What Burnout Changes
Sometimes it reshapes what is possible
When burnout doesn’t let you come back
“Burnout is when chronic stress has built up to a breaking point. By the time this is obvious, it is often too late. Many are unable to ever go back to the levels of stress they managed for years.”
If anything, I felt sad when I read this from Dr Helen Kelly. Because it’s true.
She reminds us that educator burnout does not arrive suddenly. It is the result of thousands of micro-tears that, over time, become a gaping wound.
It’s something we don’t say often enough.
I was one of those educators, and while I am still working in education, I know I cannot return in the same way.
Changing what’s possible
For 18 years, I worked passionately, deeply committed to my students, colleagues and the profession.
Even when the cracks began to show, I kept going, like many educators do. “This year will be different,” I told myself.
Burnout doesn’t negotiate. It doesn’t tap you gently on the shoulder. It overwhelms your capacity to keep going in the same way.
What’s hardest to explain is that it changes what feels possible afterwards.
I can step into short, defined periods of teaching and love it. But returning to a long-term teaching role is no longer an option, and it’s not because I don’t care, or because I’ve lost my passion.
That won’t be everyone’s story. Many educators continue to show up each day with extraordinary commitment and care, and I hold deep respect for that. But there are experiences in this profession that are difficult to name, and even harder to navigate once you’ve reached that point.
Beyond individual solutions
For years, I tried to understand how to stay well within the system. I found yoga helps. Boundaries help. Perspective helps. Self-awareness matters. So does finding your people and working in strong, collaborative teams.
“Stay in your lane. Be the light. Control the controllables,” I told myself.
But individual strategies alone cannot offset a system placing sustained, unsustainable pressure on the people within it.
“Burnout is not an individual failure. It is a workplace condition.” Ruth Poulsen’s words were like a light bulb, and if I’m honest supported me to not throw self criticism and shame at myself for ‘not being able to cope’.
It lives in workloads that cannot reasonably be met, curriculum demands that leave little room to breathe, cultures shaped by compliance rather than trust, increasingly complex classrooms without adequate support, leadership stretched across competing demands, lack of alignment and shared direction and the emotional weight of supporting young people and families in an increasingly complex world.
The Part We Don’t Say
Over time, something shifts. For me, exhaustion became normal, detachment crept in and cynicism had replaced optimism long ago.
I realised early that working harder is not the answer. The gap between how I wanted to show up and how I was able to show up kept widening as did the misalignment between my values for education and the environment I was working within.
Some leave. Some stay. Some, like me, find they cannot return in the way they once were.
That is the part I find hardest, and it’s not because I don’t still love teaching, but because I do. Deeply. Yet, love alone is not enough to sustain people in a system that is not designed to sustain them.
What This Asks of Us
If we are serious about wellbeing in schools, we have to move beyond reactive responses and be willing to have uncomfortable conversations.
Conversations alone are not the solution. But ignoring how people are really experiencing the work has consequences for educators and for the young people they support.
That is the bottom line.
This is not only about supporting individuals at breaking point. It is about asking harder questions: what are the conditions we are asking educators to work within and are those conditions sustainable, not just for a term, but for a career?
The cost of getting this wrong is not just burnout. It is the quiet loss of great educators. People who still have so much to give, but know they cannot continue under current conditions. I’m grateful I have a lot of things on the go - teaching, organising educator wellbeing offerings and releasing the last episodes of my podcast, Right Now: What would education look like if we actually meant it?
Throughout it all, I keep coming back to this: it is a collective responsibility to raise the bar of education. That’s what I’m sitting with right now.
#educatorwellbeing #teacherburnout #futureofeducation #sustainableeducation
Note
I took six months away from the classroom at the start of 2025 due to burnout, and then returned to teaching for the second half of the year.
I am still teaching, and I’ve been fortunate to return to a role that feels more sustainable and enjoyable again. I’m here to have conversations that aren’t polarised, pointing fingers or laying blame. With compassion and care, we can make change.
References
Dr Helen Kelly (April 2026)
https://www.linkedin.com/feed/update/urn:li:activity:7451145046902509568/
Lael Stone, “The children are reflecting back to us that it’s not working”. 8 April, Right Now Podcast.
Right Now Podcast - available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify and YouTube.
Ruth Poulsen, “Teacher burnout is not a teacher problem, it’s a systems problem”. 20 April, Substack.



"Love alone is not enough to sustain people in a system not designed to sustain them." That's the diagnosis. The harder question is why we keep treating the resulting burnout as a wellness problem instead of a design problem.
The system is producing exactly what it was built to produce.
That's not a crisis. That's a signal.
As a person with deep passion and impulse control issues (thanks ADHD!!) I have had to train myself to say "No." I want to do it all, and in moments of excitement, I often take on too much. After burning myself countless times, I have finally learned to take a beat. To respond with, "Let me think about that," instead of an immediate agreement. The shift has helped tremendously. I don't have to do it all. In fact, I cannot.