I ended up in the hospital. And I still didn't get it.
I had taken a lateral move into a new position when what I really wanted was a promotion. So my mindset going in was already one of needing to prove myself. When I was given an impossible task with little learning or guidance, I ground myself into the ground. My sleep suffered. My stress levels climbed. And ultimately, my health broke.
I wish I could tell you I had an epiphany in that hospital bed. I didn't.
It wasn't until years later, in a completely different role, that I looked back and finally recognized what had actually happened. What I saw was burnout, clear as day in retrospect. And I could see exactly where I'd had opportunities to widen my perspective, about my contributions, about my future in that organization, that I never took.
At the time, I couldn't see any of it. I was too busy stewing.
For many years in my career I felt stuck, exhausted, and frustrated. And I stayed frustrated, without identifying a single action I could take to move beyond my circumstances. I was still performing at a very high level. Still getting exceeds expectations on my reviews.
But behind the scenes I felt immense disappointment watching coworkers get promoted into leadership positions, pulled into important conversations, while I sat on the sidelines.
The story I told myself was simple: just work harder. Be excellent in every way. Someday they will recognize how invaluable you are. They will see your value.
What I never did was stop and ask how I was actually being perceived. What behaviors was I demonstrating? How did they align to the culture of that company?
I knew I was different from the people getting promoted. I was an analytical, quiet performer. I believed my performance would compensate for my silence. For my distance from the human side of organizational dynamics. In retrospect it was a confidence challenge, though at the time I would have told you I was fully confident. I could deliver to a large audience without flinching. But in a meeting room, I was often silent. I had a belief somewhere deep down that I needed to be perfect to be a valued contributor.
What I didn't understand was how much energy that silence was costing me.
I wasn't only pushing myself to complete tasks. I was doing it while stewing on the inside about being overlooked and undervalued. That internal noise was depleting in a way I hadn't named or measured. Much of what ended me up in the hospital was my own stress about the stories I was telling myself.
That's what I mean when I talk about emotional energy.
It's not the big dramatic moments that drain you. It's the low-grade, ongoing cost of carrying a story that's keeping you stuck. The frustration you don't express. The silence in meetings. The belief that if you just work hard enough, someone will eventually notice.
That ambient noise doesn't show up on a performance review. But it shows up in your body. And eventually it shows up everywhere.
A year after the hospitalization I found myself in another lateral role, this time due to an organizational restructure, with stress levels even higher. It was at that point I made a decision: it was the organization or me, and I chose me.
I started reaching out to people. Volunteering for projects that put me into spaces I'd never been before. Those things didn't get me a promotion. They didn't change the challenges in my new role. But they widened my perspective of what positive working relationships could look like and what kind of contributions I wanted to make in my future. And that built something I hadn't expected: confidence.
That small act of volunteering began a transformation in how I understood my own power within the workplace.
I think about that now when I work with clients who feel tapped out. I hear their stories and my first reaction is genuine recognition, not because I've read about it or studied it, but because I'm still fully employed in corporate America. I experience and witness its demands every day.
The challenges my clients bring are real. Reduced headcount. Difficult managers. Organizational uncertainty. And on top of that, everything happening outside work. Caretaking responsibilities. The economy. The external noise that everyone is carrying into the building whether they want to or not.
What I've found, though, is a kind of beautiful paradox. Even inside what feels like insurmountable circumstances, there is almost always an opportunity to widen the perspective. To identify what can be shifted, added, or removed. The possibilities are usually closer than people assume. It was a limiting belief that I was boxed in that kept me stuck for so long, not the actual reality of my circumstances.
When someone reads about energy management I want them to walk away feeling lighter.
Not fixed. Not overwhelmed by a new framework. Just lighter. Like they've remembered something they forgot was possible. Like their options are slightly larger than they were five minutes ago.
That's the goal. A small shift in perspective. A little less weight. Some hope about what could come next.
If that's where you are right now, working hard, performing well, and running on empty in ways that sleep doesn't fix, I'd love to talk.
I built an interactive resource on exactly this, walking through the four types of energy, what drains each one, and what intentional management actually looks like in practice. You can explore it here: https://www.changeinsightllc.com/resources/personal-energy-management-strategies
And if you want to have a real conversation about where you are and what might actually help, you can grab 20 minutes here: https://calendly.com/shillie/coaching-discovery-call
