What if burnout isn’t the enemy — but the messenger?

People often ask me, when did you know that you were burned out or how did you decide to change.

I wish there was a neatly packaged story or a single “aha” moment that led to a transformation. My story isn’t really like that.

My story is of pushing through and ignoring signals, SO MANY SIGNALS, until I got to a big crash. So many days standing in the kitchen , holding a lukewarm cup of coffee, scrolling my inbox with glazed eyes, knowing full well I needed a break… but feeling like I had no time to take one.

I’m not lazy. I’m not weak. I AM NOT burnt out.
So, instead of listening, I kept pushing.

If you’re in healthcare — or caregiving in any form — I bet you know that moment too.
The one where your body whispers please slow down,
But your mind says just one more note, one more shift, one more day.

We’re taught to ignore those whispers.
To override the alarms.
To treat burnout like a personal failure instead of what it actually is:

✨ A message.
✨ A warning.
✨ A plea for reconnection.

The bad news is that the more you ignore it, the louder it gets.
And eventually, the whispers turn to screams.

It’s like driving with your check engine light on.
At first, it’s just a little glow on the dashboard.
You think, I’ll deal with it later.
You turn up the music, roll down the windows, tell yourself the ride is fine.

But the engine doesn’t care if you're busy.
It keeps wearing down. Quietly. Relentlessly.

Until one day, you're skidding sideways down the highway, white-knuckled and panicked —
and then sitting in a snowbank, waiting for a tow truck in the freezing cold, wondering how it got this bad.

That was me.
Convincing myself I was fine — until I wasn’t.
Until my body, my mind, and my soul all screamed NO MORE

If burnout could speak, what would it say?

This is one of the questions I often ask in coaching sessions.

At first, the answers are raw:
“I can’t keep doing this.”
“No one sees how hard I’m trying.”
“I’m not okay.”

But if we listen a little longer, not just to the words, but the wisdom beneath them , burnout begins to sound less like a breakdown and more like a call to truth.

It might say:
🌀 You’ve been giving more than you have to give.
🌀 You’re solving systemic problems with personal sacrifice.
🌀 You’ve forgotten how much you matter, too.

Burnout is not your enemy.
But she does have terrible bedside manner.

Give her a name, and then… don’t get too cozy.

In my world, I like to name her Janice.

She’s sharp-eyed and perpetually unimpressed, a little judgmental, constantly muttering things like, “This is unsustainable,” and “What were you thinking?”

Janice isn’t trying to ruin my life.
She’s trying to warn me.
But she’s not great at solutions. She doesn’t believe in joy. She’d rather I just give up.

So I let her speak.
And then, gently, I show her the door.

Because once the message is delivered, I want to invite someone else in.

Someone like… Compassion.
Or Boundaries.
Or even Joy, who always brings snacks and good music.

This is the heart of our work at Recharge Studio.

We help healthcare workers reconnect with what matters.
With their bodies. Their clarity. Their inner wisdom.
We teach rest AND we teach how to reclaim it.

Because burnout isn’t just about overwork.
It’s about disconnection

Disconnection from purpose.

Disconnection from presence.

Disconnection from possibility.

Our mission is to help people who care for others remember how to care for themselves. Rest and recharge is not a reward, it is a prerequisite for the work we’re here to do.

We believe that when you lead with love — for yourself, your community, and your calling — you become not just more effective, but more alive.

So today, a gentle prompt:

Take a quiet moment.
Ask yourself: If burnout were speaking to me right now… what would she want me to know?
And then ask: What part of me wants to respond instead?

That’s where change begins.
Not with judgment.
Not with hustle.
But with truth… and love.

We’re building a community for people ready to live and work differently. If that sounds like you — welcome. You belong here.

With love, care, and a bit of fire,
Emma

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