Diagnosed with Burnout: What I’m Feeling Right Now

This past Thursday, I was officially diagnosed with burnout.

It was a moment that came with a strange mix of emotions — part disbelief, part relief, and part grief for the version of myself that thought I could keep going at this pace forever. I sat there listening to the words, and deep down I knew it was true. But until someone said it out loud, I didn’t want to believe it.

The Ones Who Saw It Before I Did

The truth is, others saw the signs before I did. Judy gently mentioned a few times that I seemed “off” — more tired than usual, more withdrawn. Aunt Jeannie, in her sweet and direct way, even told me, “You’re running on empty, and I’m worried about you.” I’d always smile, brush it off, tell them I was just busy, or “having a week.”

To be honest, I didn’t believe them. I thought I was just tired. I thought maybe I needed to manage my schedule better, get a bit more sleep, or drink more water. But looking back now, they were right — they saw the unraveling I was trying so hard to hide. And maybe a part of me did know, but I wasn’t ready to admit that I wasn’t okay.

What Burnout Feels Like

Burnout doesn’t announce itself loudly. It builds slowly, like a weight pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to focus, harder to feel. I wasn’t just physically tired. I was emotionally and mentally drained. Everything felt heavy. Even the smallest tasks became overwhelming. I’d lost my motivation, my spark, my ability to bounce back.

Since Thursday, I’ve been sitting with so many emotions:

• Guilt, for not listening sooner — to others, and to myself.

• Shame, for not being able to “handle it all” like I always have.

• Gratitude, for the people who saw me slipping and tried to hold me up.

• Relief, for finally having clarity — for naming what I’ve been feeling.

• Fear, because recovery means slowing down, and I’ve forgotten how to do that.

Admitting It

Admitting I have burnout felt like admitting defeat — but now, I’m starting to see it as an invitation. A chance to stop pretending. A chance to rest. A chance to find my way back to me.

It’s still hard to sit in this space. I don’t know what healing looks like yet. But I know it starts here: with honesty, with boundaries, and with listening to the people who love me — the ones who knew I was hurting even before I could say it out loud.

To Anyone Else Out There

If you’re reading this and something in you resonates — if you’re pushing through each day feeling like a shell of who you once were — please know this: you’re not lazy, and you’re not broken. You’re likely burned out. And it’s okay to pause. It’s okay to fall apart. It’s okay to need help.

Burnout is not the end of the road. It’s a redirection.

So today, I’m choosing to take that detour. To rest, to reset, to receive the love and support I’ve been too busy to acknowledge. I’m learning that even strength has its limits — and that real strength is knowing when to stop.

Thank you, Judy and Aunt Jeannie, for seeing me when I couldn’t see myself. I’m listening now.