Why do we feel shame about burnout?

Shame is all too common in burnout

My friend Dave recently contacted me out of the blue, asking about an article I’d written on burnout.

“Are you ok?” I pinged back.

“Not really, been struggling of late. You’d think after a decade working in healthcare I’d know better!”

As I stared at the message, I could feel his shame emanating from my phone. Dave was kicking himself while he’s down. Which pretty much everyone does when they realize that they’re burnt out.

I should have known better.

I’m so stupid.

Something’s wrong with me.

It’s my fault.

I’m a failure.

It prompted a question that’s been lurking at the back of my mind since I started researching burnout.

Why are we ashamed of burnout?

When I asked Google, no clear answer emerged. Which was annoying because it meant I had to actually think rather than just, like, be told.

The thing is, this question is incredibly important.

Shame and stigma are more than unpleasant. In conjunction with burnout, shame can be outright dangerous because it compounds the stress we are already feeling.

By intensifying our distress, shame can make us feel unworthy of recovery. It makes us less likely to reach out for the help we so desperately need. It can even lead to suicide, as detailed in this heart-wrenching story of an essential worker in New York who saw no other option.

Here are some ideas about why we are ashamed of burnout. They are based on my own experience, my research, and the few threads of information I found online.

We view burnout as failure

In our society, admitting burnout is akin to admitting failure. We think we should always be able to make things work — but due to what we consider to be our own personal failings, we cannot. Our society places a great emphasis on individualism — which means when things go wrong we don’t blame the structures around us, or an unhealthy workplace, or unreasonable expectations, or even a pandemic.

We blame ourselves. We failed.

Burnout is not failure. But that doesn’t stop us feeling ashamed about it.

We view burnout as weakness

We have bought into this idea that we should be impervious to stress — ALL of the stress, which eventually morphs into the chronic stress that causes burnout.

Particularly when you feel overwhelmed, helpless and stuck, burnout can seem like a personal weakness rather than what it really is — a logical and inevitable result of chronic stress.

As Kieran Tie puts it:

“Most of all, I felt weak. And I felt ashamed of feeling weak. I felt like I should be able to power through and work things out on my own. And when I couldn’t, I felt even worse.”

Eventually, this impacts our sense of self-worth. Former US Surgeon General and author of Together, Dr. Vivek Murthy, put it this way: “When we feel shame… it drives us further inward and chips away at our self-esteem.”

We think burnout will make us look bad (on our CV, on Tinder, at Thanksgiving dinner, to others generally)

We are afraid that admitting we are burnt out and need rest will look bad — to our boss, potential future employers, our family and friends… to society at large.

When Stephen told his family that he was burnt out last year, they were unable to hide their scorn and judgment. “My Dad’s response was, ‘Are you sure it’s not just in your head?’

Months later, he apologized for not understanding the gravity of what I was going through. But his lack of support at the outset really hurt.”

And sometimes, we are right to worry that burnout might have career or reputational consequences— for example, as noted in this article,

“medical licensing boards…require physicians to disclose current or past mental health care (in some cases at any level); hospitals require disclosure for credentialing; and seeking mental health care is considered a sign of weakness among many medical professionals.”

There is a deep, painful irony staring at us right there: the very people (like my friend Dave) who work in healthcare and put themselves at risk to take care of the health of others, face real stigma when they want to look after their own mental health. And while other industries may not be so overt about their bias against people who have grappled with burnout, they are just as biased.

Burnout requires asking for help, when we ‘should’ be independent

There’s that word ‘should’ again.

There is no such thing as recovering from burnout alone. Yet, asking for help means admitting that we can’t do everything by ourselves, when independence has become a tenet of modern society.

For example, we are taught to admire people who are ‘self-made’ — forgetting all the while that no one is truly self-made. It’s a lie.

Everyone relies on other people to achieve their goals, whether it’s your colleagues, your family — even down to the people who designed, built and delivered the computer you work at, or the clothes you wear.

None of us is completely alone and independent, most are nowhere near it — but our society tells us that’s how we should be, and that we should therefore be ashamed to ask for help or support along the way.

We think smart and capable people shouldn’t burn out

Burning out has nothing to do with how intelligent or capable you are — it might seem ironic, but these characteristics can actually contribute to burnout.

This is partly because high performers are more likely to get dumped with a heavier workload and more responsibilities with fewer breaks and less recognition or reward. But they also thrive on getting everything done and being relied upon, so they are usually less likely to admit they are stressed or guard their own boundaries.

They’re often yes people, and they’ve gotten away with it so far. So they keep giving. Until they can’t.

Burnout requires us to slow down, and there is shame in slowing down

In our fast-paced society, in which busyness equates to importance, there is real shame attached to slowing down. Taking a breather. Quitting the prestigious (but exhausting) job. Saying ‘no’ to the demands of corporate life.

Doing these things and still finding our sense of worth and identity can be challenging. As Chris, who I recently spoke to about his burnout, mentioned: “If I’m not that guy who works at Apple, who am I?”

Again, there is shame in not knowing; in not having your whole brand mapped out, a million aspirations and a lengthy to-do list. If we are not busy and therefore important, who are we?

It’s easy to see how burnout can quickly become an existential issue.

Burnout means acknowledging the lies we’ve been telling ourselves — which can make us feel ashamed

Taking time away from the relentless slog of a busy job usually means going through the unmitigated discomfort of admitting we are not well.

And it’s painful to acknowledge that everything we’ve been pouring our energy into, and sacrificing everything else for, actually makes us fundamentally unhappy. Realizing we’ve been living according to notions of success or happiness that aren’t genuinely ours can trigger shame, too.

Burnout is painful enough without the layer of shame and stigma. If you’re experiencing burnout, reach out for help and support now.

To break through stigma and shame, we need to be vulnerable and start talking about burnout — its causes and its effects. How to prevent and how to recover. We need to generate as much discussion about burnout as we can, until burnout is taken seriously, measures are implemented to reduce it at a societal and organizational level, and the numbers start dropping significantly.

For those in burnout, this might be too much to ask right now and that’s fine. That’s why I’m asking the rest of us: be vulnerable on their behalf. Join the conversation on burnout. Together, we can end the stigma and the shame.