In this article, I share my deeply personal journey through burnout and a nervous breakdown, and the crucial lessons I learned along the way. From failing to act on the warning signs to the importance of seeking support, my story aims to help you avoid the same pitfalls and find a healthier work-life balance. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, know that change is possible, and I’m here to help you navigate it.

I thought I knew what it was like to have a nervous breakdown. Then I had one.

I’ve come to see my breakdown like a web browser full of open tabs. Every time something grabs your attention, or you find something that needs to be reviewed, or receive something that needs to be responded to, you open up a new tab. You leave all the others open, because you either haven’t fully dealt with them yet, or intend to come back to them again later. You never close the old ones and constantly open new ones, and eventually, your computer says, “enough”

“I’ve come to see my breakdown like a web browser full of open tabs. (…) You never close the old ones and constantly open new ones, and eventually, your computer says, ‘enough’.”

This was how I ended up with burnout and exhaustion, resulting in a total nervous breakdown. Over time I added more and more to my already overloaded mind. I didn’t allow enough space to reset, and eventually, I had one tab open too many. My body shut down. It was, without exaggeration, the bleakest experience of my life, and I wouldn’t wish it on my very worst enemy.

So why am I telling you this?

I want to help others avoid falling into the trap that I did. In fact, finding my coaching specialism of Stress Management was a direct response to my nervous breakdown. I have been there. I’ve seen it. I know how bleak it can be when feelings of overwhelm take over, and I have seen how hard it is to come back up for air again. I feel like I owe it to others to share my experiences, to hopefully help others avoid it themselves.

“I have been there. I’ve seen it. I know how bleak it can be when you don’t find the right balance, and I have seen how hard it is to come back up again”

But through my coaching, I’ve also seen people putting all the steps in place that I wish I had. I’ve seen people take control of their lives, finding space for the things that matter to them, and find better balance. As one of my clients said to me, “I feel like you’ve given me my life back”. Just as it’s possible to fall into a breakdown, and just as it’s possible to climb out of one, it’s also possible to avoid having one altogether.

That’s why I’ve written this article. I want to share with you how I got here, in case any of my circumstances resonate with you. I want to tell you what it was like when the bottom fell out, to show you the consequences of not prioritising your mental health. And I want to share my learnings from this journey, particularly how I would avoid it if I could do it all over.

And make no mistake about it; I see my nervous breakdown as preventable. I absolutely could have stopped it from happening. I saw it coming. But I didn’t heed the warnings, and then I paid for it.

So how did I end up having a nervous breakdown?

In hindsight, it was a period of great change in my life. I had not long become a father for the first time, relatively recently switched jobs, I’d moved to a new city, and the consequences of COVID were still rampant. I was in a transitional period in my life, but I wasn’t doing anything to actively manage my wellbeing during that period. I continued to approach life as I had done before becoming a father, before moving to a new city, and before COVID changed our approach to home and work.

The problem was that what worked for me before was no longer set up to work for me now. I hadn’t taken the necessary steps to address where I was and where I wanted to go - I vastly underutilised my own coach during this period - and allowed myself to sleepwalk in to disaster.

“What worked for me before was no longer set up to work for me now. I hadn’t taken the necessary steps to address where I was and where I wanted to go, and allowed myself to sleepwalk in to disaster”

How do I wish I’d better utilised my coach? Simply by getting in touch and letting them do their thing. I already had a trusted coach I knew I could lean on, but I became so fixated on the path I was on I didn’t stop, pause and reflect. I wish I had spoken to them to discuss how I’d found myself in my current situation and what I wanted to be different, so together we could build a plan to change. As long as I was trying to fix my own problems, I found it too easy to stick to the status quo.

Learning #1: Periods of transition require a greater focus on our mental health.

Without an active focus on my wellbeing, I found my identity began to settle in to two areas: parent, and employee. All my energy went into the unforgiving experience of adapting to parenthood, or to being the best I could be at work.

