I don’t know about you, but sometimes I want to read a person’s story and other times I just want to listen to their voice. I get it! That’s why I’ve also created an audio version of this blog. Enjoy them both! Flic x

I'm standing here, swaddled top to toe in grey sweatshirt material sans bra. Let’s face it, rock bottom never requires a bra.

Despite all the soft cotton wrapped around me, I'm still clawing at the seams, desperate to escape, to be free, to breathe.

You see, I've recently chosen my health over my job. And that's a whopping big step for me. I’ve discovered that overachieving and overworking tendencies rarely choose self-care. 

I bowed my head to burnout and accepted the plot twist of being the mental health writer who lost her own mental health. This now requires the paving of a new yellow brick road to tread. I've alerted the Oz land construction crew, who said they’ll start work once they’ve finished their cup of tea. They know how to practice self-care.

I'm fascinated by the different ways men and women experience burnout. Men are more likely to feel burned out if they have home life problems that they perceive will interfere with work. Whereas women experience burnout when their work-life stress interferes with their home life. 

With this in mind, I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that numerous studies suggest the group with the highest risk is ... drum roll.. women in their 30's and 40's. Multiple life stressors sit spinning on plates: childcare and parenting, ageing parents, money concerns along with all the other arse whipping categories in life. These stressors are thrown women’s way, thanks to an outdated patriarchal system and media messaging. Yikes, I'm getting hot under the collar just writing about those damn plates. 

I get it. You see, one minute I used to want it all. The next minute I'm lying on my bed panting like the dog who's eaten all the pies and struggling to be comfortable in my own space and breathe in my own body. Sitting on rock bottom feels painfully hard on your arse.

Burnout is exactly what it says it is on the tin. My light extinguished to the extent of pitch-black darkness. I was a shell; I felt cold, empty, vacuous. I struggled to function, to talk, to fight or try anymore. Tears leaked daily from my eyes, often hours at a time. It was as if all the heartache, upset and frustrations that had crossed my path over the past years could not be held back anymore. My feelings were fighting to be seen. They held angry protest banners declaring that I'd come too far to carry on sitting in a cesspool of negativity and neglect. Time for change, they chanted. 

So I stopped, listened, and agreed. It was time for change. 

I stood looking around at the broken-down rubble of myself. How did this happen? I was as mad as a bag of badgers, burnt to a crisp, lying face down on my rock bottom sans bra. I want to move forward, away from this sorry state. But how? 

Any writer will tell you that when the shit hits the fan, they reach for their notebook and pen. My one-sided memories, sugar dipped in poison, seize this opportunity and flood me with thoughts. My memories frantically write a list of all my fuck ups, my weaknesses, my failures. They remind me of all the things I don't like about myself.

I can’t resist it any longer, so I take charge of that damn pen and write a list of the things I think people dislike about me. This list turns out to be the biggest list. Because when the chips are down, I don't need anyone's help in finding the poison. Fuckity fuck, I can do that all by myself. 

I sit there wishing it all to be different, less painful, less frightening, and wishing it to be anything but rock bottom. 

When I hear of the phrase rock bottom, I think of incredible people who made a conscious and courageous decision to choose something better, fight for something precious, and stick a middle finger up at the signpost marked give up. I think of people battling addiction and those facing acute mental illness. I'm wondering if I'm even allowed here with burnout?

Quick question: How fucked up do you have to be to earn your right to stand at rock bottom? 

Fast answer: Who fucking cares about the rock bottom measuring stick? Intervene as quickly as you can so as not to discover how much worse this l’il situation can get.

Thankfully my shitty thought hyperloop is interrupted by my 11 year old asking what's for lunch. I sit up, take the smile labelled "I'm fine" out of my back pocket, and smack it on my face. 

"Pesto pasta?" I reply in a high-pitched perky tone. Today's lunch special is pesto pasta served with a side of I'm lost, on mute and don't know how to ask for bloody help. He gobbles down the pasta, while I sit at the table and push that lifeless side dish around the plate. No one in their right mind wants to eat that shit! 

I used to want great things, now I just want to be okay.

