We’re hearing it from teams everywhere: “I’m just tired.” Not lazy, not disengaged—just emotionally tapped. This isn’t a time management issue—it’s a life management crisis. Based on what I’ve lived—and what I’m seeing all around me—it’s clear burnout isn’t just about work anymore. It’s about the world we’re navigating, the systems we’re stuck in, and the silence we keep pretending isn’t wearing us down.
You’re going to learn a bit about me here, but I hope more than that, it helps you reflect on how you’re really doing. Maybe even feel a little less alone.
I’m not burnt out because of my job. I’m burnt out because of everything.
And yet, every morning, I still log on. I still take meetings. I still write, coach, present, and lead. I show up.
That’s the illusion of remote work: it hides the wear and tear of just being human right now. You can be drowning in grief or rage or exhaustion, and still turn in a polished deck. Still show up to a Zoom call with your camera on and smile. And no one will ask, because asking feels risky. Because if we really talked about how we’re doing, we might not get any work done at all.
This isn’t a sob story. It’s a snapshot of what a lot of us are carrying—quietly, invisibly—while trying to do good work in a world that feels increasingly harder to navigate.
I’m tired. Are you tired? Here’s why.
Let’s talk about the real reasons we’re tired—really tired—the kind of tired that creeps into your bones and sits in your gut. Because I don’t think it’s just about bandwidth or workload anymore. It’s about the collective emotional whiplash we’ve all been experiencing for the past few years. And if any part of this list hits you in the chest, I hope you’ll take a second to exhale and know you’re not alone.
According to Gallup's State of the Global Workplace 2024 report, only 23% of employees worldwide are thriving at work. Stress remains high, with 41% reporting they felt a lot of stress the previous day. And the numbers are even more sobering for remote workers—25% reported feeling lonely, compared to just 16% of on-site employees. Meanwhile, more than half the workforce is actively or passively looking for new jobs.
This isn’t just about bad management or unrealistic deadlines. This is about what it feels like to hold it all:
- Job insecurity and layoffs
- Constant change and unclear direction
- Economic instability
- Political and social unrest
- Family demands and personal grief
- Disconnection from our teams and leaders
The emotional load of work today isn’t just heavier—it’s relentless.
I can feel it in my body. In the way I second-guess myself. In the way I delay starting tasks that used to feel easy. In how often I hear myself say, "I just don’t have it today." But I keep going, because that’s what we do.
Is remote work helping us?
I’ve worked remotely since 2012, long before it was the norm. I’ve built teams, led projects, and built a business from my home office. Remote work gave me what traditional office life often didn’t: room to breathe, to focus, to build something meaningful on my terms. During COVID, while the rest of the world scrambled to adjust, I delivered some of the best work of my career. I had structure, flow, and—despite the chaos outside—a surprising amount of clarity. But now? Now I’m watching that momentum stall. The energy has shifted. The optimism has dulled. And the question I keep asking is: what happened?
Remote work isn’t the problem. In fact, it might be the one thing holding us together—because it’s allowed us to weather this storm without falling apart entirely. It’s given individuals space to grieve privately, to care for loved ones mid-day, to rest when the weight of the world becomes too much. And for teams, it’s helped unlock new ways of working that prioritize outcomes over optics. It’s allowed for asynchronous schedules, cross-timezone collaboration, and a reimagining of what accountability looks like.
Remote work gave us flexibility when we needed it most—and in many ways, it still does. It gave us permission to design lives that work with us, not against us. It didn’t fix burnout or disconnection, but it gave us a softer place to land. That matters. Especially now.
But it doesn’t erase the grief or disconnection. It doesn’t fix the broken systems or heal the burnout. It just gives us better lighting, comfier clothes, and the ability to mute the tears if they come.
We need to stop pretending that presence equals well-being. Just because someone’s camera is on doesn’t mean they’re okay. And just because we can keep working doesn’t mean we should keep ignoring the toll.
What’s getting me through right now?
Honestly, I’m still figuring that out. But here’s what I’m leaning into:
- Being honest. With myself and with others. If I’m tired, I say it. If I’m struggling, I don’t fake my way through it. That kind of honesty builds real trust.
- Creating small moments of connection. A voice memo to a friend. A spontaneous check-in with a teammate. A text that says, "Hey, I was thinking of you." These things help me remember that I’m not alone.
- Saying no more often. Not because I don’t care, but because I care enough to protect what little energy I have.
- Trying to find meaning in the mess. Whether it's writing, creating, or helping someone else, I’m trying to stay tethered to something bigger than a task list.
- Asking for help. This one’s hard. But I’m practicing. Because if we don’t ask, we just keep carrying the weight, and eventually it shows up in ways we can’t control.
I’m not trying to fix anyone. I’m just trying to be real. Because I think realness is what gets us through. The human stuff. The hard stuff. The things that make us feel less alone.
Still here. Still trying. Still human.
I’m still showing up. But I’m also searching. For new people, new energy, new reasons to be hopeful. I want to keep believing that work can be good, even when the world is hard. That there’s still space for kindness, creativity, and care. That good people can find each other and build things that matter.
Because good people are hurting right now. They’re being laid off, undervalued, or pushed past their limits. And we can’t afford to keep losing them.
If you’re feeling this too, you’re not alone.
Let’s help each other. Let’s talk. And if this resonated with you—in your team, your work, or your own heart—we’d love to hear it. What are you noticing? What’s helping? What’s not? Let’s have the conversation that work rarely makes space for.
T L ; D R — We’re not just tired from work. We’re tired from everything. Remote work isn’t the problem—it might be the only thing that’s still working, because it gives us space to be human. But connection is missing. Let’s build that back. Let’s talk honestly, rest when we need to, and stop pretending everything’s fine. Because it isn’t. And yet, we’re still here. Together. And that means something.
