People imagine burnout as collapse — a sudden crash, a dramatic resignation. In reality, it’s quieter. Burnout is the dimming of light, the slow erosion of enthusiasm. You don’t shatter; you fade.
At first, you still write code. You still attend meetings. But you stop caring. Every bug feels heavier, every task repetitive. You start saying “sure” to everything, not out of agreement, but resignation.
Tech culture glorifies intensity. “Move fast,” “crush deadlines,” “push to prod.” But speed has a cost, and it’s usually human. The industry rewards output, not endurance. And so we break — quietly, professionally, invisibly.
The cure isn’t a vacation. It’s reconnection. Remembering why you started, rediscovering joy in problem-solving instead of endless delivery. Rest helps, yes — but purpose heals.
Burnout isn’t weakness. It’s a signal. The body’s way of saying the soul is out of sync with the schedule. The smartest thing you can do is listen before it goes silent.
Burnout isn’t the end. It’s your mind begging for meaning.
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