When Caring Turns Into Carrying - The Hidden Cause of Burnout

Why your brain stays hooked on work resentment, and how to break free

Photo by Thomas Marquize on Unsplash

You finally shut the laptop and tell yourself you’re done. Sweet relief - until hours later, you’re still tense and distracted.

You step away from the screen, put the phone down, make tea or dinner, and walk around the block.

Then you notice your jaw is tight, your mind is buzzing, and you feel unsettled.

You’re replaying conversations, rewriting imaginary emails, thinking:

• Why am I the only one who cares?

• Why does nobody notice?

• Why is it always me?

• What’s the point of even doing this?

You tell yourself you should just let it go. That it’s not worth it.

Your inner critic likely uses stronger, harsher language to snap you out of it.

But the weight of the never-ending to-do list clings heavier and sharper than simple tiredness.

And after years of this cycle, you start to wonder if this is just how it is now.

This pattern is more than just overwork.

It’s compounded by workplace unfairness which quietly drains your resilience and feeds burnout.

When caring turns into carrying

I know I care too much about work.

People tell me all the time.

I tell myself all the time.

And yet there I am, beavering away into the late hours, trying not to let anyone down but still feeling like I’m failing someone, somewhere.

Like Sisyphus, I keep pushing the boulder uphill, caring too much, carrying too much, and it just rolls back over me.

No wonder I can’t switch off.

I used to think that kind of wired frustration just meant I needed better boundaries or a thicker skin.

Now I know it’s not that simple. The external drivers - what the workplace asks and rewards - are more complex than we’re told.

It’s not just about workload.

Years ago, I picked up extra work when a colleague quietly checked out.

As usual, I told myself it was temporary (a neat trick my brain plays when it’s leaning into a bad habit), but it fed my need to feel useful and dependable.

Weeks passed.

My inbox and calendar kept filling, my patience ran thin, and my emails got sharper.

I started leaving later but felt more and more invisible.

I slipped into task mode, even with people, and everything started to feel transactional, just a way to get through the list my domino brain was creating for me.

But the urgency and resentment lingered with me.

I’d lie awake at night, mentally drafting emails, PowerPoints that would never be seen, rehearsing arguments I’d never have, imagining the perfect comeback or cry-for-help so others would finally see what I was carrying.

Even though I wasn’t at work, work was with me.

I thought I just needed a better bedtime routine. Yoga. Mindfulness. A TV show to distract.

But in this case, what I was carrying wasn’t just the workload - it was bitterness.

Why your brain stays hooked when you become embittered

Workplace embitterment is its own kind of loop and one your brain is surprisingly good at keeping alive.

When you’re asked to do work that feels pointless, unreasonable, or invisible, your nervous system reads it as a threat.

There’s an edge of injustice that keeps your mind scanning for a way to resolve what feels unfinished and unwitnessed.

Even when the task is done, your body stays on alert, like it’s still happening and waiting for the next blow.

Your brain is wired to detect fairness.

It constantly compares what it expects to what actually happens and adjusts based on the evidence.

But when nothing you do seems to make a difference i.e., when your effort feels wasted, your brain stops expecting a reward and starts conserving energy.

That’s when you withdraw, stew, get tired, and feel stuck.

The effort–reward imbalance theory shows that when the payoff feels uncertain, or absent entirely, the cost of action feels higher – even small steps feel impossible.

You become more sensitive to losses, more reluctant to spend your already depleted energy.

So, you hover between rumination and paralysis.

You tell yourself you’re conserving energy but really, you’re burning yourself out anyway.

Hypervigilant, defensive, scanning for the next slight, and that defensiveness drives the exhaustion and cynicism at the heart of burnout.

Bitterness feels protective.

But it blocks the recovery you need.

The choice to be different is yours

Not everyone stays in embittered mode.

Some people notice it early and put it down.

Others, like I was then, and sometimes still am, let it seep into everything.

These days, I catch it faster.

My tone sharpens, my energy hardens, and even my friends can hear it in my voice.

What I’ve learned, and what I coach others to practise, is this:

You don’t have to pretend the unfairness doesn’t sting. But you also don’t have to let it own you.

A 2025 study on workplace embitterment showed even small moments of appreciation, e.g., a simple acknowledgment, can buffer the impact, help you recover, and remind you that you matter.

So, if you see it in someone else?

Say something.

Out loud.

Don’t assume they know.

Even a small acknowledgment can stop someone sliding further.

And if no one offers it to you?

You still have options.

You can, and must, create your own sense of safety and self-recognition.

It won’t feel immediate, but it works.

Reflecting on what you’ve done, how it matters, and why it counts helps reduce stress and regulate your nervous system and emotions.

You can’t control what you’re asked to carry.

But you can decide how much of yourself you give away, and how long you let it take up space.

The moment you feel yourself crossing from caring into carrying what isn’t yours?

That’s your cue to stop.

Do this: The ARC self-recognition and lockbox drill

When bitterness creeps in, try this simple practice:

Awareness

Notice the internal cues:

• thoughts like why bother? no one notices anyway, and

• behaviours like frustration bubbling up or rumination.

Or the physical ones:

• headaches, tight chest, clenched jaw, restless rehearsing.

Naming it creates the gap where intentional choice begins.

Reconnection

Bitterness thrives on helplessness.

Ask yourself:

• What about this still matters to me?

• What can I choose differently tomorrow, even if it’s small?

Small acts of agency recalibrate your brain’s effort–reward balance and remind you of your autonomy.

Containment

Bitterness doesn’t deserve your whole evening, or your sleep.

Write it down and close the page.

Picture locking it in a box.

Remind yourself:

• I don’t have to solve this tonight, and I won’t let it own me.

Remember, this isn’t about pretending it didn’t happen. Denial rarely helps.

It’s about deciding how much space you’re willing to give it, and you can respond differently.

Create a recovery bubble to return from the edge

Resilience isn’t about pretending you’re fine through unfairness or forcing yourself not to care.

It’s about deciding what’s yours to carry and letting go of the rest.

It’s about protecting your ability to recover, physically, mentally, and emotionally, even when stopping completely isn’t an option.

Bitterness quietly robs you of that capacity.

It drains your energy, embeds cynicism, and convinces you you’re nothing more than what you get done.

You won’t always be able to switch off perfectly.

But you can turn the volume down enough to hear yourself again.

Key takeaways

Unfairness at work doesn’t stay at work but follows you home and keeps you wired.

Bitterness feeds the loop: rumination, tension, and that low-level cynicism that wears you down.

Your brain resists letting go because it predicts nothing will change.

But even small, deliberate choices will shift the balance.

You can’t control what you’re asked to carry, but you can choose how much of yourself you hand over, and how long you let it take up your space.

Protecting what matters to you, your boundaries, and your recovery is what stops unfairness owning your nights and hardening you in the process.

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P.S. If you want help spotting the signs, finding your agency, and carrying it differently, that’s exactly what my coaching is for. Message me if you’re ready to break the pattern.