Burnout, Recovery, and the Learning to Lead

I’ve spent the majority of the last 18 months in recovery from real and intense burnout. Yikes.

I was super fortunate to have been a part of a stellar team at an amazing organization – one that moved at lightning speed and where change was a literal constant. I had just come off of a stint that provided fantastic work/life balance, but wasn’t challenging in the way I needed it to be. I was ready to get back in the race and the new job felt perfect.

I was confident, performing, and getting promoted to higher levels of responsibility. I thrived. GSD was my motto! A real “take no prisoners” approach that I’m sure everyone adored.

It was awesome. And it worked! Until it didn’t.

After nearly four years, the company was outpacing my ability to keep up. It, and my team, needed more from me than I was able to give. I was starting to crack and it absolutely showed. The imposter syndrome was kicking in big time and I felt like I was in over my head nearly every moment of the day. I was second-guessing myself and losing that confident voice that I had worked so hard to hone over the course of my career.

I tried everything my muscle memory was trained to do – work harder, go faster, push more, do more. I was exhausted and had nothing left in the tank. It was painful, quite literally, and I was suffering from severe burnout and anxiety. I had nearly constant chest pain, and sometime nausea if the pressure was really intense. I couldn’t sleep. My hair was falling out. I was terrified of public speaking because my confidence had taken such a massive hit. I was a full-on disaster.

And finally, I broke. I was toast (burnt toast!) and it was time to move on. I truly loved my job, my team, and the company, and it was painful. I had sworn off "work crying," but the tears came - though those who were there know I would have taken that you-know-what (this is a business platform, after all) to the grave.

Fortunately, I found a new role at an exciting company in need of someone with my experience. I was grateful for the opportunity to work for a former colleague and to start over and rebuild, even if I was running on empty. I accepted the position, planned a month-long break (yoga! spa! reading BOOKS!) in between jobs – and then COVID hit.

Like a massive pause button on everything I had been planning to do, COVID slowed everything way down. I spent that month of “me time” homeschooling my kids. Whatever vision of self-care I had flew out the window as the world shut down and commercials selling toilet paper and Zillow ran on TV showing families never leaving the house - but like, with heart??

But it was through this big pause that some kind of switch flipped for me. It wasn’t the recharge I was hoping for – but it was the re-centering that I desperately needed. Suddenly I found myself being forced to fully dedicate my time to my family, even if for a brief period. We were isolated at home. I had no work emails to check and no conference calls to dial into. It was just us. I was organizing full-day homeschool. Making bread - groan, I know. Reading little bits of Little House on the Prairie to my kids every day before lunch. I was truly present with my family at home and began to love hearing the sounds of my then 2nd grader’s remote music class singing silly songs about pizza.

The month went on - and though I had the occasional day dream of moving to a farm, getting some chickens, and living the simple life (see also: millenial), it was time to start my new job. It began to evolve into the role that I wanted and was ready for. I was building again, but in a new way and with a different approach. For the first time, it wasn’t just about how much work I could do and how productive I could be – I started thinking about quality. Quality output, quality interactions, and quality of life. Taking a family walk between meetings felt not like a chore, but a special treat I could steal during the day to reconnect with my boys. I found myself thinking less about work – in not only a good, but important way.

It was the pain – and what felt like failure – that showed me all I had left to learn. I have a long way to go - literally ask anyone. But I’ve started to listen to those voices (inner and otherwise!) telling me to be honest. To be authentic. To cut myself and others some slack and to show some empathy. And I’m full of gratitude for the squads – both former and present – who have pulled me through, lifted me up, cheered me on, and celebrated with me with margaritas and a nice sunset every once and while.