I was confident, capable and completely fell apart. Here's what burnout actually looked like — and what came next.
I want to start by saying this isn't a woe-is-me story. I'm fine. More than fine, actually. But I do think burnout is one of those things that sounds like a buzzword until it happens to you — and then it's the most disorienting, frightening and frankly bewildering experience of your life. So I'm going to tell you what it actually felt like. Because I wish someone had told me.
I was 33. I'd just become the first hire to head up a new department at work — which sounds exciting, and it was, but it also meant there was no team, no infrastructure and no playbook. Just me, back to back meetings, hundreds of emails a day and an overwhelming need to prove I could handle it. I said yes to everything. I set up everything. I was the first in and rarely the first out.
What I was not doing: eating properly. Exercising. Switching off. I'd go long stretches forgetting to eat entirely — not intentionally, just genuinely absorbed — and get home too wired and too tired to make a proper dinner. I stopped moving my body. I was entirely in my head and completely disconnected from everything else.
I didn't notice any of this at the time. That's probably the most important thing to know about burnout. You don't see it coming.
The Starbucks I couldn't walk to
I'd just had a lovely long weekend in the countryside with my family. It was a sunny Monday. I had the rest of the day off. I was changing trains on the way back to London when I spotted a Starbucks across the station and thought I'd get a drink.
I couldn't get up from the waiting room chair.
Not because I was tired. Because I was genuinely afraid that if I stood up, I might faint. My heart was racing. I kept searching my brain — what is wrong? Why do I feel panicky? I'd just had a wonderful few days. The sun was out. There was nothing to worry about. I just didn't recognise how I felt.
I got home and thought it would pass. I had a bath — that would fix it. It didn't. I put on familiar, comforting TV. Podcasts. Temporary distraction, then the adrenaline would creep back. The feeling didn't stop. I quit caffeine on the spot, had a herbal tea, went to bed early and told myself I'd feel better in the morning. Maybe it was hormones.
I slept terribly. I woke up feeling exactly the same. I called the doctor at 8am.
It's chemical, not character
When I finally got through and explained how I was feeling, I burst into tears on the phone to the receptionist. A doctor called me back and walked through it all — was I stressed? Did I have a demanding job? Was I eating? How many hours a day on a screen? Was I exercising?
She was calm and kind and then she said: you have burnout.
I didn't know what that was. I told her I was a confident person and couldn't understand the anxiety. She said something I think about often: it has nothing to do with personality. Your nervous system is in overdrive. It's chemical, not character — intense stress and cortisol, and your body needs to recover. Understanding what cortisol actually does to your body is worth reading about.
I naively thought: right, a couple of days and I'll be fine.
I had bloods done and was prescribed Sertraline. I called in sick, spoke to my sister — a clinical psychologist and an absolute saint — and told myself I'd be back in tomorrow.
I wasn't back in tomorrow.
The tube, the panic attack and the lift I couldn't get into
The next morning I got on the tube — after over ten years of living in London, a journey I'd done hundreds of times — and I couldn't do it. Rising panic. Shortness of breath. A genuine fear of fainting. I got off and walked the remaining 40 minutes to the office. I lasted an hour before I went home. I couldn't face the tube so I got an Uber and had a panic attack in the back seat. My sister talked to me the whole way.
When I got home I didn't leave the house. My anxiety had become debilitating — which I now understand was the medication, which makes things worse before they get better, which is a particularly brutal thing to experience when you don't know that's what's happening. I couldn't get in the lift in my building. I was terrified that if I went anywhere I'd faint.
My mum came to London to get me and take me home to Norwich. There was no way I could have got there on my own.
I was signed off work and spent three weeks largely in bed. Completely exhausted and completely terrified that I was broken and would never be able to return to my flat or my life. I did every meditation app. I did every Google search about how to stop anxiety. I had all the herbal teas. I was a shell I didn't recognise. It took over two months before I returned to London.
I couldn't even watch The Traitors because it made my anxiety worse. I mean. That felt like a new low.
I stayed safe with nature documentaries. Heal on Prime — genuinely incredible, watch it. And then Fantastic Fungi.
The documentary that changed everything
I couldn't believe what I was watching. The science. The history. The beauty. The sheer worldly intelligence of something most of us only think about in a bad risotto.
The more I researched, the more fascinated I became. I started looking at the evidence around functional mushrooms — Lion's Mane for cognitive function, Chaga for immune support, Cordyceps for energy — and became increasingly frustrated that every product I found was either overcomplicated, overpriced, or full of ingredients I didn't want. Mushroom coffees with added caffeine. Gummies with sugar. Blends so under-dosed they were functionally useless.
I wanted something simple. One ingredient I could add to whatever I was already drinking. No new routine. No weird flavours. No caffeine. Just the good stuff, at a dose that actually made sense.
It didn't exist. So I decided to make it.
The mycology diploma and three years of testing
I completed a mycology diploma. I spoke to industry experts. I worked with an award-winning UK supplier and spent three years testing, adjusting and refining the formula until it was something I genuinely wanted to take every single morning — something I could add to my coffee, matcha, smoothie or yoghurt bowl without thinking about it. Something that worked.
MOTHERFUNGI® was born. And I'd never been more certain about anything.
Burnout is more common than anyone talks about
When I was in those weeks in Norwich, I felt uniquely broken. Like something had gone wrong in me specifically. I was embarrassed, confused and convinced I was the only person who had somehow collapsed under the pressure of a job I'd chosen and wanted.
I wasn't. Burnout and work-related stress are among the most common reasons people visit their GP in the UK. I'm not going to throw a specific statistic at you because I want you to look it up yourself and see it in context — but I will say it's disturbingly, eye-openingly common. The Health and Safety Executive publishes annual data on work-related stress, depression and anxiety in the UK if you want to read further.
It has nothing to do with how capable you are. It has nothing to do with your personality. Your nervous system isn't a moral failing. It's a system that can be pushed past its limits — and when it is, it will tell you.
Mine told me at a train station, in front of a Starbucks I couldn't walk to.
I'm glad it did.
Georgie x