Burnout Wasn’t the End - It Was a Reintroduction to Myself

For years, I believed resilience meant being the last one standing - the one who could keep going no matter how depleted I felt. I wore my tiredness like a badge of honour (possibly a Michael Kors handbag, with matching shoes), convincing myself that sacrificing my health, sleep, and peace of mind was just part of being a high-performing executive.

Until my body - and life - decided otherwise.

The Slow Burn

Burnout didn’t hit like a dramatic collapse. It arrived like a very persistent email thread - the kind that keeps getting replies and never quite dies.

I was sleeping four hours or less, my body was stiff and sore like I’d wrestled something unpleasant in my sleep, and my heart would occasionally decide it was time for a cardio workout... at 2 a.m., while lying down.

My doctor started whispering scary things like chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia.

Meanwhile, I was still trying to hit project milestones and smile on Teams.

Mentally, I was stuck in a loop of “not good enough, not doing enough.”

Patience? Gone.

People? Largely dismissed as idiots (in my head, thankfully).

I was anxious, irritable, and constantly on edge - a walking cortisol cocktail in heels. I had become a high-functioning version of my father, and not in a good way.

And yet, I kept going.

Why? Because I thought I had to.

I was so exhausted I couldn't even see other options - I was in too deep to step back and see the full picture.

The Breaking Point

Everything unravelled one night when I woke up to a heart rate of 135 and a delightful side of panic. Around the same time, someone escalated a complaint about my “aggressive tone” with the team.

At first, I was defensive. (Classic.) Don’t they see how much I’m carrying? How dare they?!

But once I stopped mentally drafting my TED Talk titled “Why They’re Wrong,” I had a moment of clarity:

“If this is what it costs, why am I doing it?”

That was the pivot.

I stopped justifying my suffering. I stopped trying to fix a system that clearly didn’t care whether I burned out, as long as the project kept going.

Instead of fighting my way back to ‘normal’, I started questioning whether ‘normal’ was worth returning to at all.

The Leaving (and Nearly Not Leaving)

I resigned in January, but didn’t actually leave until May - not because I wasn’t ready, but because I needed to 'make sure the team was covered'. (See also: Over-functioning, Exhibit A.)

Leaving wasn’t the blissful exhale I imagined. My nervous system hadn’t got the memo yet - it was still in siege mode. I wasn’t working, but I felt like I was late for something important, all the time.

So, I escaped into fantasy novels (thank you, dragons) and slowly, gently, started the rebuild.

The Rebuild and the Real Me

I re-learned basic things, like sleeping through the night. Eating like a human. Moving my body in ways that didn’t involve speed-walking to meetings.

Then something even stranger happened: I laughed. I did silly things. I joined a weekly quiz with my brother and his mates - something I hadn’t made space for in years.

I had, quite literally, forgotten how to play.

Two years out, I’m still high-achieving, but I’ve swapped perfectionism for purpose.

Success isn’t performance ratings or marathon meetings anymore. It’s freedom. The freedom to spend my time doing things that fuel me, and make an impact I value — not just what’s prized by the org chart.

Why I Built Glimmer

I started Glimmer because I saw too many women like me: brilliant, burned out, and blaming themselves for not being able to keep pushing. In reality, we’re just trying to run through a wall that was never meant to move - and calling it ambition.

Burnout wasn’t the end. It was a reintroduction - to the version of me I’d forgotten existed. The one who is present. Whole. Slightly ridiculous (by design). And not trying to earn her worth through deliverables.

If You’re There Now…

If this feels a little too familiar, here’s what I’d say to you - no jargon, no fluff:

Slow down. Ask yourself why you’re doing what you’re doing.

Then build a plan around that answer.

Not around what’s expected.

Not around what the company needs.

Around you.

Because if your work is draining your health and happiness, it’s not your job to work harder.

It’s your cue to step back - and choose differently.

You’re not broken. You’re just burned out.

And you’re allowed to want your life back.