From the outside, things look fine. I show up to work. I meet deadlines. I reply to messages on time. I get things done. If someone asked how I’m doing, I would probably say, “Busy, but good.”
The truth is, I am exhausted.
This kind of burnout is hard to explain because it does not look like what we imagine burnout to be. I am not lying in bed unable to move. I am not missing work. I am not falling apart in obvious ways. Instead, I am functioning. And that is exactly the problem.
Somewhere after the pandemic, the meaning of being “okay” changed. Productivity became proof of wellness. If you are still delivering, people assume you are fine. If you are tired, the answer is usually to manage time better or push a little harder. Rest became something you earn after everything else is done. And everything else is never really done.
Being reachable all the time takes a quiet toll. Messages come in early, late, and on weekends. Notifications blur the line between work and personal life. Even when I am not working, part of my mind is still switched on. I am thinking about replies I need to send or tasks waiting for me. It feels like my brain never fully shuts down.
What surprised me most is how guilty rest now feels. Taking a break makes me uncomfortable. Doing nothing feels unproductive. Even when I have time off, I feel the urge to justify it or fill it with something useful. Rest has started to feel like a weakness instead of a need.
High-functioning burnout does not announce itself loudly. It shows up as constant tiredness that sleep does not fix. It shows up as irritability, numbness, and the feeling of being disconnected from work you once cared about. You keep going because you can. Not because you should.
For a long time, I thought the solution was time off. A few days away. A vacation. But what I have learned is that burnout does not disappear just because you step away briefly. Real recovery looks different. It looks like setting boundaries and keeping them. It looks like allowing yourself to be less available. It looks like redefining success, so it does not come at the cost of your health.
Most importantly, it looks like admitting that doing well on paper does not always mean doing well inside.
There is a strange loneliness to high-functioning burnout. Because you are still performing, people do not always notice that you are struggling. And because others are also tired, exhaustion starts to feel normal. But it should not be.
I am learning that taking care of my mental health is not about slowing down forever. It is about creating a way of working that does not leave me empty. It is about remembering that I am more than my output.
If you are reading this and it sounds familiar, you are not alone. You do not need to crash to deserve rest. You do not need to prove your exhaustion. And you do not need to wait until things fall apart to take yourself seriously.
Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is admit that you are tired, even when you are still getting everything done.