I stared out the window for 60 hours. My husband and I went on a road trip, a drive we had been wanting to do for years – from Victoria over to Vancouver and on to Manitoba, then back home through North Dakota, Montana, Idaho, and Washington.

Dissociating with The Real Housewives for two years is what burnout looked like for me. I was wiped out; bone-aching to my core exhausted. My ability to read for pleasure or learning evaporated. I dropped regular connection with friends. I cried constantly. I developed health issues that I’m still working through, several years later.

You’ve just opened Outlook and there’s an email marked URGENT from your boss. Someone sees your status circle turn green and calls you on Teams (you hear the “boo boo boobooboo boo boo” in your sleep). You glance at your phone and see a text message from your sibling – sh*t, your elderly parent had a fall for the second time this year and is in the hospital.

Burnout can progress from (initially) a really positive place! You're excited, enthusiastic, want to demonstrate your worth, take on new projects... and then more projects, but it's ok, you can still handle it. Things are getting stressful, but it's ok, it's ok.

What does it feel like to have boundaries? In my case, for a long time, it felt stressful, a sick anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach, clammy hands, shortened breath and a tight throat, hands shaking from adrenaline. Establishing boundaries with friends and family, in my personal life, at work, or out in the world – oof.

I couldn’t breathe. I was inhaling air, but it felt thin and deprived of oxygen, like I was climbing Everest instead of sitting in traffic. I knew it was “just” a panic attack. I’d been having them over and over that spring, and they continued through the summer. Or at least – I was almost sure it was a panic attack. Could it be a heart attack, or stroke, or brain tumour?

I used my pitchfork yesterday. It’s a hefty tool, solid wood and stainless steel. We’re clearing an area to plant vegetables, and I used it to toss heavy chunks of clay sod over to the compost pile. And today I’m celebrating, big time. Because I’m not in pain. People who experience chronic pain or illness understand how acute pain can entrench deep pathways of fear in our brains.

Completing the stress cycle is one of the most important things we can do to prevent burnout. Your brain doesn’t know that the email from your boss isn’t a saber-toothed tiger, and that the unpleasant interaction with a co-worker doesn’t mean they’re trying to kill you.

I see clients needing balance. Rest. Recovery. And we work together to find ways that they can be impactful at work, while also preventing burnout. This is the shift that I think more workplaces should be paying attention to – if we’ve learned nothing else during the past four years, surely it’s that the old way of doing things is no longer viable.

I’ve thought a lot about physiological needs: the basics at the bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Food, water, shelter, sleep. People working in social services are very familiar with how challenging it can be to meet those basic needs, particularly for folks experiencing homelessness without access to shelter, and people living in poverty.

Burnout is more than just a bad day at work; it's a prolonged response to chronic workplace stress that has not been successfully managed.