As a mental health writer, I knew physical and mental health were intrinsically linked. I knew no one was exempt from potential poor mental health. I certainly knew I wasn't superhuman and that working long-hours, neglecting my diet, not leaving my desk, day-in, day-out was not sustainable. But I plowed on regardless. I never once raised my hand or say I needed a break or less work. I lost complete sight of my north star along with any jeans that fit. I look back and see that I willingly gave all my energy and magic to everyone else. I even smiled as I did so. It seems I have more of those smiles tucked into my back pocket. 

This burnout shit is real, but it doesn't happen overnight. It creeps up on you over time as the result of chronic chest crushing stress. The good news is that you can prevent it from escalating to the point of no return by recognising the symptoms. So I'm sharing the things that changed for me. Read through my symptoms, take note of any that resonate. I don't want this to happen to you. It's all fun and games until your chest and elastic waistband become so tight that you can't breathe. 

The 8 matches I used to ignite my burnout bonfire

Match 1: I was exhausted and running on empty. 

It's no surprise that women experience exhaustion first, is it?! Extreme fatigue can manifest as brain fog and insomnia, while not getting the sleep you need is your queue-jumping ticket to be first in line for the burnout ride. 

I never took breaks, and when I did, I felt guilty and selfish for the rest. I swallowed big pills of inadequacy and self-loathing. If I wasn't overworking and overachieving to outrun imposter syndrome, then I was devoting every personal minute to my kids and family. Why? So I could shoo away the guilt gremlins in my head telling me I was a useless mother, wife, friend, daughter. I had placed myself on a hamster wheel with only self-hatred and junk to fuel me. No wonder I fell off and couldn't bloody get back up.   

Match 2: My self-care currency changed for the worse. 

My yoga studio membership card lay brand spanking new and unused on my dresser while my elliptical training machine was drying bed sheets. I stopped eating my greens, ditched the glasses of lemon water, dropped the early nights and gave daily fresh air walks the boot. Instead, I coped by shoving the wrong things into my gob while lying on the sofa. All the food and all the wine became my rationale treats for burning myself into the ground. A bottle of Malbec was my currency for having worked a week of 16 hour days. A breakfast cappuccino washed down with a packet of chocolate buttons was my reward for the mental health talk I gave to 100 people at short notice.

Sugar for the shock and wine as an anesthetic were the name of the game. I forcibly revved myself up to rocket speed and then chilled myself out to level comatose. The only movement I embraced came in the form of a bicep curl lifting a wine glass. I guess we could say I did not practice what I preached. 

Match 3: I lost my voice— metaphorically speaking.

I no longer felt effective in my purpose or confident in my performance which all just mounted into a huge big pile of apathy. I stopped voicing my opinions in work meetings or sharing creative ideas. This trickled slowly into my personal life, where I didn't set boundaries with family. One Christmas Day, I ended up so frustrated and heartbroken with what I perceived to be a failure on my part that it stole the joy from my rare time off. Looking back, I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was just a fucking turkey—that was late for the dinner plate. When I stopped projecting my voice, I somehow simultaneously stopped believing in myself. I became self-conscious, self-critical, self-doubting. When I lost my sparkle, I knew I was in trouble.  

Match 4: I worked relentlessly around the clock.

Anyone working in a startup will say it's an unpredictable force to be reckoned with. This venture is someone's baby, and since you are working within such a tight-knit group of founding team members, it becomes your baby too. You’re a work family. A work family on a mission. Perhaps that’s why I didn't say no to tall orders. I churned content out at record speed, often at the last minute. I always had my phone on and showed up to the table with a smile. I never said no to work or prioritised myself. Those in my personal circle felt it. It was so clear to them from the sidelines.

Match 5: I never felt good enough. 

Damn you, Imposter syndrome! When the company team grew bigger I became so worried that someone would come along and ask “who wrote this crap?.” My solution was to outshine myself on epic proportions while also trying to prove wrong the nasty internal narrative that was on high volume.

I let my true self wither. Incidentally, no one ever did question me as a writer. If anything, it was the opposite. This is what imposter syndrome does. It torments 70% of us as we tremble in fear waiting for the exposing moment of a fabricated concern. What a waste of energy. Such a fucking shame.

