Burnout Isn't Laziness With Mascara On

That guy will always have a support system propping him up - whether he realizes it or not.

His girlfriend.

Her parents.

The invisible labour keeping his life running while he focuses on "the grind."

And if that relationship ends? He's unlikely to become the solo parent juggling it all.
(It's possible, I know. But statistically? No.)

And even if he does?
He'll be a hero.

People will fall over themselves to help with childcare, housework, school runs.

He'll still grow his business because the world rewards men who "push through."

Men in business don't worry about being too salesy.
They don't over-deliver to prove they're worth it.
They don't agonize over how they'll be perceived or whether they're "doing it right."

They just crack on with bro marketing, and other men - and many women - will buy from them without question.

Not because women are weaker.
Because we've been programmed from birth to carry more, expect less, and call it "coping."

The mental load.

The emotional labour.

The second shift of housework and care work that nobody tracks or acknowledges.

The weight of being "too much" or "not enough" depending on the room we walk into.

The constant self-monitoring: Am I being too pushy? Too aggressive? Too visible? Not visible enough?

And when we finally crack under the weight of it all?

We're told we're lazy.
We're told we're making excuses.
We're told to "pull ourselves together."

Burnout isn't laziness with mascara on.
It's what happens when you've been carrying the weight of three jobs while someone else tells you to add a fourth - and smile while you do it.

January 2024.

My life had been turned upside down.

My son had just moved into his new residential placement.

I'd relocated from one end of the country to the other.

I'd spent six months working retail as a Christmas temp just to keep money coming in.

I finished work on Christmas Eve and had two whole weeks before starting my new job at a plastics factory.

The Void and I travelled back up north for a few days to see my daughter (I still had my house up there at that point).

We got back on New Year's Eve.

I was exhausted. But also excited.
New year. New job. Relaunch of The Basics Bitch. Weekends away. Fun activities.

I decided to give myself a few days of rest before the new job started.

Once I stopped, I broke.

It hit me like a freight train.

I could barely function. I spent those few days in bed, wondering if I'd come down with something.

Eventually, the day came to start the new job. Ten-hour shifts in a plastics factory.

Day 3, I came home crying.

I'd thrown up at work. Got dizzy. Almost passed out.
Every day felt like dragging my body through cement. My whole body hurt. Even my hair seemed painful.

I called in sick for Thursday.

Went back on Monday.

On Tuesday, my manager pulled me aside.

"You're working too slow. Pull yourself together if you want to keep this job."

I blew up.

Told him to shove his shitty job up his arse and walked out mid-shift.

That manager wasn't just one person

He was every person in my life who'd ever told me I was lazy.
Every teacher who said I "wasn't trying hard enough."
Every boss who dismissed me.
Every voice - including my own - that said I was useless, broken, not enough.

(Undiagnosed neurodivergent life be like that.)

That moment wasn't just about the job.
It was the breaking point.

I walked into our room at the guest house we were living in and instantly broke down.

Ugly crying. Full collapse.

The Void looked up from his laptop, saw me standing there five hours early, and his face shifted to concern.

I explained between sobs and nose blows what had happened.

And I waited.

Because of past trauma, I expected him to be angry.
How could you walk out on a job right now? You're being lazy. You're useless.

Instead, he just hugged me.

"Do you want a coffee? We'll work it out."

He nudged me towards the shower. Tucked me up in bed with coffee and snacks. Went to work himself.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

The next three months

Fog.
Minecraft.
Bed.

I didn't really notice time passing. I wasn't eating much unless The Void made me food.

I felt guilty for being lazy - sitting at home while he went to work.

But whenever I said so, he'd just hug me and tell me I needed time to heal.

As I gradually pulled myself back together, we talked about autistic burnout.

He'd been doing "some research" (as undiagnosed ADHD people do) and we both realized:

This wasn't just tiredness.
This wasn't laziness.

I'd carried so much my entire life. Pushed through so many traumatic experiences without a chance to recover or rest.

And when I finally stopped, my body and mind simply shut down.

Once I was though the worst of it (or thought I was) I built myself a little "side hustle" a cleaning business, it gave me income but allowed me plenty of free time, I scheduled my jobs into a set time block so that it was manageable, thinking I was being clever and would avoid burning out again.

Burnout isn't a feeling.
It's a shutdown.

Your body forcing you to stop because you refused to listen.

And it doesn't happen because you're weak or lazy or "not cut out for this."

It happens because you've been strong for too long.

Because you've been told your whole life that rest is earned, not required.
That pushing through is virtue.
That stopping is failure.

Women burn out more than men - not because we're fragile, but because we're carrying loads nobody else can see.

The mental load of remembering everything.
The emotional load of managing everyone else's feelings.
The invisible second shift of care work and household management.
The weight of perception - am I too much, not enough, doing it right, being too visible, not visible enough?

And when we crack?

We're told we're making excuses.

Here's what burnout actually looks like

Not the Instagram version with a face mask and a latte.

Real burnout:

• Your body hurts for no reason

• Even easy tasks feel impossible

• You can't make decisions

• You're exhausted but can't sleep (or you sleep too much and wake up tired)

• You feel nothing or you feel everything

• You've lost interest in things that used to light you up

• You're irritable, snappy, numb

• Your brain feels like it's running through syrup

• You keep getting sick

• You're functioning - but barely

And the kicker?

You feel guilty for all of it.

Because you've been told your whole life that stopping is laziness.

1) Name what you're actually carrying

Write it all down. Not just the visible stuff (work, business, kids), but the invisible load:

• Who are you remembering things for?

• Who are you managing emotionally?

• What are you monitoring or worrying about that nobody else tracks?

• What standards are you holding yourself to that nobody else is?

2) Spot the difference: tired vs burnt out

Tired = rest fixes it
Burnt out = rest doesn't touch it

If you're resting and still feel broken, it's not laziness. It's burnout.

3) Stop comparing yourself to people with invisible support systems

That hustle bro with the "no excuses" energy?

He's got someone else handling his life admin, emotional labour, and probably his laundry.

You're not lazy because you can't match his output while carrying triple the load.

4) Give yourself permission to be "selfish"

(It's not selfish. It's survival.)

One boundary this week:

• I'm not explaining my capacity to anyone

• I'm not taking on new things until I've rested

• I'm not apologizing for needing to stop

• I'm not justifying my pace

• I'm not performing "fine" when I'm not

5) Talk to your body like it's not the enemy

Your body didn't betray you.
It protected you.

It forced you to stop because you wouldn't give yourself permission.

Try this (even if it feels ridiculous):
"Thank you for making me stop. I hear you. I'm listening now."

Next post in the series

The Night I Realised I Needed a Reset.

You're not lazy. You're carrying more than anyone can see. And your body is begging you to put some of it down.