Early Detection of Burnout: Stay in the Zone Where Ideas Breathe

Hi there, I'm finally back.

​After a few months of silence, I’m ready to talk about why I disappeared—and what I’ve learned about burnout along the way. This post isn’t just about stress or exhaustion; it’s about the small, quiet signs that show up before things fall apart. The ones we often ignore.

With help from therapy, my brilliant mentor Julia, and some painful trial and error, I’ve started learning how to spot those early warnings—and how to protect the space where creativity, clarity and joy can actually survive.
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If you’ve been feeling a little off lately, maybe this post is for you.

Blogging is one of the things I enjoy most. Not just because someone out there might benefit from my experience, but because writing helps me too. It gives shape to the swirl of thoughts in my head—puts a frame around the chaos. Because sometimes, when you put something into words, it becomes real.

It’s been nearly four months since my last post. Not for lack of trying. I can’t tell you how many times I sat in front of the computer, ready to write, only to find myself empty. Not of ideas—those were screaming inside my head—but of strength. Too tired to let them out. That, my friend, is burnout.

Burnout is that strange space where "I really want to" turns into "but I just can’t." It’s wanting to do everything and feeling paralysed instead. It’s being told you’re doing great but still hearing the voice that says, “You’re not enough.” It’s the ache in your bones when you try to get out of bed. The brain fog that turns simple tasks into steep hills. And life? It doesn’t pause. Responsibilities march on, deadlines loom, inboxes overflow. So we push. We say things like, “I’ll sleep after I finish this analysis,” or “I’ll take a break once this grant is in.”

But here’s something we don’t say enough: there is a point of no return.

And yes, that sounds dramatic. I wish it were. I’ve seen people—bright, passionate, committed people—end up in hospital wards, unable to continue their work. Burnout doesn’t tap gently on your shoulder. It hits hard and fast. And often, you don’t see it coming until you’re already on the floor.

That’s why, while talking to Julia—my brilliant mentor in the Women of Influence programme—this idea emerged: early detection of burnout.

I work in cancer research, and in that world, we know that early detection saves lives. Spotting symptoms early means there’s still time to act. Burnout, it turns out, follows the same rule.

​The Burnout Curve: Not What You Think

Let’s start with the basics. What are the symptoms we all know? Let’s make a list—I love lists:

• Exhaustion
• Negative thoughts
• Can’t get out of bed
• Can’t focus

That’s textbook burnout. If you’re reading this and recognising those signs in yourself, you’re probably already in the thick of it.

But if you’re not there yet--this is the post you need.

​You’ve probably seen the standard curve of productivity vs stress—a nice, smooth bell shape. This is known as the Yerkes–Dodson Law: with too little stress, we’re bored; too much, we crumble; but somewhere in the middle lies the sweet spot, where motivation and output peak.

Great in theory.

But in my experience, that curve doesn’t fall off gently. The climb is gradual, yes—but the drop? It’s sudden and steep. And sometimes, recovery isn’t just hard. It’s not even possible.
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That’s why we need to stay in the healthy zone—and for that, we need regular mental check-ups.

What Early Detection Looks Like

​Unfortunately, all of my grandparents died of cancer. Some close friends, too. Even some of my pets. So I learnt early the importance of screening. You don’t wait until you're in pain—you act ahead of it. You run tests, you slow down enough to listen to your body.

I firmly believe burnout deserves the same.

But it’s tricky. Because, just like cancer, early burnout symptoms are subtle. And mine might not be yours. So here’s where I get personal, hoping it helps you spot patterns in yourself.

If you know me, you know my life runs FAST. It’s packed with research, meetings, mentoring, social time, alone time—all of it. To make it all work, I rely on structure. My weeks are carefully planned: exercise three times a week, two “blank evenings” for nothing at all, two social evenings, and the rest is routine. My days are timed too.
Here’s what an average Monday looks like:

 5:30 am – Wake up
 5:30 – 6 am – Stretching and positive affirmations
 6 – 6:45 am – Breakfast and an online course (English, Leadership, Immunology… you name it)
 6:45 – 7 am – Skincare and face yoga (yes, face yoga)
 7 – 7:30 am – Get ready for work
 7:30 – 8 am – Walk to work
 8 am – 5 pm – Work
 5 – 5:30 pm – Walk home
 5:30 – 6:30 pm – Chill
 6:30 – 8 pm – Spinning class
 8 – 9:30 pm – Shower and dinner
 9:30 pm onward – Read until I fall asleep (eventually)

Intense? Maybe. But it works for me--until it doesn’t.

Why am I oversharing all this? Because burnout doesn’t usually arrive with a bang. It creeps in. And for people like me, the early signs hide in the smallest changes to that carefully structured life, regardless of the intensity.

With Julia’s help, I started mapping those signs using what she calls the Four Areas of Resilience:

Physical: How’s your sleep, diet, exercise? Are you fuelling the body or running on fumes?
Mental: Are you thinking clearly? Do problems feel solvable or impossible?
Emotional: How’s your inner voice? Compassionate or cruel?
Social: Are you connecting with others or withdrawing?

So retrospectively, here’s what early burnout looked like for me:

Skipping exercise. One missed class is fine. But skipping the whole week? Symptom.
Borrowing sleep. Staying up late to work. Telling myself “I’ll just finish this one thing”, then going to bed at 2 am. Again, one day is fine, the whole week? Symptom.
Caffeine spikes. If I need more and more coffee to get through the day? Symptom.
Replacing blank days with work. No more go-with-the-flow time? Symptom.
Mood shift. Negative self-talk creeps in: “I won’t be able to do this”, “Why did I accept this?”, “I’m not exercising enough”, “I don’t look good.” That harsh voice is my first red flag.
Cancelling all social plans. A quiet week is fine. A quiet month? Symptom.

It’s easy to think, “It’s just this week.” But academia rarely slows down next week. If I don’t notice the signs, they compound—fast. So take a moment every week to check how those four areas are.

What You Can Do (and What I Do Now)

Spotting burnout isn’t enough. You need to act. And that action will be different for everyone.

For me, it starts with making priority lists (a blog post on that is coming soon). It also helps to remember what my Fellowship Director once told me:

“Will the sky fall down if I don’t finish this today?”

I know what you’re thinking: “Easy for you to say. But the deadline won’t wait.”

Maybe. But have you ever asked? What if you emailed the editor and asked for a few more days? What if you re-prioritised your well-being?

Slowing down often feels like falling behind. But 99.9% of the time, that fear is louder than the truth—let that figure for tomorrow. I promise you'll finish it better and faster. And the 0.01% when it does cost something? You may want to think, does this deserve your mental health? I can tell you the answer straight away. No. Nothing is worth your mental health.

Because burnout doesn’t just steal your energy—it steals your joy. And in science, we need joy. We need clear minds, curious minds. That’s the zone where new ideas breathe. Where you connect the dots that no one else sees.

That’s the space we need to stay in.

I know this post may feel a bit blurry, and that’s okay. Burnout isn’t a one-size-fits-all story. There’s no universal checklist. But here’s my message:

Learn your signs. Respect your rhythm. Take early warnings seriously.

Again, and I can't repeat this enough, nothing is worth your mental health. Science needs healthy minds.

Your future self will thank you. Your science will thank you. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll never have to climb out of that deep hole again.

Let’s not wait for the crash.
Let’s catch it while it’s still a whisper.

And if you don’t know where to start—get in touch. Let’s share experiences. Let’s figure it out together. I’m still learning too.

We all are.