Sometimes Burnout Is Inevitable—But We Can Prepare for It

We talk a lot about burnout and the importance of avoiding it. But what about the times when burnout is already on the horizon, and no amount of scheduling or boundaries can fully protect us? Can we prepare for it, soften the landing, and find a way to move through it with less harm?

This is where I wrestle with the statement: Sometimes burnout is inevitable—but we can prepare for it.

Is it true?

In my experience, yes. Certain seasons of life bring exhaustion no matter what you do. For me, it was 2024—my father was hospitalized for most of the year, my family and I were riding an emotional roller coaster, and I was still in the thick of my PhD coursework. I couldn’t take a break. I’ve never taken one during school, not for funerals, not for trauma, not even while caring for my first child. That spring semester was a haze. I can’t tell you what I learned academically, but I can tell you I learned that burnout sometimes happens despite our best intentions.

Is it subjective?

Of course. Burnout doesn’t land the same way for everyone. For some, resources and privilege make it easier to shield themselves. For others—like caregivers, parents, and people balancing school, work, and survival—burnout feels unavoidable. My experience of grief, parenting, and study all colliding in one semester may not be yours, but the truth is that life eventually pushes all of us to our edges.

Does this mindset reinforce hustle culture?

This is where I pause. Hustle culture thrives on normalizing burnout as the price of success: keep pushing, keep grinding, because exhaustion is inevitable. That is not what I mean. I am not celebrating burnout or calling it a badge of honor. I am acknowledging that sometimes life hands us more than we can reasonably carry, and even with foresight, we will feel the depletion.

A picture of my kiddos 🪬—my eldest, turning 3, and my youngest, just a few weeks old. Looking back on this moment, I remember feeling so exhausted, yet there was such a deep sense of peace in my home.

But foresight matters. A year later, in 2025, I knew I was going to give birth to my second son right in the middle of a semester. I couldn’t avoid the exhaustion that comes with newborn care. In the wake of a huge transition like giving birth, I completed assignments as early as possible to create a cushion before spring break, arranged for my family to come for two weeks to help me integrate, and prepped meals ahead of time so I didn’t have to think about my basic needs.

In the aftermath, I took on a 200-hour yoga certification because it would hold me accountable and give me structure amidst the chaos of newborn care, helping my toddler transition and school. I also started a garden, which intentionally required me to spend time in nature. Every decision was designed to create space for myself and prevent burnout as much as possible.

My beautiful garden- my safe space.

From Personal Reflection to Shared Practice

Sometimes burnout is inevitable. I’ve learned this in seasons of grief, in motherhood, in study, and in life. But I’ve also learned that foresight and preparation can shift how we experience it—not by glorifying exhaustion, but by creating softer places to land when it comes.

This isn’t just an individual practice. It’s also communal. Preparing for burnout asks us to think about how we build spaces of support, both for ourselves and for others. What does it mean to have contingency plans not just personally, but in our families, classrooms, workplaces, and communities? How might we create collective soft landings—places where care is already woven in, ready for when life inevitably presses against our limits?

That’s where the Safe Space Backpack comes in. It’s a starting point, a practice of curating what grounds you, what connects you, what restores you. It begins with one backpack, one container, one intentional gathering of support. And from there, it becomes a way of thinking about how we prepare—not only for ourselves, but with and for each other.

If you’d like to create your own “contingency plan” for life—a toolkit of practices, people, and spaces that help you land softly—try out the attached Safe Space Worksheet.

May we be well!

Until next time,

Drew