I used to think that burnout meant you hit a wall, had some dramatic breakdown, or just completely shut down. But in my case, it was quieter. It crept in over time and I didn’t even recognise it.
Over the past six years, I’ve changed jobs a lot. And each time I made a move, it felt like I was stepping down a level. Less responsibility. Less pressure. A role that felt “easier.” I kept telling myself I just needed a bit of breathing room. Something lighter. But what I didn’t realise at the time is that I wasn’t stepping down. I was just delaying recovering. I never gave myself the space to actually stop and look at what was really going on underneath it all.
Burnout doesn’t always show up as complete exhaustion. Sometimes it looks like constantly switching roles to avoid the next wave. It looks like telling yourself you’re fine, you’re just tired and then wondering why even the smallest tasks feel overwhelming. It looks like losing the spark for things you used to love, and needing a full day to recover from something that shouldn’t feel that hard.
What I’ve come to understand is that burnout isn’t always loud. And escaping it by changing the environment doesn’t fix the root of it. For me, the turning point was finally admitting that the way I was working, the way I was expected to work, wasn’t sustainable for me. I needed more flexibility, more calm, more time to be myself outside of the job title.
That’s a huge part of why I started Petal and Pine. It wasn’t just about being my own boss or setting my own hours. It was about building something that didn’t drain me. Something that fit who I am and how I work best.
And I’m not going to lie, as I’m writing this I still don’t think I’m fully recovered. I’m building Petal and Pine, and I’m slowly taking steps away from my nine to five, but I’m not all the way there yet. The difference now is that I’m aware of how I feel. I know where my limits are. And I’m making changes, one piece at a time.
