Burnout, stress, and overwhelm have become an unfortunate part of life for many high-achieving women.
We push harder. We take on more. We convince ourselves we can handle it. Until we can’t.
For me, that breaking point came on November 4, 2021.
I will never forget that day.
That morning, the messages from a toxic boss kept coming, one after another, until I could barely breathe. I was in a meeting, but could not focus on what my team member was even saying. By early afternoon, I was in the emergency room, terrified I was having a heart attack. My heart pounded. My chest tightened. My body shook. I could not catch my breath.
Hours later, I learned it wasn’t a heart attack at all. It was a panic attack.
As a social worker, that realization cut especially deep. I had spent years helping others notice the signs of stress and trauma, yet I had missed them completely in me.
You might think that moment would have changed everything. That I would have walked out of the ER and set my life on a new path. But the truth is, it did not.
I went back to work. I went back to the messages. I went back to pushing through.
And I stayed there. In burnout. For almost two more years.
Why? Because I didn’t want to fail.
Because I didn’t want to give up.
Because somewhere inside, I thought:
If I can just do more, maybe it will get better.
If I work harder, maybe he’ll finally see my value.
If I keep showing up, I won’t let anyone down.
I can take it. I always have. Just keep going.
That was the soundtrack in my head. It was loud. Relentless. Convincing me that exhaustion was proof of my worth.
The photo I’m sharing with this post captures this time perfectly: me in a hotel bed, early morning, knowing I had to get up and head into HQ for another long day of meetings. I was already done. Mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted. But I told myself I had no choice.
Remote work had allowed me a little distance, but now, face-to-face, there was no hiding.
So, I dragged myself up, put on the mask, and kept moving.
Looking back now, I can see how lost I was. How deeply afraid I was to stop. How much easier it felt to keep striving than to face the truth that I was breaking.
My family and friends saw it well before I did, but I just didn’t want to believe it.
I don’t share this with a tidy ending or a quick solution. I share it because sometimes the most honest thing we can do is sit in the reality of how hard it is to change, even when the warning signs are screaming at us.
This is only the beginning of my story. If any of this resonates with you, I invite you to come back and follow along as I share more of my journey – messy, imperfect, authentic, and unfolding.