In this courageous blog, Leigh Hinsley shares her personal experience of burnout – how it crept in unnoticed and how she began the path to recovery. Leigh reflects on the pressures of leadership, motherhood, and compassion fatigue, and how the support of her “village” helped her through the darkest moments. Her story is a powerful reminder that mental ill health can affect anyone, and that speaking up, especially in our profession, can be the first step toward healing.
I had never suffered from ill mental health. I’ve suffered from stress. Lots of it. I’ve suffered grief. A fair amount of that too. But I always weathered the storm with family and friends by my side.
Fast forward to July 2024. I’ve been a leader for 10 years. I’m now a working mother of two little girls. Friends? I have them, but I don’t really see them. Self-care? I haven’t got time for that. Relationship? My husband and I tend to be passing ships, collapsing exhausted onto the sofa every night after the rush of dinner, bath, bedtime routine. Family? I don’t get chance to see them as much as I’d like but we exchange messages regularly.
Juggling it all
And boom. A major change happens at work, one which sadly no one could have fully prepared for or avoided. I’m now managing the stress of colleagues and clients. Abandoning my own to-do list, trying to fight fires and hold people together, whilst also trying to continue clinical work. I was going in early and leaving late to make sure people had the support they needed. It felt like my adrenaline was pumping 24/7. I was unprepared and naive.
But I was coping. I was okay.
And then one day, I wasn’t.
It felt like the floor was falling away from beneath me and I was jumping onto the remaining stepping stones before they fell away too. I found myself crying most days. Either that or screaming at my kids without rhyme or reason. Until my six-year-old asked “why are you so sad mommy?” Even then I was in denial “mommy’s just a bit stressed” I said. Until my husband convinced me to call in sick. SICK?! But everyone’s struggling?? How could I abandon my team? But in the words of every cabin crew in every plane around the world – fit your own oxygen mask first.
Support network
My saving grace was that I had people in my life, who had their own experiences of burnout. They saw me and they rescued me. My husband ensured I rested. My sister got me professional help. My parents fed and watered me. My friends got me out into nature and listened. It took a village, and without that village, I’d probably still be sobbing in the pasta aisle at Asda.
The warning signs
I felt burnout had crept up and hit me like a car, but on reflection, the signs were there over long before my breakdown; increasing anxiety, trouble sleeping, headaches, severe mood swings, feeling overwhelmed, cynicism, increased alcohol intake. The compassion fatigue that came with trying to aid everyone’s stress at work whilst suppressing my own was the turning point. It was the chest pains on a Sunday night, the insomnia, decision paralysis, intrusive thoughts and feeling numb and helpless.
So why didn’t I realise it sooner? Why didn’t I flag up I was struggling? My biggest concern was; it’s just me. No one else is struggling – everyone is coping well – therefore it must be something wrong with me. As a leader, I thought showing my vulnerability would make me appear incompetent to my team, or incapable of being there to support them, or that I couldn’t cope with the demands of the job – especially in a corporate world with male superiors that won’t understand the extra demands that being a working mother brings. I bottled it up and swallowed it down, embarrassed and ashamed to voice my concerns. To such an extent that other people had to tell me I was unwell, instead of the other way round.
The healing journey
As part of my recovery, I began my counselling. It was like lancing an abscess – it got messy before the healing could begin. As I talked about my profession and the things we faced, I noticed my counsellor tear up on a few occasions and it occurred to me the amount of moral injury and compassion fatigue I’d been exposed to. My counsellor barely said anything, just listened, he highlighted how I talked about myself, belittling my experience and nervously laughing when I spoke about it.
Sharing my story helped others too
I didn’t tell anyone outside the village that helped me through. Many friends and colleagues will be finding out through this article. But last year I chose to speak out publicly about my experience at a professional event and on LinkedIn to highlight the dangers of bottling it all up. And the messages started flowing in “me too” “I feel the same” “its not just you” and I realised I wasn’t alone. So, I’m a work in progress! Making time for myself, you can’t pour from an empty cup – so I make sure I try and fill mine regularly. Reflecting daily, to help focus on the good, as well as the not so good parts of the day. Retraining my brain, to build my resilience, find peace where I can. And most importantly, talking. Talking about it like I had a common cold. Because mental illness is just that, an illness, so it should not be shameful or masked, showing our vulnerability, especially as leader, can only benefit everyone by encouraging others to speak out if they are struggling. We won’t get through this otherwise, unless we get through it together.
