I was working as a CEO for a small local charity and had been in post around six months when the pandemic hit. Navigating this new way of being and working felt tough, as I imagine it did for all, but I thought the pressure that was placed on me as the leader of the organisation would lessen over time. That never seemed to happen.

About six months in, I could see the emotional impact on the team as they continued to deliver front-line services and provide intensive emotional support to clients. I remember holding an online team meeting when staff members broke down and spoke about how difficult it was to detach from work, and how all-consuming it felt. I put in additional support mechanisms and check-ins, plus we spoke about how we could, as a team, support each other and alleviate the stress and demands. I felt like I couldn’t speak about how I was truly feeling; I needed to be there for my team and show them how ‘strong’ I was.

I’ve always been able to remain calm and appear in control, despite how I feel inside, but doing this for a prolonged period took its toll. I can’t tell you exactly when I hit burnout: it was a slow, incremental build-up. I do remember a shift in mood and constantly feeling not good enough, my inner critical voice dominating. I was being pulled in all directions; my team needed my support (in and out of work hours), funders and partners wanted answers, the board expected me to hold it all together. I was the person who came up with the solutions; I was the person everyone was looking to. No doubt, some of that pressure I put on myself and I didn’t want to seem like I couldn’t cope or do my job to a high standard without the need for support myself, so I just carried on. 

My thought process became chaotic and unstructured. I was catastrophising, thinking of the worst possible outcome. I had difficulty concentrating and often became distracted. I remember sitting at my desk thinking, “I need to write this report. I must give this my full concentration,” and an email would come through. I’d feel this impulse to check it. If my phone rang, there’d be an urgency to answer. I had lost the ability to focus and saw myself as having to be there at any time for anyone, regardless of what I needed. My needs became secondary. I became detached from my emotions and was constantly living in a state of overwhelm.

The lines between work and life outside of it became blurred. My partner wanted me to be present at weekends, but instead I would be checking emails or be somewhere else in my head – present physically but not emotionally. Two of the loves of my life are food and the gym. Now everything tasted bland and I was going through the motions; even the gym seemed like a task to endure. I became irritable easily and frustrated if I couldn’t complete tasks quickly as I had so much to do. I needed to do everything – from brushing my teeth to eating dinner – at rapid speed. My world became smaller. I wasn’t opening up to my partner and close friends; instead, I was keeping it all in. I also wasn’t engaging in anything that gave me joy. I remember at one point being unable to recall the last time I truly belly laughed. 

It felt like the world was existing and life was happening, but I wasn’t part of it anymore. My only purpose was to work – anything else was unimportant. I had developed a general apathy and numbness to life. With work the centre of my world, burnout crept up on me. Physically, I was exhausted, experiencing headaches and constantly jittery. I would drop off to sleep quickly but wake up in the night with thoughts consuming me. 

All I needed from my employer was for someone to check on me, to understand what I was going through and to care about how I was really doing. I needed reassurance, given how tough things undoubtedly were, that there were steps I could take to look after myself, and know that work and the board would support that. I needed the board to ask me more than a perfunctory ‘How are you?’

I remember the first time I started to voice that I was burnt out. I was in an online board meeting just before Christmas and we were reflecting on what a year it had been, with its various successes and challenges. I was talking about the impact the year had had on me. Everyone was lovely; they listened and thanked me for my work, but didn’t fully follow up on that. Several board members did text me after the meeting with well-intentioned messages, saying how sorry they were for the way I was feeling, I had done a great job – keep it up; you can get through this. However, that wasn’t what I needed – it just felt like more pressure. I would have appreciated more curiosity and questions, which would have validated my feelings and encouraged me to open up further. Some board members mentioned how they’d noticed a change in that meeting: I didn’t seem my usual smiley and happy self. I wish someone had probed further and then put in place some appropriate support. 

It was Christmas 2020 when I recognised the extent of my burnout. My partner had realised earlier but felt unable to help as I was busy masking my feelings of anxiety and stress. I would brush off any conversations around the topic, saying “I’m OK” and “It is what it is.” I decided to take three weeks off work over Christmas. I expected to wake up feeling relief on that first day of leave, but I didn’t. I felt the same as the day before: emotionally, physically and mentally exhausted.  

It took a while, but over that time off I started to see joy in small things. I began to recognise how I had changed. I slowly opened up to my partner and close friends about how I was feeling. Over time, therapy and putting boundaries in place made a world of difference. 

Experiencing burnout has shown me how harmful it can be to our wellbeing and why employers need to prioritise concrete actions to prevent it. The biggest difference now is my change in approach. I openly display vulnerability; it’s not a weakness. I don’t know it all and I don’t have all the answers, and as far as I am concerned, that’s OK, because I have a wonderful support network at work and outside who I can lean on and lean into for their expertise and guidance when needed. They also know the warning signs and when I’m feeling overwhelmed or stressed they will actively encourage me to take the steps I need to prioritise my wellbeing. 

Deidre Bowen is the director of national programmes at Mental Health UK, and is calling on the government to create a national summit to tackle burnout and address work and mental health. You can find out more on the charity’s website.

Images: Deidre Bowen