, focus, and how your body responds to stress. No fluff.
The algorithm cross-references your answers against three cognitive depletion profiles. Your match is specific, not generic.
Your result includes the biological mechanism and a compound protocol built for your exact type.†
Pick your hesitation. Read the teachers who had it first.
I read every ingredient before I bought this. I read clinical trial papers. I'm a high school chemistry teacher, that's my version of normal. I ordered it because the dose claims were specific, not because I was hopeful. Three weeks in I noticed I wasn't refilling my coffee at 2pm. That's the data point that mattered to me.
I am genuinely allergic to wellness language. The word "protocol" on a supplement bottle almost made me close the tab. Bought it anyway because my partner kept telling me I'd been short with the kids again. I don't know how to explain what changed except I stopped being short with them.
I bought this expecting to write a refund email at day 60. I'm writing a review at day 45 instead. The refund window is still open. I'm not going to use it. (Knocked off a star because the cardboard packaging gets dented in shipping. Yes I'm that person.)
Magnesium spray. Lavender pillow mist. The ashwagandha they sell at Whole Foods. The expensive ashwagandha from Erewhon. Therapy. A meditation app I paid for and used twice. This is the first thing that did the thing the others said they would do.
I have a drawer of supplements that didn't work. I expected this to join them. I don't know what's different about this one but my drawer didn't grow this time.
Eight years of trying things. I'd basically given up — accepted that this is what teaching feels like. It's been six weeks and honestly I'm a little angry at how long I lived with it before something worked.
I genuinely roll my eyes at most of this stuff. My friend who teaches across the hall bought it first and stopped looking like a ghost by Halloween. I bought it in November. By winter break my husband said the same thing about me.
I'm 52. I teach 4th grade. I am not the demographic for sleek black supplement bottles. I keep them in the cabinet so my friends don't see them when they come over. I will keep them there forever now.
If you'd told me a year ago I'd be on a teacher-specific supplement protocol I would have laughed. The label still embarrasses me a little. The effect doesn't.
The wired-tired feeling — that specific one where your body is exhausted but your head is buzzing — I'd never had anything reach it before. Therapy didn't reach it. Sleep meds knocked me out but didn't touch it. This actually reached it. I don't know what else to say.
I'd lie in bed at midnight with my heart still going from a parent email I'd read at 3pm. That stopped, slowly, around week four. Stopped completely by week seven. I'm typing this in bed and my heart rate is 64.
Couldn't turn off. Couldn't turn off. Couldn't turn off. Then one Tuesday I fell asleep on the couch at 9pm watching a show with my husband. He was so surprised he took a picture of me asleep. It's on the fridge.
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