Match 6: I was crumbling, both physically and mentally.  

Always keep in mind that exhaustion can exhibit physical symptoms, including chest pain, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, gastrointestinal pain, headaches, loss of appetite, anxiety and depression. As if it were a chocolate selection box, I took a bite out of all of these symptoms. No wonder I felt as sick as a bloody dog. 

I started having unexplained pain. It hit my shoulders, my chest, my joints, my jaw. See why I thought I was having a heart attack now? Naturally, when you ignore physical symptoms, they get worse; they intensify and raise the alarm for your nervous system to slam on the brakes. If you experience any of these symptoms, don't mark them down to a virus, an inability to cope, a weakness, or being a fucking failure. I've been there, done that, got the T.shirt.

FYI, this T.shirt is poorly made and washes terribly. Avoid at all costs. 

Match 7: I completely lost my smile but found cynicism. 

Getting through the day became the marathon I did not sign up for. And, I am not a marathon runner—but you probably guessed that by now. My sense of humour fell between the cracks of the sofa. I lost any enjoyment or zest for life through a hole in my pocket. One day they were all there, then one day, they weren't. I couldn't even tell you when they disappeared. 

Scraping through the day and wearing the badge: just get through the next 12 hours, became my survival tactic. I watched myself fade, sub-consciously detaching from those around me. It made me want to self-isolate, keeping the uncontrollable burnout fever to myself—I couldn't allow this to pass on to anyone else. Looking back, these were all classic signs of cynicism. As I commando crawled through the days, weeks, and months, I became unrecognisable and muddy. Everything was muddy.

Match 8: I wore the best burnout blinders I could find.

The most important thing you can do is recognise the stages of burnout rather than waiting to go all the way through to the inefficacy stage. Please, don’t do that. You deserve so much more.

When you see burnout warning signs glimmer on the horizon, take note, make sure to step in, take swift action. No one likes going all the way around the Monopoly board to be told: do not pass GO, do not collect 200 quid, go straight to jail/bed...you're fucking toast. 

Looking back, ever since I was a kid I’d had a hunger for more. A hunger for exploring, for achieving things, to go the extra mile and where others feared to tread—it was always less crowded there. But now I see the value in being healthy, strong, balanced. Just myself as I am in this moment. I just want to be.

I cannot stress enough how vital it is to talk, share, connect, to reach out for help. I know, I know, this is coming from the woman who didn't—cue face palm moment. But this is why I’m sharing this message. Studies show that social support has the biggest impact on burnout. 

The plot twist that impacts every woman

There’s no denying it. The pandemic has exacerbated any issues that were already simmering on the back boiler and hand-delivered a 'plot twist' with a side dish of these added stressors:

• Trying to work from home while homeschooling.

• Money worries when the news headlines shout recession.

• Caring for vulnerable friends, neighbours and family members.

• Doing a grocery shop to last a whole bloody month.

• Doing another bloody grocery shop to last a whole month for the vulnerable people in your circle. 

• Being stuck in the house. Being stuck in the house. BEING STUCK IN THE BLODDY HOUSE!

• Feeling alone and isolated while you ironically, have to elbow nudge your way around the home, fighting to get some space away from those you love, 24/7.

No wonder our mental health is suffering. Please keep an eye on your own burnout barometer. Burnout bonfires are not pretty and can really cause some serious damage—bra or no bra. Damage not just to you but to all those in your circle.

Watch out for the symptoms. Say no to the oppressive to-do list. Say yes to rest, moments of joy, and early nights. Say no to the hyperloop of drinking all the coffee until it's time to drink all the wine. Say yes to taking non-negotiable time for yourself. 

And, last but not least, when someone asks if you are okay, like really okay... don't be afraid to say a big fucking NO.

Flic x

P.S. If you happen to know a woman also struggling with #everydayburnout please send her this article.

Burnout and feeling as mad as a bag of badgers can really isolate you, and the one true thing I needed on my lowest of low days was to not feel so alone. 

I see you out there, Sista. Please hold on, it does get better.