Flirting With Burnout & What Comes Next

A few weeks ago I explained how I’ve been doing a lot of different things on the back end, building three websites, creating digital products, writing my own mini book (which you will get the first section soon), and much more. Well, that came back to bite me on the behind last week. Seriously, for three days it was like my mind went blind to what I needed to do.

You see, every Sunday I sit down and go over what I did the week before and what I want to do in the upcoming week. I usually have around 12 to 15 things I want to accomplish each week, which isn’t as taxing as it sounds. It rounds up to three or four things a day. Some I finish quickly, others might take a couple of days.

But here’s the thing. I’ve been working non-stop since around March, every day, nine hours a day, weekends included. My body hit a wall I didn’t see coming. I hadn’t felt stressed or even like I was approaching burnout. I’ve been enjoying what I’ve been doing. It felt rewarding. The thing is, creatives and people with ADHD seem to hit burnout sooner than others. I’ve mentioned before my ADHD, and how at times it feels like a squirrel running around in my head, and other times it feels like nothing can stop me once I’m locked onto something. Well, it all crashed last week into a spectacular fog of burnout dressed in the fanciest laziness-fueled exhaustion.

And there’s actually some science behind that. Studies show that people in creative fields tend to experience burnout differently, not because their jobs are harder, but because their minds never really clock out. Creativity lives in the same part of the brain that handles problem-solving and emotional regulation (consequently, the same part of the brain that people with ADHD have under developed), which means when we’re constantly “on,” even if we’re loving it, the brain doesn’t get a chance to rest.

One 2022 study found that people dealing with burnout showed weaker creative thinking and focus compared to those who weren’t burned out. It wasn’t about talent or motivation, it was about mental energy. The brain’s resources for imagination, decision-making, and memory share the same limited pool. When that pool runs dry, your ideas don’t just slow down, they vanish.

What makes it tricky for creatives is passion. We tie our work to our identity. We tell ourselves that this next project, this next post, this next design will finally get us “there,” wherever “there” is. That kind of motivation feels good, almost addictive. But it’s also the same drive that can quietly exhaust us. Psychologists call it obsessive passion, when love for your work turns into something you can’t step away from without guilt. That’s where burnout hides, in the joy that tricks you into thinking you’re fine.

You know what doesn’t help? Having ADHD. That kind of brain doesn’t like moderation. When something feels exciting, it lights up every circuit I’ve got, and I chase it with everything in me. Hyperfocus feels like a gift until it isn’t. The ADHD brain runs on dopamine, so when we find something that gives us that hit—building, creating, planning—we pour every ounce of energy into it. But the brain can’t sustain that level of intensity forever. Eventually, the fuel runs out, and the crash that follows isn’t emotional, it’s chemical, and not fun at all.

That’s part of why I didn’t see it coming. I wasn’t anxious or overwhelmed; I was just out of dopamine. Out of focus. Out of spark. My brain had spent months sprinting and then decided it was done for a while.

In my case, it wasn’t the hours that got me, it was the lack of space between them. My mind didn’t stop when I closed my laptop. I’d go to bed thinking about what needed fixing or what I could build next. My brain was constantly sprinting, even when I thought I was resting. The truth is, burnout doesn’t always roar in. Sometimes it just flickers, a slow dimming of focus and energy until suddenly, there’s nothing left to give.

That’s the thing about creative burnout, it doesn’t look like collapse. It looks like fog. It feels like you’re trying to reach for thoughts that keep slipping just out of reach. You don’t feel broken, just blank. And when your mind has always been the place where your ideas live, that blankness feels terrifying.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that burnout isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s data. It’s your body saying, “enough.” It’s proof that even purpose-driven work takes something from you. And that’s not failure, it’s biology. The brain needs downtime to reconnect the dots, to rebuild neurotransmitters, to restock the well that creativity drinks from.

So last week, I did something radical for me. I stopped. I didn’t write. I didn’t plan. I didn’t design. I just sat in silence and let the nothingness exist. It wasn’t easy; stillness never is for people who live in motion. But little by little, I felt my focus returning. Ideas started whispering again instead of hiding. My energy didn’t rush back, it trickled. But trickles fill wells over time.

Here’s where the life coach in me wants to tap your shoulder for a moment, because the signs I ignored are the same ones many creatives ignore. Burnout doesn’t arrive with a warning banner. It shows up as small changes you can explain away. Things like slower thinking, a shorter fuse, a task that usually takes twenty minutes suddenly taking two hours. Losing your words mid sentence. Feeling tired in a way that sleep doesn’t fix. These are quiet signals that your brain is dipping below the line.

A simple mental check in can help you catch the dimming before it turns into full fog. Ask yourself three things. When was the last time I felt mentally clear. Am I creating because I want to or because I’m afraid to stop. And do I feel rested or do I feel emptied out. None of these questions are about productivity. They’re about awareness. They tell you whether you’re operating on fuel or fumes.

And if the answers point toward burnout, there are small steps that help more than people think. Short intentional pauses during the day. A real stopping point at night. One task at a time instead of three. A day where nothing moves forward on purpose. These aren’t luxuries, they’re maintenance. The brain recovers in the space we give it, not in the pushes we keep adding.

If you’ve been in that same headspace, working nonstop because you love what you do, convinced you’re fine because it feels good, let me tell you what I wish I’d realized sooner. Joy and rest are not opposites. They coexist. If you don’t give your brain time to wander, it will eventually force you to. You can’t build an empire on empty batteries, no matter how much you love the work.

Burnout doesn’t feel like fire. It feels like a dimmer switch. One day the light’s just softer. And the smartest, kindest thing you can do for yourself is notice that dimming early, because your creative spark isn’t gone, it’s just asking for darkness to recover its glow.

When was the last time you gave yourself permission to stop. Not to quit, not to fall behind, but to rest. Maybe it’s time to look at your own calendar and make space for stillness before it becomes a necessity. Because the best ideas don’t come from pushing harder. They come from breathing deeper.