I Didn't Know I Was Burned Out

Sometimes the things we're best at are the very things that make it hardest to recognize when something isn't right.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the strange relationship we have with success, especially those of us who have spent our lives being the person everyone counts on. You know the type. The one who can walk into a room full of chaos, figure out what's broken, create a plan, rally the troops, and somehow get everyone moving in the same direction. I've spent much of my career being that person, and if I'm being perfectly honest, I love it. There's something deeply satisfying about solving a problem that everyone else has decided is impossible.

But here's something I didn't understand for a very long time. You can be exceptionally good at what you do, genuinely love parts of your work, and still be burning yourself out in the process. In fact, I think sometimes those of us who are the most capable are also the least likely to recognize when we've crossed that line.

I didn't know I was burned out. I knew I was tired, of course, but who isn't tired when they're building businesses, leading teams, managing relationships, and trying to squeeze an actual life into whatever hours are left over? I had become so accustomed to operating at full throttle that I didn't recognize it as anything unusual. It was simply how I lived. There was always another problem to solve, another person who needed something, another opportunity that was too important to pass up. And because I could handle it, I did.

That's the part I've been sitting with. Somewhere along the way, I think I confused my ability to carry something with my responsibility to keep carrying it. And I wonder how many other people have done the same thing. We celebrate resilience, and we should. We admire people who push through difficult circumstances, who show up when things get hard, who somehow manage to keep all the plates spinning. But I wonder whether we've become so focused on celebrating how much people can endure that we've forgotten to ask whether they should have to endure it in the first place.

I think about how often I've encouraged other people to take care of themselves. To use their vacation time, spend time with their families, protect their energy, and remember that their lives are bigger than their jobs. I believed every word of it. Yet somehow, when it came to extending that same compassion to myself, the rules seemed to change. There was always a reason why I needed to keep going just a little longer.

What I've come to understand is that burnout doesn't necessarily announce itself in some grand, unmistakable moment. Sometimes it happens so gradually that you don't recognize how much you've changed. You become accustomed to being tired. You stop noticing the things that used to bring you joy. Your days become an endless sequence of responsibilities, and because you're still getting things done, you assume everything must be okay.

Looking back, I wish I had asked myself a different set of questions. Not whether I was accomplishing enough or whether I could manage everything on my plate, but whether the life I was creating actually felt like one I wanted to live. And here's the beautiful thing about recognizing something you couldn't see before: once you see it, you have an opportunity to make different choices.

I'm not interested in giving up ambition. I still love building things, solving problems, dreaming big, and finding new ways to make an impact. That's part of who I am, and I hope it always will be. But I'm learning that there's a difference between pursuing a life you're excited about and constantly running toward the next achievement because you've forgotten how to stop.

I want a life with room for all of it. The big ideas and the quiet mornings. The business challenges and the ridiculous laughter. The opportunities to make a difference and the freedom to do absolutely nothing without feeling like I should be doing something more productive. And if that sounds a little like you, maybe there's something here worth exploring.

I'm not going to tell you to quit your job, reinvent your life, or suddenly become someone who loves sitting perfectly still and meditating for three hours. Good Lord, let's be realistic. But I would encourage you to get curious about the things you've accepted as normal. Ask yourself what you're carrying simply because you've always been the person who could carry it. Notice what gives you energy, what takes it away, and whether you're making room for the parts of yourself that have nothing to do with what you accomplish.

Because here's what I wish I'd understood sooner: just because you're capable of doing extraordinary things doesn't mean you have to exhaust yourself proving it. You're allowed to be extraordinary and still be human. And maybe that's where we begin.

With heart,

Marissa