How to protect your wellbeing and love your work again: 6 stories of shifting from burnout to balance

Burnout isn’t just about working too hard. It happens when there’s a mismatch between you and your work, when the relationship frays at its core.

Christina Maslach and Michael Leiter tell us that there are six areas where this can happen:

Workload – When the weight is simply too much.

Control – When you can’t influence the decisions that shape your day.

Reward – When your effort goes unseen or unvalued.

Community – When connection gives way to isolation or fear.

Fairness – When you sense bias or inequity in how things work.

Values – When what matters to you collides with what’s expected of you.

Today, I want to bring these ideas to life through six stories of people I have worked closely with. Each one starts with pain and each one ends with hope brought by strategies that helped them move back toward balance.

Maybe you’ll recognise yourself in one of these stories. Maybe you’ll find an idea you can try. My hope? That you see burnout not as a dead end, but as a signal, and that these stories show there’s a way back.

When the weight never stops growing

James sat at his desk long after everyone else had gone home. His inbox blinked like a warning light. 57 unread emails. His phone buzzed with messages from clients in crisis. His caseload? Forty-two people. Each one carrying a story heavy enough to crush a soul.

James believed he was holding it all together. “Just one more call,” he’d tell himself. But the truth? He was drowning. His compassion, once his greatest strength, was turning into exhaustion. He found himself snapping at colleagues, feeling guilty for not doing enough and lying awake at night replaying the things he’d missed.

“I don’t even remember what a good day feels like anymore.” Was one of the first things that James said when we first talked.

We didn’t start with a grand plan. We started with one small act: blocking out two hours on a Friday. At first, James laughed, “That’ll never happen.” But the first time his calendar said Protected Time, something shifted. For two hours, his phone stayed silent. No fires to put out, no inbox pinging. Just space to think, to breathe, to plan.

Next, we sat together and looked at his caseload. James’ shoulders dropped when we moved ten names off his list to colleagues who had capacity. “I didn’t realise how heavy it felt until you took some of the weight off,” he said.

The biggest change? A Tuesday morning circle with two-three colleagues. They shared stories of hard weeks and small wins. For the first time in months, James walked out of a meeting feeling lighter. He wasn’t alone anymore.

It wasn’t magic. But slowly, the fog lifted. James began finishing work on time, sometimes even leaving early. He rediscovered joy in the moments with clients, because his head wasn’t always five steps ahead. His words three months later?

“I feel like I’m doing good work again… not just fighting to stay afloat.”

Work overload didn’t disappear. But James learned that balance isn’t about doing everything. It’s about doing the right things well and giving yourself permission to stop.

When your heart and your job don’t speak the same language

Maria became an addiction therapist because she believed in hope, openness and honesty. Every session she gave her clients was grounded in truth: no quick fixes, no empty promises, just real recovery work.

Then one day, she saw an ad for the clinic she was working.

“We guarantee your recovery.”

“The fastest rehab in the country.”

“97% success rate.”

Maria felt sick reading those words. She knew what they meant: desperate families spending their savings on false hope to save their loved ones. It clashed with everything she stood for. At first, she tried to ignore it. “I’ll just focus on my clients,” she told herself. But the dissonance grew louder. Every time a family arrived quoting that ad, Maria felt like an accomplice in a lie.

When we spoke, she said, “I feel like I’m betraying the people I’m here to help.”

The solution wasn’t simple, but it was honest. Maria started by sharing her concerns with her clinical lead, framing it not as criticism but as advocacy for ethical practice. Together, they pushed for changes: rewriting language to reflect reality, building transparency into every conversation with new clients. Maria also began leading monthly ethics check-ins with her team, a safe space to voice concerns before they became cracks in their integrity.

Six months later, the ads were gone. More importantly, Maria felt whole again.

“I didn’t leave the job,” she told me, “but I found a way to do it without leaving myself behind.”

Burnout doesn’t always come from too much work. Sometimes, it comes from a misaligning between your values and your companies values and behaviours. The way back? Realign your work with your values or fight to make that alignment possible.

When fairness feels like an afterthought

Aisha loved her role as a support coordinator. She was proud to help people rebuild their lives. But slowly, something started to gnaw at her.

She noticed the little things first. Jokes in team meetings that didn’t land well. Cultural holidays ignored on the rota. A training session where someone said, “We don’t really need to cover that, it’s not relevant here.”

For Aisha, it was relevant. For her clients, too. She worked with people from diverse backgrounds, yet the organisation’s approach was very much one-sided. No space for culture. No curiosity. When Aisha raised it gently, someone said, “We treat everyone the same, that’s fair, isn’t it?”

But Aisha knew fairness isn’t about sameness, it’s about equity. About being seen. Every time her concerns were brushed off, her sense of belonging chipped away.

“I feel like who I am doesn’t matter,” she told me.

So, we made a plan. Aisha didn’t want to fight; she wanted to educate. We worked together to start a Cultural Awareness Forum. A monthly space where staff could learn, ask questions, and share experiences without judgment. Aisha also co-designed a cultural competency toolkit for the team. Simple practices like asking clients about faith-based needs or recognising significant holidays in care plans.

