I thought corporate burnout was just adulthood. I was so wrong
What do you do when the career you're good at is also slowly killing you?
Right before I went into major surgery, a colleague called me about a work issue.
I remember saying, “I’m about to go into surgery and there’s a chance I don’t make it out. I’m trying to enjoy some time with my son. Could you please call someone else?”
This was back in 2019. At the time, the interaction barely even registered as strange to me. It was just part of doing business - or so I thought.
Looking back now, that probably tells you everything you need to know about how normal burnout had become in my life.
The strange thing is, I was successful in my career.
I’d spent years building a career in high-pressure corporate and government environments. I was respected and trusted in a crisis. From the outside, I probably looked highly functional.
Internally, I was slowly burning through every reserve I had.
The environments that rewarded me were also exhausting me
The warning signs started well before my 2019 health crisis. Earlier in my career I’d worked in professional services for a few years. As anyone who has worked in that sector knows, it can be competitive and emotionally draining. For the most part, people inside those environments often treat that intense status quo as normal.
Long hours were expected and many people ended up on stress leave. Drinking culture was common, particularly across shared and corporate services teams. There was an unspoken understanding that people were replaceable and that pressure was simply part of being ambitious.
I survived two or three team restructures in my short, three-year tenure at this firm. I remember one colleague telling me “I never keep anything in my office except for my bag in case my role is made redundant, then I can just grab it and go”.
At the time, I thought I was built for it. Or that I could at least survive it, because it was good for my skills and CV.
Part of that was true. I now understand that my ADHD traits can make me very effective in high-pressure situations for short periods. Tight deadlines energised me, and crisis situations give me a bit of a dopamine hit. That means I could solve problems quickly and perform well when things got messy.
In certain environments, that tends to get rewarded. I was promoted and trusted, having built a reputation as someone who could handle difficult situations.
What I didn’t understand back then was that the same brain that performed well in intensity also struggled with sustained overload.
I know now that I’m autistic as well as ADHD, although I was only properly assessed much later when my son was going through his own assessment process. Noise, interruption, constant meetings, fluorescent lighting, emotional management, office politics and being socially “on” all day took a huge amount out of me. I could tolerate it temporarily, but not indefinitely.
So I did what us neurodivergent folks tend to do in those situations. I masked, so I could keep functioning and delivering. Then I would go home and feel completely depleted. Before having kids, there were days when I would get straight home and go to bed without eating. More days than I care to admit.
At the time I assumed everyone felt that way, and that this was just how working life was.
Burnout became my normal state
Years later, I moved into a senior government media and communications role during a particularly difficult period for the organisation.
When I joined, it was already coming out of a major restructure. While I was there, the organisation underwent a significant culture review linked to historical allegations of sexual abuse and misconduct. I managed the internal and external communications response around that review, which meant I was exposed to a lot of emotionally heavy material for extended periods.
At the same time, it was effectively a 24/7 media environment. The organisation delivered essential services around the clock, which meant that my team was expected to be responsive around the clock too. There was always another issue to deal with, and my phone seemed to ring constantly.
For a while, I still convinced myself this was just what high-performing careers looked like. Then it started bleeding into the rest of my life.
One of the clearest memories I have from that period is sitting in the car crying before my son’s second birthday party because work had been calling me all morning about an issue. All I wanted was one peaceful Saturday with my family.
That was probably the first time I consciously thought: this can’t be right.
Not long after that, I became so run down that I ended up in hospital with a severe sinus infection my body couldn’t fight off properly. It escalated into major head surgery and a month in hospital away from my little boy.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, I still thought answering work calls was normal. That’s probably the part I find hardest to explain to people now.
High-functioning burnout is difficult to recognise
One of the reasons burnout lasted so long for me is because I never stopped functioning externally.
I had always been a high achiever academically. I’ve learned to be quite articulate when I’m masking (although naturally my mouth is a little clumsy), and I’m good at solving problems. I could talk a good game in meetings and think quickly under pressure. The same traits that made me successful also made it easier to hide how much I was struggling.
Many people think burnout looks like collapse. Instead, mine looked like competence.
I kept delivering work and being dependable. I kept pushing through exhaustion because I thought that was what capable adults were supposed to do.
Looking back, I can see how much of corporate culture rewards that behaviour. If you’re productive, responsive and useful in a crisis, very few people stop to ask whether the environment itself is sustainable for you. Often you don’t ask yourself either.
I also think neurodivergent people can become especially vulnerable to this trap. Some environments genuinely suit certain nervous systems better than others. I actually perform very well in high-intensity environments for short bursts because novelty and urgency stimulate me. It’s only after a little while that I start fading into dysfunction, as the autism side of my brain starts kicking in and craving stability and safety.
The moment I knew I couldn’t keep doing it
By 2021, after the first year of COVID chaos, I was exhausted in a way that felt deeper than incidental stress. I took a month off work over the Christmas break.
The first week I mostly lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The second week I kept bursting into random crying fits. I felt melancholy and listless. I was probably depressed.
Somewhere during that break, I finally admitted to myself that I couldn’t continue living the way I’d been living. This wasn’t some inspirational breakthrough moment where I suddenly knew what came next - probably because I was still in deep burnout.
I just knew corporate life was no longer compatible with how I functioned, and that realisation changed almost everything afterwards.
I redesigned my life
Today I work for myself and my life operates very differently.
I only work school hours. I’m at the school gate. I structure my work around my actual energy levels instead of pretending I have unlimited capacity.
I rarely schedule meetings longer than 45 minutes because I know that’s close to the edge of my concentration and sensory tolerance. If a meeting runs over, I leave. I don’t need to make an elaborate excuse to do so, I just say “I have to go”. I no longer answer unexpected phone calls. If someone wants my attention, they need to book time in advance so I can prepare mentally for the interaction.
I also choose work differently now.
Certain environments are simply not a good fit for me. Disorganised teams, chaotic communication and constant interruption create a level of cognitive load that I now recognise as harmful for my nervous system.
For years I interpreted those struggles as weakness, however getting properly assessed for autism and ADHD after suspecting it for a while helped me understand that a lot of what I was experiencing was actually chronic mismatch.
Corporate life isn’t inherently toxic
I write a lot about corporate life, and from the context of what I write you’d be forgiven for thinking that I’m against it as a concept. This is not the case. A lot of corporate environment aren’t toxic and everyone experiences work in different ways. Some people genuinely thrive in high-pressure settings. I can even thrive in them myself temporarily.
What I can’t do anymore is ignore the cost. I think more people are reaching that point now, which is why I’ve decided to start speaking up about my experiences and advocating for things to be done differently.
Modern knowledge work increasingly rewards constant responsiveness, emotional availability and uninterrupted productivity. AI will probably intensify some of those expectations, not reduce them. Faster systems rarely create slower workplaces.
In that context, the classic 9-5, “command and control” model of work is outdated and excludes talented people from our workforce. That in itself is a productivity and innovation risk.
For a long time, I thought resilience meant overriding my limits. Now I think it probably means understanding them properly in the first place.