The old you isn’t coming back. That’s okay.

Deep into my burnout era, I drew little calendars in my notebook to help calm me down. I thought the visualizations would help me see that none of this was forever—a product launch was “just” six months away, an exhausting commute was “only” three months from wrapping up, an increase in project resources was “coming soon,” maybe only another week or two. Every day, I’d fill in the little date boxes and get that much closer to these deadlines of liberation, of getting to be myself again—not this run-down, wrung-out robot I’d become.

But as I filled box after box, I also kept adding deadline extensions and even brand-new line items.

Four months from now you won’t be doing double-duty.

Three weeks left until your most exhausting direct report resigns.

Four workdays until Thanksgiving break.

Eventually it dawned on me: there was no liberation day ahead if I kept hanging all my hopes on things easing up and letting me return to my old life. And even if by some miracle I was teleported back there, it still wouldn’t matter. My spark and optimism had been replaced with ambivalence and cynicism, something a shorter commute was never going to fix.

Nearly half of tech workers report feeling significantly burned out, as Sara wrote about a few weeks ago. That means there’s almost a 50 percent chance that you’re one of them. If so, I want you to know something that I wish someone had told me: you will never be the same person again.

And that’s something to celebrate.

When I think of who I was back when I was throwing myself into the abyss, I see why I admired her so much. She was the embodiment of YES—always up for the next challenge, ready to step in and help, determined to outdo everyone’s expectations, dead-set on never letting anyone down.

People loved her. Every performance review was glowing, every team member sought her counsel, every overloaded colleague knew she could be trusted to bail them out.

But I also see why that version of Jen is so dangerous. Fueled by anxiety and insecurity, she was oblivious to every cue her body tried to warn her with: the lack of sleep, the rapid shedding of weight, the frequent illnesses, the panic attacks. And as much as she prided herself on showing up for everyone else by stretching herself so thin, she was often quite selfish: disappointing the most important people in her life—the ones outside of work, who she promised she’d have more time for once all those little blocks were finally filled in.

Why did I want to go back to being her and living that life? Why would you?

I just finished reading a book on how people respond to disasters—and this quote has stuck with me:

Disasters give us an opportunity to get to know ourselves again—not as we were, but who we are. They strip off our masks and reveal our survival instincts.

So when I realized how lost I was, I stopped trying to be the best version of myself and committed to being the version of myself who could get out of this mess—and I’d check in to see what she needed me to do that day.

Sometimes it was ignoring a request. Or calling in a sick day. Or passing on an interesting opportunity. My life became a practice of subtraction.

But as I got better at that kind of math, my to-do list started to include more yesses—just of a different kind than I was used to. Yes to that lunch date with a friend. Yes to an easy, unsexy project. Yes to an offer of help.

I wasn’t tracking the length of my burnout recovery, but the boxes were filling in all the same.

Alicia Ostarello tells a story that perfectly describes how that kind of presence starts to heal us:

There is freedom in letting go of our need to control every facet of our lives, including burnout recovery, and instead just getting in the water and seeing what splashing around feels like.

When those moments bring joy, like in Alicia’s story, take note. When they don’t, take note too.

Over time, these observations spark theories about what might help you feel alive again. Like Amy Hupe describes:

The most reliable compass you have in this process is your values. They tether you to the parts of yourself that will never change, the parts that know the way to higher ground. And as you travel that path, it will feel less like recovery and more like exploration.

Look: it’s not all perfect. Sometimes I’m frustrated by this new version of me. She demands more sleep than I feel like giving some nights. And TBH, sometimes this version of me seems too optimistic—so convinced that things will work out fine that it borders on delusional (especially right now, when the world feels extra perilous).

But there are parts of her I’ve accepted, like her inability to ever again pull an all-nighter, or how she still flinches when her phone buzzes—a reflex from years of bottomless inboxes and late-night requests.

And there are parts of her I’m really thrilled about. Like, she’s a lot more honest than the old me—people actually know what she feels because she doesn’t hide it under thumbs up emojis and smiles. She doesn’t beat herself up about her limits or feel guilty about her boundaries. And she’s been a big help to people navigating their own burnout cycles.

No one’s going to praise her for her selflessness or her tirelessness—but the things they will praise her for will actually mean something.

Maybe those words aren’t a consolation to you right now. Maybe they will never be. Burnout isn’t a flu you get over, it’s a plague that you survive. So if you’ve only been able to identify what you’ve lost to burnout, that's OK—grieving that loss is important. But maybe it's time to also ask yourself something else: what is it you want to find?

Burnout forced me to face the reality of my life: I was treading water, waiting and waiting for things to magically get better, instead of accepting that they never would. I have so many regrets about the time I’ll never get back, the pain I caused myself, and the important relationships and ideas I let wither from neglect. Current me—the me that’s evolved out of that era—would never whittle away her weeks and months and years like that. There are too many more meaningful ways to spend her time—including, as Alicia Ostarello put it, falling “in love with existence” again.

From the Active Voice community

What’s your definition of success?
After reading Sara’s article last week, Angie King wrote some success metrics of her own. Did you write yours down? Send ‘em our way!

From line to layout: How past experiences shape your design career
Stephanie Campbell wrote about curvy career paths for Smashing Magazine—and how working in restaurants shaped how she thinks, designs, and collaborates.  

All the Ops: Successful cross-functional collaboration
We can’t wait to hear Natalie Dunbar’s panel at the Rosenfeld DesignOps Summit on September 10. Get your tickets!

Good job
Sara just got her copy of Margo Stern’s new book. Have you?