Burnout broke me - and taught me everything

Burnout broke my body and rewired my brain. This is what I lost, what I found, and why I’m never going back....

I think I look slightly less dead behind the eyes….?

I’m back from burnout leave. Despite imagining my return to the real (working and living) world to feel like a glorious, refuelled homecoming, sadly that hasn’t been quite the case. In my time off I’ve learned enough about burnout that I think it’s valuable in sharing it with you - because, like me, you might have it and not even realise. Like me, it might just be your normal.

Why I’m burned out
This had been building a long time, but what pushed me over the edge was writing my book UGLY and not knowing how all encompassing it would be. Looking back, thinking I could handle writing a meaty, research-led manifesto alongside doing a massive brand strategy project, a weekly column, being a part-time beauty director on a magazine, and all my other gigs was the definition of insanity.

This is one of toxic traits; thinking I can do everything, all the time, to perfection and at double speed. The annoying thing is that sometimes I can; one of the contradictions of (my) neurodivergent life is that sometimes I’m the sparkiest, fastest person in a room. But sometimes I feel like utter dog shit. Like my brain has been dialled down to power saving mode and I can’t switch the dial to full pelt again. When things get too much, some people might rightfully put in boundaries by saying no to extra work and then dial up their self care. But I do what I was modelled by my hardworking, immigrant south Asian parents; work always comes first, because it has to. So, I carried on putting myself at the bottom of my never ending to do list, until it felt like I was actually drowning.

What does burnout feel like?
I knew something was really up when I started to overreact to things that wouldn’t have usually bothered me. If a colleague had done well, I’d normally see that as inspiring (even if there was an initial tinge of envy.) If a mate had met their ‘person’ that would be an optimistic guiding light that there was somebody out there for me too.

But gradually I noticed the shift towards those things making me angry, bitter and resentful. The tricky part is that occasionally, those negative feelings were justified. There are privileges that make life easier for some than others; experiencing the white privilege, class privilege and tokenism in journalism is something I’ve gotten used to. to then see it happening in the literary world, which was new to me, just added to my feelings of futility.

Not sure if my global readers will get this meme but it’s too good not to use…

Over time, I lost sight of anything good, and could only see negatives. I'd spend my days feeling numb; even the things that I used to find joyful started to feel like nothing. When my book was in huge global titles, or I was speaking to crowds at the biggest literary festivals in the uk - massive feats for a first-time author - it barely registered. I’ve since learned (at one of the high-tech clinics I visited to try and fix my burnout) that it’s because my fight or flight response had stopped firing. I was so exhausted on every front that my body had gone into shutdown mode to preserve itself from feeling and expending more energy.

Numb is an excruciating feeling to experience - the fear is that you’ll never be able to feel again. At one point I started dissociating too; a weird out of body feeling trauma response that feels like you’re actually losing your marbles. I had panic attacks, insomnia, wild appetite and mood swings, and sometimes I just cried for hours without knowing why. Although the latter sometimes felt like relief - at least it was sort of a feeling. This numbness just felt so uncharacteristic; if you followed me on here for a while you’ll know that nothing makes me happier than a geeky historical treasure, and even those weren't doing the job. At antiques fairs - my usual happy place - I just felt ambivalent.

I wish I’d listened to myself earlier, as I knew it wasn’t depression as the GP suggested. I’ve had that at a couple of bleak points in my life, to the point of starting to feel like not being here might be preferable. I also wish I'd spoken up more to my friends instead of continuing to wade through this feeling, year after year, thinking this was “adulting”. It would have helped me realise that this wasn’t a normal way to feel, much, much sooner. Even now, I don’t think they know how truly awful I’ve felt; because putting on a happy front takes much less energy than saying, I feel horrendous and I don’t know why because nothing seems to be ‘wrong.’

The physical cost
Burnout has cost me more than I want to admit. I’ve lost joy, excitement, fulfilment, and the ability to self celebrate (though that’s never been my forte, honestly.) Physically, I’ve been diagnosed with an autoimmune issue that has - in all honesty - been bubbling away behind the scenes after a whole lifetime of overworking, people pleasing, lack of boundaries, anxiety, undiagnosed neurodivergence and the mindset of having to always prove myself to survive in the elitist industries I work in.

Should this have a trigger warning? If so, TW: dead raccoon alert.

I guess I’ve never really been sick before, so I’ve gotten away with it for a long time. But there’s always a tipping point; and developing Hashimoto's (when your thyroid - responsible for most of your bodily functions - essentially attacks itself) is a symptom of my burnout. On top of feeling a sugar-coated dog turn, I now have hair loss, my skin texture has changed, I’ve lost weight and gained it rapidly and my energy battery is set at 50% most of the time. I’ve felt like half alive roadkill for about 80% of the last 7 years - which is a lot to sit with, because I wish I’d realised that wasn’t normal, sooner. (See above for an accurate depiction.)

Then there are the hidden costs that feel tricky to talk about still; I stayed in relationships for longer than I should have, put up with poor behaviour in some of those relationships out of tiredness, and lack of boundaries. I’ve let some friendships go to shit (although those work both ways…) and one of the worst things is that I’ve lost that feeling of wonder and awe that I love so much. The thing that’s always kept me going.

Is there a path to recovery

I’m so used to pushing through physical and mental discomfort, but now I’m at a point where that’s no longer feasible. Over the last year I’ve been testing things to fix my burnout like it was a common cold. A two week holiday was great, but my brain didn’t stop mulling over how everything I’d done was a failure, or how I’d die alone (thanks, brain). I tried all the usual wellness stuff, breathwork classes, meditation classes. I tried getting really drunk, but it’s harder to do so when you’re burnt out. I tried some other things that aren’t advisable(!) and those didn’t work either. Still, I felt nothing.

It wasn’t until earlier this year that a new friend told me about his chronic burnout symptoms, and how he’d taken a year off work to fix it that the realisation hit me - this wasn’t a quick fix. It had taken me a long time to get here, but I kept thinking that all I needed was a rest - and it’s so much more complicated than that. Armed with this knowledge, I’ve had a bit of time off work to break the overwhelm circuit. I had a holiday in Bangkok where I felt glimmers of awe and wonder again. I was off my tech as much as I could be. I tried to be in my body as much as I could. I've worked out (and not hated it.) I’ve tried to sleep more (I hate it, so boring) and eat better (fried chicken is my crack.)

The biggest realisation perhaps is that the way I was before was my normal, but it wasn’t actually normal, or good for me. Now, I’m not trying to get back there, I’m trying to find a more sustainable, healthy way to live and work. How I show up for myself going forwards is going to have to be entirely different - and that's the part I’m still slowly working out.

I wanted to share this in all its grim glory because burnout isn’t just a bit of stress; it's a physical reaction to self neglect, external pressures, lack of boundaries and many, many other factors. Some people are statistically more prone to it; people in caring roles, those who are neurodivergent and people of colour too.

So I’m back, but in a phased return to work kinda way. I’m not 100% sure what that looks like right now, but do expect me to be back in your inbox again more regularly. And a HUGE thank you for sticking around too - you’re the best. And if you’ve been through anything like this, let me know; I’d love to know what helped you feel better.

Love and rest…

PS: I read a lot of books about burnout, but this book was the most inclusive and really helped me.