The Story Behind Burnout: Hard Work, Pain, and Love

One student’s struggle reveals what burnout is really telling us.

Dana was in her twenties, with big dark eyes she tried to hide behind tinted goggles during our first Zoom call. She kept her face lowered, her voice quiet, almost as if she hoped not to be seen.

“I’m Dana,” she said. “I study business administration and economics. I like working out, and sometimes I write poetry.” She paused, then added in a flat tone, “I’m here because I recently had a panic attack. My parents want me to take this session.”

When I asked if she wanted to be there herself, she looked down and admitted, “No. They want me here.”

On paper, Dana’s life was impressive: a double major, scholarship, and membership on her college race team. But behind the achievements was exhaustion. Her days stretched from long lectures to intense workouts, from fruit-and-cheese dinners to late nights staring at unfinished poems. Writing—the one thing that gave her joy—was being smothered by deadlines. She confessed, “I feel like I’ve failed myself.”

Then her body gave out. One afternoon she collapsed on the floor, unable to move or speak. Hours passed before her mother found her. The doctors called it a panic attack. To me, it was burnout’s alarm—her body screaming for attention.

In our sessions, her deeper pain surfaced. She loved her parents but carried anger and shame. Her father, once a successful businessman, had suffered a stroke that left him in a wheelchair. Dana couldn’t accept his condition. “He’s a failure,” she said, though it was clear her words were more about her unprocessed grief. Even her gentle boyfriend, who adored her despite his modest job, she dismissed as unworthy. Negativity wrapped around her like armor.

Yet there were good days. On those, she listened carefully when I suggested silence, gratitude journaling, or walks to recall happy memories. Her face brightened when she imagined giving words to the poems that waited inside her. For brief moments, the real Dana—hopeful, creative, alive—peeked through.

But progress was uneven. One step forward, three steps back. Frustration often pulled her away. Eventually, she stopped coming. My calls went unanswered.

Months later, I received a letter from her college. Dana was doing better. They thanked me for the time I had shared with her.

Relief washed over me. Dana’s story reminds us that burnout isn’t weakness—it’s a wake-up call. It’s the body’s way of saying: slow down, breathe, and realign with what truly matters. So many young people today feel the same pressure she carried—grades, careers, expectations, relationships—until the weight becomes too much. But recovery doesn’t mean giving up your dreams; it means learning a new rhythm. Small shifts—rest, creativity, movement, gratitude—can slowly bring us back to balance.

Burnout isn’t the end of the road. It’s an invitation to pause, reconnect with yourself, and build a life rooted not just in achievement, but in meaning, joy, and wholeness.