Red Flags I Ignored on the Road to Burnout

Part 1 of 3: The Burnout Series

There’s a point in every burnout story where you swear you’re “fine” — and you really believe it. You’re functioning, showing up, ticking boxes. You might even be smashing goals and winning awards.

But deep down, something’s off. Or cracking. Or screaming. You just can't (or won’t) hear it over the noise of productivity.

Looking back, the red flags were everywhere — but I was colourblind to them. Maybe you are too.

So, this isn’t a how-to guide to avoid burnout. It’s a quiet nudge.

A gentle truth from someone who got very good at ignoring the bleeding obvious, until she couldn’t anymore.

1. I started confusing being busy with being valuable.

If I wasn’t in motion, I didn’t feel like I mattered. I wore “I’ve just got so much on” like a badge of honour. The more exhausted I felt, the more I believed I was doing something meaningful.

Spoiler: I was doing too much. None of it was truly aligned. And my nervous system was running on the fumes of self-worth.

2. I filled every spare moment.

Free time? Let’s squeeze in a strategy call. Or finally get around to that research. Sure, let's book in a date with friends, no really, I'll cook, lets do it at my house. Power knitting baby clothes. Extracting every bit of harvest from the garden that absolutely must be turned into something interesting.

White space felt like wasted space. I didn’t know how to be still without guilt gnawing at the edges.My calendar was full. But my cup? Bone dry.

3. I was often there, but not present.

I’d sit in meetings nodding at the right times but often couldn’t remember what was said.I’d scroll cat video's on the way to the loo just to “switch off” but couldn’t feel anything.I’d laugh with friends but feel hollow inside.I'd snuggle with my partner and feel a million miles a way. That creeping sense of disconnection? That was a whisper from burnout, disguised as autopilot.

4. Everything irritated me.

Not just the big stuff. The clink of a spoon in a coffee cup. Chewing gum. Someone breathing too loud. Let's not even discuss the infamous 'chicken baguette meltdown'.

My fuse was shorter than ever. I told myself I just needed a nap. In reality, my nervous system was fried.I wasn’t just tired. I was emotionally brittle.

5. I stopped doing the things that made me me.

Walks became errands or a mission to achieve the next 'pb'. Hobbies became tasks. I cancelled plans with people who made me feel lighter because I “didn’t have the energy.” But somehow I had energy for deadlines. For firefighting. For everyone else’s needs. I was slowly leaking myself out of my own life.

6. I started fantasising about quitting everything.

Not in a cute, escape-to-Bali way. In a “what if I just disappeared for a while” kind of way. I didn’t want to hurt myself. I just didn’t want to keep going like this. This, more than anything, should have scared me. But I pushed it down and called it “just stress.”

So why didn’t I stop before the burnout overwhelmed me?

Because I didn’t know how.

Because slowing down felt like failure.

Because rest felt unsafe when my worth was welded to my output.

Because the culture I was in applauded burnout as proof of commitment.

Burnout didn’t arrive overnight. I built it brick by brick every time I said, “I’ve got this” when I didn’t.

If any of this feels familiar...

Let that be your sign. Not to panic. Not to throw everything out the window.

Just to pause. Breathe. Get curious.

You don’t have to wait for the crash. You can pivot before you break.

If you’re not sure where to begin, the Burnout Spectrum is a good place to start.

It’s not a diagnosis. It’s a mirror. A gentle one.

And if your reflection feels confronting? That’s OK. You’re not broken.

You’re just being asked to come back to yourself.