My hobbies slipped to the wayside. I stopped doing things for rejuvenation or pleasure. My “rest” involved slumping on the sofa, either talking about work or parenthood, or endlessly scrolling my phone. I stopped actively taking care of myself or trying to do things that would keep my mental health robust.

This isn’t to suggest that work is the enemy, or that parenting isn’t rewarding. Both experiences can and do bring an enormous amount of value to our lives. But what we can’t afford to do is get lost in them. We have to allow space for “us”, alongside whatever other roles we have to play.

Learning #2: We have to find space to allow ourselves to breathe.

There was no single moment that “gave me” burnout and exhaustion, but an accumulation of several years of wellbeing neglect. I let it build, taking on every issue at work like something I personally had to resolve, even if it wasn’t anything to do with me. In my mind, the potential consequences of letting go had become unrealistically high.

“There was no single moment that ‘gave me’ burnout and exhaustion, but an accumulation of several years of wellbeing neglect.”

 Looking back, I can see evidence of my burnout as much as 18 months before the breakdown finally happened. I had been on a bad path for a long time. I had stopped taking care of myself and stopped listening to my needs for a while. It was only a small thing here or there, but it started to mount up. It was a death by a thousand cuts.

 Learning #3: There is no “moment” that leads to burnout. Breakdowns accumulate gradually.

I knew I was on a bad path. The breakdown didn’t come as a surprise, only that it happened when it did. I knew my mental health was wavering, but I would convince myself that, while burnout was coming, it wasn’t coming yet. I still had time. I felt I could continue doing what I was doing, and as long as I changed at some indeterminate time in the future, I’d get in and save myself before it was too late.

But I didn’t. I was too late.

It’s like being on a beach if you can’t swim. If you found yourself walking into the sea, you wouldn’t tell yourself “it’s okay, I can go deeper, I’m sure the sea will get less wet eventually.” Once you’d realised you were getting too deep, you’d stop and turn around.

The best time to make a change is right now. The time to turn around is when the sea is at your ankles, not around your shoulders. As I approached burnout, no matter how aware I became that things weren’t as I wanted them to be, I didn’t make any changes. I felt trapped. I hoped that I could put it off, and for a while, I did. And then, suddenly, I couldn’t.

Learning #4: The best time to change is right now. Burnout won’t wait until you’re ready to stop it.

It’s worth saying at this point that I don’t blame anyone else for where I ended up. I don’t blame my colleagues or place of work; indeed, I worked with some amazing people that I’m still in touch with to this day, and the company I worked for was often a pleasure to work for in a lot of ways. No-one forced me into this situation.

How I ended up in this situation was by not taking control of my situation until it was too late. I waited for life to change my path for me, and it didn’t. It was partly out of fear, as I was worried what would happen if I did try to make a change. What if I stopped pushing myself so hard at work, would my performance go down? Would they no longer want me? If I tried to take more time for myself at home, would my family feel like I was being selfish? Did I even have the time to focus more on my needs?

“How I ended up in this situation was by not taking control of my situation until it was too late. I waited for life to change my path for me, and it didn’t.”

As I mentioned in my review of The Chimp Paradox (Further Reading: The Chimp Paradox), the part of our brain called our Limbic System (referred to in the book as our “Chimp”) is quick to feel unsafe, and nothing makes it feel more unsure than the fear of the unknown. It’s why we often feel afraid of making changes; our brain is trying to keep us safe, convincing us that change can lead to danger and the safest thing we can do is stay as we are. It’s the devil we know, after all.

With the benefit of hindsight, I can see how foolish my logic was. I was committing to continuing on a path towards burnout because changing to prevent it felt too unknown, and therefore intimidating. But the fear of change was real. It meant I didn’t change how I approached my life, and predictably, that meant my life didn’t change.

Learning #5: Only you can prevent your own burnout.