Six months in, things changed. A holiday calendar went up in the staff room. A client’s Ramadan needs were proactively supported. And in the last team meeting, someone said, “Aisha, can you help us make this plan more inclusive?”

She smiled when she told me:“I used to feel invisible. Now I feel like a voice that matters.”

Fairness isn’t a policy, it’s a practice. And it starts when someone like Aisha says, “This could be better,” and the system listens.

When silence becomes the only safe option

Tom used to love team meetings. He liked brainstorming, challenging ideas, finding better ways to support clients. But somewhere along the way, the tone shifted.

One day, Tom suggested adjusting the intake process to reduce waiting times. His manager frowned and said, “We’ve always done it this way.” A colleague added, “Let’s not overcomplicate things.” The conversation moved on.

After that, Tom noticed it happening again and again. Anytime someone offered a different view, there was a sigh, a sharp comment, a subtle glance that said: Don’t go there. Soon, people stopped sharing ideas. Meetings became scripts. Tom sat there, nodding, feeling smaller each week.

“It’s like I don’t belong in the team anymore,” he told me quietly.

Burnout wasn’t from the work itself. It was from the isolation that comes when you can’t show up fully.

We started with something simple: creating Brave Space Agreements in team meetings. Everyone agreed to two principles:

1. Assume good intent.

2. Value difference.

3. 
   

Then we introduced a rotating chair system, each week, someone new facilitated discussions. It gave everyone a taste of leading and created room for quieter voices. Tom volunteered first. The next meeting, he brought his intake idea back. This time, the team listened and even piloted his suggestion.

A month later, Tom said:“I didn’t realise how much I’d missed speaking up. Now I feel like part of this team again.”

Community is central to workplace engagement. And it isn’t about being nice. It’s about making space for honesty without fear. Because when voices go silent, burnout begins.

When doing good work stops feeling good

Sophie didn’t choose to become a recovery worker for the money. She chose it because helping people rebuild their lives gave her meaning. For years, that was enough.

But lately, something had shifted. She’d taken on extra cases, supported colleagues through crises, even trained new staff without being asked. Yet the only feedback she heard was when something went wrong. No “thank you.” No recognition. Just the next task, and the next.

One afternoon, Sophie sat in her car after work, staring at the steering wheel. “I give so much… and it’s like no one even sees me,” she whispered. That’s when burnout began to whisper back: Why bother?

When we spoke, I asked her what she needed most. She didn’t hesitate: “To feel like I matter.”

We started by reframing recognition as a two-way street. Sophie drafted a wins board for the office. A space where anyone could share small successes. At first, it felt awkward. But the first time someone wrote her name on that board, Sophie took a photo and sent it to me: “This made my day.”

Next, she shared her feelings with her manager. Not as a complaint, but as a need for feedback. They agreed to monthly one-to-ones focused not just on performance, but on growth and appreciation.

A few months later, Sophie wasn’t just waiting for recognition, she was giving it too. And something shifted across the team: gratitude became contagious.

“I feel seen again,” she told me. “That changes everything.”

Burnout thrives in people don’t’ feel rewarded or valued at work. Sometimes, the simplest way to fight it is three words we forget too often: “I see you.”

When every decision feels like a battle

David was a service manager because he loved building teams that worked. He believed in empowering people, making decisions close to the frontline, and adapting fast when clients’ needs changed.

But lately, he felt like a puppet on strings. His head of department questioned every choice: Why did you approve that rota? Why wasn’t I copied into that email? Every proposal required three signatures. Every idea had to climb a mountain of “just checking.”

David stayed late every night. Not because the work demanded it, but because control was slipping through his fingers. The autonomy that once fuelled him had been replaced by second-guessing.

“I feel like I’m managing a service with one hand tied behind my back,” he told me.

We worked on two fronts. First, clarity: David mapped out his responsibilities versus his head of department, then framed a conversation around impact, not ego. Instead of saying, “You’re micromanaging me,” he asked, “Can we agree on which decisions need your sign-off and which ones I can own? That way, we can move faster for the clients.”

Second, small wins for trust: David started sharing weekly highlight reports. Short, sharp updates showing progress and flagging risks early. It shifted the dynamic from reactive to proactive.

Three months later, David said, “I still have a boss who likes control, but now, I have space to lead.” His stress eased. His team noticed. And most importantly, clients felt the benefit of faster decisions.

Control isn’t about doing everything your way. It’s about having enough trust and autonomy to do your job well. When that balance breaks, burnout isn’t far behind.

Some closing thoughts

If you’ve read this far, thank you. It means you care not just about surviving your work, but about finding a way to thrive in it. That matters. You matter.

Burnout can make you feel invisible, like no one sees how hard you’re trying. But here’s the truth: you’re not alone. These six stories aren’t just about “other people.”

They’re reminders that what you’re feeling is real and that change is possible.

The road back to balance isn’t paved with quick fixes. It’s built with small, human shifts: a conversation that restores trust, a boundary that protects your energy, a moment of recognition that reminds you why you started.

If this resonated with you, consider joining the community here. Every week, I share ideas, practical insights and real stories designed to help you protect your energy, lead with purpose, and do work that feels aligned with your values.

Because the truth is, the work you do matters. And so do you.