Burnout. Even the word carries its own kind of overwhelm - at least for me.
It feels heavy, stuck, impossible to know where to start. How do you even begin to describe it, let alone know what to do about it?

I hear it all the time. It’s all over my LinkedIn and Insta feeds. Any time we talk about workplace wellbeing, burnout is in the mix.

There are stats - I’m not going to go super deep here - but more than 70% of mid-level managers are burnt out. Seventy percent!
And that’s just at that level, not even counting everyone else. Wild, no?

It’s a pandemic.

I was one of those 70%.
And I can name at least ten people close to me who are either still in it, recovering from it, or dealing with the leftovers.
Once you’re there, getting out again is no piece of cake.

You can’t just bat it away like an annoying mosquito.
You’ve probably built some gnarly beliefs and habits that keep you stuck exactly where you are.
Changing jobs, taking time off, sipping CBD oil, meditating - they all have their place.
But underneath it all is a mountain of unlearning, soul-searching and, honestly, healing.

It sounds scary - and it is.
But it’s not insurmountable.

There are a number of things that fan the flames.
There are the outside factors - the conditioning, how we grew up, past trauma, the kind of support we get from peers or family (if we even let them in), and of course the culture of the company we work for.
Most places still reward the very traits that eventually push people into burnout.

And then there are the inside ones - sorry to say, but a lot of it also comes down to ourselves.

So, what can we do to avoid it?

Awareness is key - if you know me you know I say this a lot, and for good reason, because…it just is.
As employers and individuals.
Companies carry a big responsibility here: to educate, to prevent, to stop celebrating overworking as if it’s a virtue.

And as individuals?
Boundaries. A sense of self-worth. Knowing what actually matters to you, and how much you’re willing to give up for work.
If you don’t want to sacrifice your whole being to the work overlords, learn how to say that - and say it well, even if the higher power is you.
Ask for support. Reach out to friends, peers, mentors, family, coaches - whoever’s in your corner.

Looking back at my own story, I honestly don’t know if I could’ve prevented it.

I learnt a lot from burning out. It shaped me, gave me perspective.
I’m not sure I’d be doing the work I love now if I hadn’t hit that rock bottom in 2022 - when I quit my job, left everything behind, and had zero clarity about what was next.

Reading this back, part of me wonders if I’m right in the head - but you’ve got to be grateful for the lessons.
Maybe I’d have found this path eventually, hopefully without the full-scale collapse.
And I’m not saying I needed the burnout or that anyone does - I wish it wasn’t even a thing.
All I’m saying is it got me to where I’m at now. And I like where I’m at now.

In hindsight, what would’ve helped me avoid the abyss is the ability to speak my mind, to set boundaries, to say “no” with more ease - and to actually trust that the world wouldn’t end if I did.
If someone had taught me that earlier, if I’d been more aware of my patterns and known I had the power to change things (say whaaat??) - maybe I wouldn’t have ended up there.

Then there’s the sneaky trio: perfectionism, people-pleasing, and over-responsibility.
Each of them tells the same lie - that if you just do a bit more, care a bit harder, hold it together a bit longer, you’ll finally be safe.
That’s where we can start tackling the pandemic - by tackling these sneaky things.

It’s more nuanced than just learning to say no, of course.
But in my work now, that’s something I see over and over again: people stuck because they “can’t.” It’s one of the main ingredients of overwhelm.

Here’s what I know now from my own time in the flames and from my coaching practice: you often realise you’re in it when it’s already too late.
And doing something about it from inside the storm feels impossible.

Take my example: I was being coached at the time, which made it all more bearable - but I was still on a collision course.
Coaching helped me see, but it didn’t stop the crash.
Insight isn’t the same as capacity.

Burnout isn’t a mindset issue - it’s a capacity issue.

And now that I think about it, I’ve got to disagree with how I started this blog.
Because if it’s about capacity - emotional, physical, mental, even spiritual - then how much of that capacity was ever really ours to begin with?
Most of us were never taught how to have capacity.
Maybe it’s not that we “failed” to manage stress or set better boundaries.
Maybe we were never shown how to build the foundation that would’ve made that possible.

I started writing thinking burnout was part inside, part outside - a mix of who we are and what we’re surrounded by.
But sitting here editing this, I’m not so sure anymore.
Because the so-called “inside” stuff - the people-pleasing, the perfectionism, the constant need to deliver - where did that come from?
Those certainly weren’t my conscious choices; they were survival strategies.
Ways of staying “safe.”

So maybe it is all outside after all.
Maybe burnout isn’t something we create in isolation.

Maybe it’s what happens when we try to function normally in environments

that have quietly taught us to disconnect from our needs.

If that’s true, blaming ourselves for it misses the point entirely.
Awareness and accountability only go so far if you’ve never been given the tools to use them.
You can’t be expected to regulate a nervous system you were taught to ignore.
Once you know better, you can do better, yes - but the bit before that? That’s programming. And it takes time.

My way into burnout started long before I was paralysed by it.
It started with things like the sneaky trio.
And when did I introduce those into my repertoire?
You get where I’m going with this.

Burnout is so much bigger than burnout - it’s rooted in a lack of fundamental

wellbeing skills and self-knowledge.

So, what can you do if you’re in the fire?

Deep breaths.
Take time off. Call your health provider and tell them what’s going on. You need distance and a break.
If even that feels like too much, ask a friend or partner for help - literally ask them to step in and spell it out.

Know that for a while you’ll feel completely overwhelmed.
The tiniest, kindest things might feel like too much.
Even connecting with people you love might feel impossible because right now, everything feels like another chore.
And that’s okay. It’s temporary. It will get better.

Let yourself be in that place for a while, doing whatever you can to feel comfortable and safe.
It’ll feel weird, because you’re so used to doing everything.
You’ll probably feel shame (why couldn’t I handle this?), guilt (I’m letting everyone down), and fear (what happens when I go back?).

When the biggest wave passes, start asking yourself:
What can I do differently to protect my freedom when I go back?
How much am I willing to give - and be specific?
Can I change anything that will actually make a difference?
Have I been talking to the right people - the ones who can actually help?
Can I be clearer about what I need so I don’t keep walking the same path?

Then comes the journey back to work - or back to yourself, really.
Go into it aware and kind, especially toward you.

You don’t have to face this alone.
You can get support - from family, friends, partners, or professionals like coaches or therapists.
Your GP might even offer free counselling. Maybe your employer can too.

Take your time - this isn’t a sprint.
Be open about what you need.
Be brave enough to ask for it.
Vulnerability is brave and therefore terrifying, but it’s also what gets you where you want to be.

If you’re there right now, I’m sending you love and the biggest hug.
If you’re slowly coming out of the fog, start noticing what you’re learning.
And if you need support, talk to your people.