I've Been Writing About Burnout All Wrong. Here's the Truth I've Been Avoiding.

I'm pivoting from burnout recovery to grief support and integration. Here's why it matters.

For the past few months, I’ve been writing about burnout patterns and hidden losses.

I explained the eight common coping strategies, like the Busy Bee, the Perfectionist, the People-Pleaser, the Over-thinker and so on.

I researched and connected them to underlying or hidden losses.

I shared the neuroscience, the psychology, offered some solutions.

I figured the content was solid, well-researched, heck, helpful, even.

But it wasn’t connecting the way I’d hoped.

I’d become disheartened this year and realised something wasn’t clicking.

Then, sometimes serendipity steps in and nudges you in a certain direction.

Or you need to be ready to listen more intently to certain signals.

And a couple of people told me recently:

Your grief writing is so much more emotionally connected than your burnout stuff.

I agree.

Surviving and recovering several burnouts has been exhausting, tough, and a mission at times.

But it wasn’t like the grief I’ve experienced, and its long-lasting impacts that live with me still.

This week, I finally understood why.

I’ve been intellectualising my grief instead of leaning into it.

Dammit.

The truth is simpler and a heck of a lot harder to say.

When you get caught in the wrong solutions

I’d thrown myself into writing about burnout but was really trying to make sense of my dad’s death.

Four years ago, my dad died.

I went back to work a week later.

I figured I was handling it OK, but it was during COVID whilst the world stuttered to reopen.

Within two months, my main therapeutic coaching project ended. And my day job contract ended.

Everything fell apart at once. I drowned in endings, emptiness, and loss.

Adrift.

My reaction?

I dropped out of life for six months, mired in complex grief.

Grief counselling eased me into reality a few months into this.

But it was art and creative expression that really brought me back and keen to engage in life again.

I started a new job at the end of this six-month period and stayed there for three years.

But I was never really OK.

This is how it went:

• Year one: emotional overload I couldn’t process fully.

• Years two and three: burnout patterns galore, over-functioning in the wrong places, keeping busy, avoiding the pain, isolating myself from the grief.

• Six months ago: finally got a health diagnosis (hypermobile EDS) that shed light on my chronic lifelong health issues. Sorrow descended for the years in the dark.

• Three months ago: made redundant. Another sudden loss to process.

And in these three months out of corporate, whilst reconnecting with friends, returning to pottery, and taking time to reflect properly, I finally see it clearly:

I wasn’t just burnt out. I was still grieving and never fully integrated it into my life.

So, here’s what’s going on.

What I’ve been missing

When dad died, I didn’t just lose him.

I lost my sense of identity (who am I without his unconditional love and guidance?).

I lost my sense of belonging (where do I fit in this family now when he was the glue?).

I lost my sense of stability (nothing feels safe anymore and I’m drifting).

I lost my sense of meaning (what’s the point of any of this? Everything good ends).

And although I knew some of this was grief, I also recognised burnout because I was living in and around it.

But when overwhelmed, I lean into structure.

I created frameworks and highlighted patterns because that made sense, seemed more professional, and well, more…controllable.

I focused on burnout language because saying:

My dad died nearly four years ago and I’m still figuring out how to live without him’ felt too raw. Too vulnerable. Too real.

In the back of my mind a voice whispered, ‘shouldn’t you be over this by now?

But I also knew that voice was BS.

Here’s what nobody tells you about losing a parent:

It’s not just the death itself. It’s everything that falls apart before and after.

A few weeks ago, I saw his shadow. Or I thought I did.

Someone walking past the glass doors of a building.

The shape, the gait, were him, just for a second in the corner of my eye.

My heart stopped and I gazed deeper.

Then they turned, and it wasn’t him. Of course it wasn’t him.

But my body didn’t know that. And my emotions didn’t know that.

The heavy heart-sinking feeling drifted in and sat there for a while.

My family dynamics also shifted in ways I still don’t fully understand.

I don’t fit the same way I used to, and frankly, I can’t be arsed to anymore.

Conversations feel strained.

Gatherings distract me in the lead up and often feel hollow – it’s a 50/50.

The person who really saw me, who held the family together in ways I just didn’t realise until he was gone, isn’t there anymore.

And it’s stark as hell.

The isolation crept in.

Not just from my family, but from other things I loved.

This is what keeps us stuck.

Not just the death itself, but the compounding losses few of us realise.

Most grief support focuses on the first year.

Bereavement guidance to get you through the funeral, the (infamous) ‘stages,’ the ‘healing timeline.’

But what about year two? Year three? Year four?

What about:

• The identity crisis that hits if you lose your job months later?

• The isolation that deepens because nobody wants to hear about your grief anymore?

• The emotional overload that makes you want to run from everything?

• The burnout patterns you develop to avoid feeling the pain?

