I Burnt Out in 2017. Here’s What I Didn’t See Coming.

I want to tell you something that took me a long time to say out loud.

In March 2017, I burnt out.

Not dramatically. Not in a way that was obvious to anyone watching from the outside. I didn't collapse. I didn't have a breakdown. I just — stopped being able to function properly. My brain went quiet in a way I hadn't experienced before and haven't experienced since.

And the thing that still surprises me, when I look back, is how little I saw it coming.

What was going on

In the eighteen months before March 2017, I was carrying a significant load.

I'd moved back to the UK after ten years living in Tanzania, but I was still leading the organisation I'd help to build there. That meant multiple trips a year back to East Africa. We'd also opened a new branch of the charity in Australia, which meant a couple of long-haul trips in a short window. And in the middle of all of this, I took part in a fundraising challenge — 500 miles in five days through the Pyrenees.

On paper, I was doing well. I was fit. I was organised. I was functioning at a high level.

That, as it turns out, was part of the problem.

The warning signs I ignored

The signs were there. I just didn't read them correctly.

I stopped having fun. Not dramatically — there was no obvious moment where joy disappeared. It was more that things I'd previously found energising started feeling like obligations. The travel that had once felt purposeful started feeling relentless.

I also started to notice something I can only describe as a low-level fearfulness. Not anxiety in a clinical sense. More like a quiet loss of confidence in things I'd previously taken in my stride. Small decisions felt heavier than they should.

But I was fit, I was organised, and I was committed. So I kept going.

The problem with being a high-functioning person is that you can override warning signs for a very long time. Your capacity to push through is one of your greatest strengths — until it becomes the thing that stops you from stopping.

The moment it landed

I came back from Tanzania at the end of February 2017. I took my usual day off after international travel — that was standard practice for me. I'd done it many times before.

The next day I went back to work.

And my brain wasn't there.

Not tired. Not emotional. Just — absent. No cognitive bandwidth. No energy for thinking. It was as if someone had switched something off. I've spoken to other people who've been through burnout since, and many of them describe something similar. Not a dramatic event. Just a quiet, unsettling absence of capacity.

That was the moment I stopped. Not because I chose to wisely — but because I couldn't do anything else.

What actually shifted things

Recovery was slow. Slower than I expected and slower than I wanted.

What helped most was working with a brilliant coach called Syd. Over several months, he helped me unpick what had happened — not just the circumstances, but the patterns underneath them. The way I was wired to keep going. The identity I'd built around performance and contribution. The absence of genuine recovery built into my life.

I had a lot of time off. I rebuilt things gradually. And over a period that felt closer to a year than a few weeks, I came back to something that felt sustainable.

What I came back to looked different. A different rhythm. A different relationship with capacity and recovery. A clearer sense of what I could carry and what I needed to put down.

Nearly ten years on, those lessons are embedded in how I work and in how I coach others.

Why I'm telling you this

Not for sympathy. And not to suggest my experience is the same as yours.

I'm telling you because the dental professionals I work with — practice owners, practice managers, clinical leaders — are often carrying the same combination that I was. High standards. Strong work ethic. Good organisational skills. Genuine commitment to the people around them.

And an almost complete absence of permission to stop.

If you're reading this and something is resonating — not because you're weak, but because you're tired — then it's worth paying attention to that signal.

You don't have to wait for the moment your brain goes quiet.

There are resources available specifically for dental professionals — including a free wellbeing hub at breathedentalwellness.org built by colleagues I respect, with a quick burnout risk quiz if you want a starting point.

And if you'd like to think through what's going on in your own practice and your own life with someone who's been through it — I'm here.