By the time the breakdown hit, I’d already spent a night in hospital with chest pains. You’d think that would be the warning sign I needed to make a change, but it wasn’t. By that point, I was too far gone. I’d left it too late to make a change.

I then went on a work trip, and a colleague kept commenting on how unwell I looked. I was breaking out in sweats. I was breathless, shaking, and pale. Then, the night I came home, I lay in bed unable to sleep. By this stage this was no unusual experience, as my sleep had been a mess for weeks. But on this night my executive brain had become so fried by constant decision making that I was laying wide awake, planning my next dream. That’s right. I was laying in bed, working out what I wanted to accomplish in my dreams.

And it would happen, too. I’d fall asleep so lightly that I was able to dream whatever it was I wanted to accomplish, and then accomplish it. I’d be so barely asleep that, in reaching whatever goal I set for my dream, I would wake up, and plan for the next one. I cumulatively had less than a single hour’s sleep by the time my wife found me in our living room, curled up in a ball, at 4am.

The bottom had fallen out.

Learning #6: Don’t wait for signs that burnout is imminent. By the time they come, it’ll be too late to do anything about them.

I was ready to force myself back in to work again that day, which only goes to show how far gone I was. After months of trying to get through to me, it was only at my wife’s very reasonable insistence that I stay at home and call in sick that I didn’t go to work that day. Instead, I lay on the sofa, barely able to move. In truth, I was unable to do anything but that. I couldn’t so much as peel myself off the sofa for mealtimes. Not that I felt like eating, as my appetite and even my taste palate were all over the place.

I’d only intended to have one day off, but before I knew it, days turned into weeks. Honestly, the first week felt almost regenerative. My body was so clearly in a state of exhaustion that lying still and doing nothing felt great.

But that didn’t last. I thought the exhaustion would wear off with some R&R, and I’d soon be back to normal. But it didn’t wear off. I was genuinely, literally, exhausted. My brain and body had shut down. I was a shell, unable to do anything at all.

The rest no longer felt regenerative. My inability to do anything became too much to bear. All I wanted was to be normal, but it just wasn’t in me anymore. It felt degrading. At one point my daughter walked up to me, laying flat on the sofa, and said “Daddy, do you feel well enough to play with me now?”

“My inability to do anything became too much to bear. All I wanted was to be normal, but it just wasn’t in me anymore. It felt degrading.”

It broke my heart. I felt like I was failing. Failing as a husband, a father, a provider. My entire sense of identity was stripped away. Any sense of independence or hopes of accomplishments had gone. I was a car without fuel. I was going nowhere, with no capacity to do anything about it. Until my body felt suitably refuelled, I was going nowhere.

Learning #7: A nervous breakdown was the single worst experience of my life, and I’d give anything not to live through one again.

Thankfully, this situation didn’t last forever. Having hit rock bottom, I knew I had to make a change. It was months (if not years) too late, but I no longer had a choice. It was time.

That change came in the form of letting go. I had to stop clinging on to the idea that I had to get off the sofa right now, start doing more, and get back to work right now. What I knew I had to do was stop.

My brain was practically screaming it at this point, and I finally started to listen. I allowed myself to sit still, to allow myself to breathe, both metaphorically and literally. I started to actively seek ways to feel joy and pleasure. I started napping. I’d listen to music, go out for walks, and sit in nature. I practised mindfulness, knowing that full-on meditation was out of the question with my brain this active. As hard as it was to do, I completely handed the wheel over to my wife, who selflessly took full control of our day-to-day lives while I recovered. For that I’ll be forever grateful. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for her.

I let go. I allowed myself to stop, and I let my body breathe. Only when I did that did I start to see a way back out again.

Learning #8: To change direction, we firstly have to stop walking in the direction we’re going.

In total honestly, at this point I felt ashamed that I’d had a breakdown. I felt weak, like my mind and body weren’t up to the rigours of modern life. I’d look at everyone not having nervous breakdowns and wonder how they were so resilient, and what I’d done wrong to be where I was.

