I’m Burned Out. Pay Me for My Effort
From overwork to self-reflection: How I’m reevaluating what I deserve
“I’m just burnt out.”
I feel like I’ve been saying this for over a year now, and nothing has made it better. I thought it was just life stuff exhausting me—leaving a long-term relationship, moving, a ton of travel, and then suddenly falling in love with an old lover, cutting the bullshit, and getting engaged.
But no. My Chief of Staff reminded me last week that I’ve been saying this for about a year—not just the last eight months.
Burnout isn’t just exhaustion or overwhelm. It’s watching your creativity dry up. It’s becoming meaner and more irritable about things you used to brush off. It’s losing sympathy, doubting your competence, and not having a clue where to begin fixing it.
And trust me—I’ve tried everything:
Reaching inbox zero
Changing my availability
Taking Fridays off or adding long weekends
Delegating more
Setting new boundaries
Blocking off “focus time”
Having honest conversations with everyone I work with
None of it has helped.
Have I fallen out of love with my job? Maybe. I feel stuck in the in-between: underpaid, overworked, and unsure if I’m even qualified to ask for more.
There’s another layer that makes all of this harder: I don’t feel like I can talk about my job online—at least, not openly.
Maybe I’m overthinking it. Or maybe I’m just too aware of how searchable, screencappable, and shareable everything on the internet is.
It’s not a secret that I work in publishing. But because I work directly with authors—many of whom live publicly online in some way—I’ve always felt like I couldn’t be fully honest about my experience. Not in the way that invites community or connection, anyway.
So, I’m doing something I haven’t done yet: I’m putting the rest of this essay behind a paywall.
Let me be clear—I’m not airing dirty laundry or tempting scandal. I’m just asking for a little privacy. A reprieve. A safe space to process what this season has been, and maybe find clarity in the process of sharing it.
And for those staying in the free zone: there is nothing wrong, shady, or unprofessional about the publisher I work for, and nothing bad about the authors I support. This is about me—which is why you’re here on my Substack in the first place.
And if you think I’m talking about you in the next section... I’m probably not. But I’ll know if you snooped.
Now, if you’ll excuse me—I’m going to slip into something a little more comfortable. Meet me on the other side.