After my second burnout, I was on sick leave for six months. It was supposed to be a time for me to recover, but it was far from easy. Despite being on leave, it was difficult to unwind and stop thinking about work. The constant guilt gnawed at me, and I felt bad for leaving my colleagues in the lurch, even though I knew my body and mind could no longer handle the pressure. The endless stream of thoughts about what I should be doing, and how I could “catch up” on everything, added to a feeling of failure.

During this period, I tried to read up on burnout and depression as much as I could manage. I wanted to understand what had happened to me and why I hit the wall again. I gathered knowledge about how prolonged stress affects the body and brain, and what is required for recovery. In theory, I knew what I needed to do—start prioritizing myself, set boundaries, and let go of the constant need for control. But in practice, this turned out to be much more difficult.

It was tougher than I could have imagined to break habits that had been ingrained for years. It felt like trying to move a mountain. I quickly realized that it wasn’t just about changing myself; the whole family dynamic needed to change. Our life patterns were so deeply embedded that it would take a collective effort to make these changes sustainable.

In our family, I’ve always been the one who handles everything. My children and my husband are used to me taking care of everything, and breaking that cycle has been incredibly hard. I often ask myself: “Is it even possible to change this?” The answer is that it is possible, but it requires time, patience, and perhaps most importantly, communication. And communication is something we’re not very good at in our family.

We’ve always found it easier to just keep going and avoid the difficult things. Instead of talking about how we’re feeling or what we need, we let the daily routine roll on as usual. But I’ve realized that if we are going to make real changes, we need to start talking—and really listening to each other.

It’s difficult because none of us are used to sharing our innermost feelings. Putting into words how we truly feel almost feels uncomfortable, like revealing something we’d rather keep hidden. But if we’re not honest with each other about how we’re doing, we’ll never be able to move forward.

Breaking a pattern where I’ve always taken care of everything means that I need to start saying no sometimes. It requires me to stand up for myself and admit that I can’t or don’t have the energy to do everything anymore. And it means I have to explain why—both to myself and to others. But “why” has become a kind of trigger for me. Every time someone asks “why,” it feels like I see red. Not because the question is wrong, but because it forces me to pause and face reality, which is exhausting in itself.

When someone asks me why I’m saying no or why I need to rest, it drains me. Constantly having to explain and defend my feelings and boundaries takes its toll. In those moments, I wish it were enough to just say, “I don’t have the energy,” without having to go into details.

After my sick leave, I returned to work, starting cautiously. I’ve been gradually increasing my hours, and soon I’ll be back to working 100% again. And to be honest, that terrifies me. How will I cope? Will I fall back into the same old patterns?

Right now, I’m managing work okay, but I notice my heart racing when things get intense, and the headaches sneak up on me. What worries me the most is that even now, despite not working full-time yet, I’m exhausted when I get home. I should have energy for home and family, but instead, I’m completely drained.

At the same time, I feel like I don’t have a choice. Life keeps moving, and I have to keep up, but the fear of crashing again is always present. I want so much to believe that I’ve learned something from all of this, but it’s still a daily struggle.

It’s a journey. A journey that is far from over. But I’m trying to take it one step at a time.