Given I felt so ashamed, opening up to others about what I’d been through was hard. I did it anyway. I realised I had to stop trying to be an image of strength and power (which, to be fair, is hard to cling on to when you can’t get out of bed in the morning) and admit where I was. I started sharing my experience with others, letting their love and warmth surround me. I sought professional help. As difficult as it felt, I let others help me.

“I realised I had to stop trying to be an image of strength and power and admit where I was. I started sharing my experience with others, letting their love and warmth surround me. I sought professional help. As difficult as it felt, I let others help me.”

Then, something strange happened. I realised I wasn’t alone.

Far from it, in fact. Once people became aware of what I’d been through I was stunned at how many admitted they’d been through something similar. In alluding to my challenges in a social media post a former colleague got in touch to share that he was going through exactly the same thing. During online training sessions I’d share with others what I’d been through, only for some of them to get in touch separately to share that they too were dealing with the repercussions of burnout.

By opening up, by talking, by sharing, I started to see me again. Not me “The Parent”. Not me “The Employee”. Not me “The Burnout Sufferer”. Just me.

Learning #9: Help is out there. Use it. You don’t have to do this alone.

In time, I began to recover. My nervous system began to settle back down, albeit still not as much as pre-breakdown. I still experience bouts of anxiety, and I still get overwhelmed more easily than I’d like. But this is a journey, not a destination. The direction of travel is a good one, but it’s still ongoing. It always will be.

But more importantly, I started to find something more powerful than recovery. I stopped trying to return to where I was, and started to aim towards where I wanted to be.

I began focusing on who I wanted to be. Having a nervous breakdown was awful, but it showed me the consequences of not living the life you want to live. It showed me that this isn’t a trial run, and that life won’t take care of everything for you. You have to take control of your own destiny.

“Having a nervous breakdown was awful, but it showed me the consequences of not living the life you want to live. It showed me that this isn’t a trial run, and that life won’t take care of everything for you. You have to take control of your own destiny.”

I reconnected with my beliefs and values. I started to remember what truly mattered to me. I found all the things that bring me energy – trips to the cinema, reading books, going for walks – and started doing more of them. I became more aware of how my phone drains my energy. I became a much stronger gatekeeper of positivity in my life. And I started spending time doing things that nourished me. And nothing nourishes me more than coaching others to live their best lives.

Learning #10: There is always a way out. You just have to find it.

I hope you found this journey through my nervous breakdown helpful. Of course, just because you see similarities in my situation doesn’t mean you are about to have a nervous breakdown, and just because you don’t see any similarities doesn’t mean you won’t burn out. This is a deeply personal experience, and all I can share are my own experiences.

But I truly believe my learnings can apply to us all. It’s easy to sleepwalk in to a life we don’t want to live, and I found how surprisingly easy it is to sleepwalk in to a breakdown. We have to take control, allow ourselves to be human, and focus our energies where we want them to be. Only that way can we be who we want to be.

Making changes can be hard, and that’s why I’m now focused on my speciality as a Stress Management Coach. I’m here to help others avoid the mistakes I made, and to help others find the life that they deserve. There is never a better time to change than right now, and I’m here to help you do it. If you’re interested in working together, check out my Services page, or use this Contact Form to get in touch.

Top Three Takeaways:

1. The time for change is now. Don’t wait for your circumstances to improve on their own, because they rarely do. If you feel you’re on the wrong path, there’s no better time to make a change than right now.

2. Prevention is the best cure. It’s far easier to address mental health challenges before they escalate. Take action early to manage your wellbeing and prevent the severe consequences of burnout.

3. Seek support and don’t go it alone. You don’t have to face challenges alone. Opening up to others can be transformational. Utilise professional support, such as coaching, to gain the guidance and perspective needed to navigate difficult times and find a path to recovery and balance.