• The over-functioning that looks like you’re ‘together’ but miles away from yourself?

• The family dynamics that shift in ways you can’t name but feel every day?

• The shadows you see in the corner of your eye that make your heart stop?

• The reality is these aren’t separate from grief. They’re part of it.

So, although those usual burnout drivers were there, like workload, unfairness, or lack of reward, they were exacerbated by the underlying deep grief I’m still processing.

The burnout and the grief aren’t separate but intertwined.

Why I'm narrowing my focus

I’m pivoting from burnout recovery to grief integration.

Specifically, helping sensitive over-functioners find peace after losing a parent.

Not just any loss. Parent loss. Because that’s what I know.

That’s what I’ve lived and that’s what changed everything.

But here’s the key: When you lose a parent, it’s never just one loss.

It’s the identity crisis months later when a job ends.

It’s the belonging void when your family dynamics shift forever.

It’s the stability collapse when nothing feels safe or secure.

It’s the meaning loss that makes you question what matters anymore.

It’s the emotional overwhelm, from flooding grief or running from the pain.

It’s the shadows you see that aren’t really there.

These aren’t separate issues.

They’re all connected to the original loss as secondary losses.

Some grief support recognises this integration piece, but not everyone.

They help you cope. They help you get through the first year.

But coping isn’t integrating, and it’s everywhere.

Yesterday, I sat in a ‘Coping with Loss’ meditation session.

I watched people who’d been stuck for years.

Still isolated. Still running. Still pretending they’re fine.

It was heart-breaking.

They needed a safe space to explore grief beyond words. To integrate, not just cope.

To feel brave and supported enough to face the pain and explore new ways to exist.

That’s what I’m creating here.

For sensitive over-functioners who’ve lost a parent and are tired of pretending they’re okay.

And especially those who don’t fit into traditional grief support spaces, who feel isolated, who need creative ways to process what words can’t capture.

Who is this pivot for?

This is for you if:

• You’ve lost a parent and you’re still stuck

• You’re doing all the things but feel miles away from yourself

• You’re either flooded by grief or running from it (both = emotional overwhelm)

• You don’t fit into traditional grief support spaces

• You’re sensitive, high-functioning, and you’ve isolated yourself (maybe unintentionally) even though you crave connection

• You’re curious about creative, experiential ways to process grief, not just talking about it

• Your work stress feels deeper and like burnout, but maybe something underneath is driving it

Please remember, you won’t be struggling forever, but grieving.

And the only way out is through.

At a group therapy session years ago, the therapist said you need to wade through the river of shit to reach the sunnier hillside across the valley.

It’s been true for most of my difficult life experiences.

But you need a safe space, and a lifeboat of sorts, to explore what you’re carrying so you keep moving forward.

What to expect in this new iteration

Starting next week, I’ll share stories, insights, and practices for integrating parent loss into your life.

Some weeks: I’ll share raw, stories and observations of what grief feels like from the inside.

The shadows and hallucinations in the corner of your eye, the family gatherings that feel wrong, the isolation that creeps in, and more, so you feel seen and comforted.

Other weeks: I’ll explain what’s happening in your brain, body, and habits when you’re grieving and why it shows up as exhaustion, brain fog, detachment, and emotional overwhelm that looks like burnout but runs deeper.

Other weeks: I’ll share practical and creative experiments that help me integrate loss, drawing from art, pottery, writing exercises, guided meditations, and psychological coaching tools that move grief through your body, not just your mind.

It’s the customary marathon, not a sprint, as with most things I do. More tortoise than hare.

One post per week.

One aspect of grief at a time.

Story, science, practical integration, then repeat.

That’s the aim.

The deeper why to my pivot

I’m narrowing my focus because I’ve realised something in these three months out of corporate:

Grief after losing my dad profoundly affected everything that came after.

The burnout, the over-functioning, the isolation were all responses to unintegrated loss.

I tried to ignore it, speed it up, convince myself I was better at last, but it didn’t work.

I over-compensated in other ways.

This work, helping sensitive over-functioners integrate parent loss, is the legacy I want to build through my writing, creative coaching, and guidance.

I’m facing a choice right now:

• go back to a day job (which I don’t want),

• or rebuild my business and do more art and ceramics (which I do want).

I’m choosing the latter for now.

Not because it’s easy, but because this matters.

And I know there are people out there who need this.

Who are stuck like I was, who need permission to grieve beyond the initial shock and bereavement, who need a space to integrate instead of just cope.

A big thank you if you’ve supported me on this journey so far.

I hope you stay but I’ll understand if you don’t. This won’t be for everyone.

But if it does resonate, stick around.

This is for you. And you’re not alone.

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P.S. What are you carrying that you didn't realise was grief? Hit reply and let me know. I read every response.