The Trauma of Burnout by Dr Claire Plumbly
For much of my life, burnout did not look like falling apart. It looked like competence and achievement. On the outside, it appeared that I was performing well in demanding professional environments, taking responsibility, solving problems and remaining capable even when my body and nervous system were telling a very different story.
This is why The Trauma of Burnout by Dr Claire Plumbly resonates so strongly with me. It offers a compassionate way of understanding burnout—not simply as the consequence of working too hard or failing to practise enough self-care, but as something that can be connected to trauma, anxiety and a nervous system that has spent too long preparing for, managing or recovering from threat.
In my own experience, capability became more than a strength. It became a source of safety, identity and worth. Staying busy, productive and useful helped me avoid what might surface if I stopped. Even during periods of significant distress, trauma and substance dependence, I could continue to appear highly functional from the outside.
Recovery has required me to reconsider the belief that my value depends on how much I can carry. It has involved learning that rest is not weakness, boundaries are not failure and slowing down does not mean losing my purpose.
This book is particularly valuable for people who are accustomed to coping well, caring for others and pushing through discomfort—until those strategies no longer work. It helps explain why burnout cannot always be resolved through a holiday, a productivity system or a few superficial lifestyle changes. Sometimes recovery requires us to understand what our nervous system has been protecting us from and why constant capability once felt necessary.
I recommend this book to anyone seeking a more compassionate and trauma-informed understanding of burnout, particularly professionals, carers and high-functioning individuals who may be outwardly succeeding while quietly becoming depleted.
We do not need to become less capable. We may need to become less dependent on capability as our only source of safety, identity and worth.
What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo
I recently finished reading What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo and it is one of the most honest and insightful books I've read on Complex PTSD.
Like many people who have experienced significant trauma, I spent years focusing on the ways trauma had impacted my life: the anxiety, perfectionism, hypervigilance, emotional exhaustion, and eventually burnout. The question was always, "How do I fix what's wrong?"
What Stephanie's book reminded me of is something I've been reflecting on more and more in my own recovery journey: trauma doesn't just shape our struggles. It shapes our strengths too.
Many of the qualities that helped me succeed throughout my life were also adaptations to adversity.
- The ability to stay calm during crises.
- The drive to achieve.
- The capacity to push through discomfort.
- The determination to keep going when others might give up.
- The ability to read a room quickly and anticipate risks.
As someone who has worked in high-pressure environments around the world, these traits served me well for a long time.
But eventually I learned that the same traits that can help us survive can also come at a cost.
Hypervigilance can look like leadership until it becomes exhaustion.
Perfectionism can look like excellence until it becomes self-criticism.
Self-reliance can look like strength until it becomes isolation.
One of the greatest lessons of recovery has been learning that healing is not about rejecting the person trauma shaped. It is about understanding that person with compassion.
I would not choose many of the experiences that happened to me. But I also cannot separate those experiences from the resilience, empathy, courage, and purpose they helped create.
The goal is not to erase the past.
The goal is to keep the strengths and heal the wounds.
For anyone living with Complex PTSD, trauma, addiction, burnout, or the long-term effects of chronic stress, I highly recommend What My Bones Know. It is a powerful reminder that healing is possible, and that our stories are often more complex—and more hopeful—than we realize.
