burnt out, bloated, but still good at my job

how i broke down in business casual

Welcome to No One’s in the Kitchen. A newsletter about working solo, building far from home, and the power of shared energy to bring our best ideas to life.

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In 2020, I was what you might call “thriving on paper.” I had a great new job, a calendar full of meetings, a manager who said I was “killing it,” and a dog that made me look like I had a wholesome routine. My friends were supportive, my relationship was loving. I was responsible, reliable, and rarely missed a deadline.

It was a life that photographed well.

I was also bloated, breaking out, and had Tums in every bag I owned. For anyone unfamiliar with Tums, they’re those chalky little antacids you chew when your stomach starts keeping secrets. And my stomach had a lot to say. So did my skin. So did my sleep. So did my nervous system. I was constantly tired, wired, and emotionally tapped out, but weirdly, still productive. I kept getting good performance reviews. I kept showing up to the office. I kept pretending I was fine.

In my case, burnout didn’t look like a collapse. For many I’ve spoken to, they say the same. Sometimes it looks like high-functioning, perfectionist success. Sometimes it looks like you crushing it on Zoom calls while secretly Googling “what does it mean if your hair is falling out in clumps.”

PS. If you’re going to Google that on your work laptop, remember to share a tab, not the full screen. Having been there, you’ll save yourself some awkward looks.

you’re not lost

At some point during this time, I sat down with a friend at a coffee shop in East London. Exposed brick, oat flat whites, everyone around us typing away like they knew exactly who they were in life. I spilled everything. The exhaustion. The panic attacks. The feeling of floating through my life. Absorbing whatever I was putting out, she looked at me calmly and said: “You’re not lost.”

I remember thinking: that’s cute, but I absolutely am. I had no plan, no direction, and no energy to figure either out. I felt broken in a way I couldn’t articulate. Years later, I understand what she meant.

I wasn’t lost. I was just deeply misaligned. My body had started pulling me away from a life I had outgrown, but my brain hadn’t caught up yet. The burnout, the bloat, and the brain fog weren’t malfunctions. They were messages. Warnings. Invitations. My system was quietly withdrawing consent from a path that no longer fit.

five years later

These days, things are a bit different. I live in a small beachside town in Australia where I run my own business helping others design careers that actually work for their nervous systems, their values, and their current season of life. I’ve traded the back-to-back meetings for days with built-in space to breathe. I choose projects that energise me and clients I genuinely care about. I wear slippers to every meeting. I take rest seriously. I’ve learned the difference between being lazy and being done pretending. One of them deserves compassion; the other, relief.

Self-employment hasn’t been some magical cure-all. It’s stretched me. It’s humbled me. It’s been a crash course in unlearning urgency, in trusting that rest is strategy, in healing my relationship to ambition and in embracing the loneliness. But most of all, it’s given me permission to build something that fits who I actually am, not just who I thought I had to be to get ahead.

I work with people who are smart, capable, and tired of performing. People who don’t want to burn down their careers, but do want them to feel more honest. People who are quietly wondering if maybe they’re not broken, just overdue for a different path. A new framework. A version of work that gives more than it takes.

so…

If you wake up drained, scroll though 6349 LinkedIn job listings on the daily, fantasise about quitting everything but are unsure what would come next, you’re not alone. You’re also not behind, nor are you lazy, and you’re definitely not lost.

You might just be in a season where your body is asking you to course correct. To stop pushing through and start listening. To build something that fits you now not who you were five years ago.

Your burnout isn’t a breakdown.

It’s the first honest edit of a life that stopped fitting a while ago.