Chapter One

1. Workaholics Anonymous

I have a theory that burnout is about resentment. And you beat it by knowing what it is you’re giving up that makes you resentful.

—Marissa Mayer

Health is not just about what you are eating. It’s also about what you’re thinking and saying.

—Penny Phang

I’ve always been driven to succeed. For a long time, my high-performance personality seemed to be one of my biggest strengths. Most who worked with me saw me as ambitious and very hard working. After I finished my undergrad and master’s degrees, I started my career in engineering with one of the major American automotive companies—my dream job.

After a few years, I wanted to take on a bigger challenge, so they sent me into manufacturing. When that wasn’t enough, I left that position for a boutique management consulting firm. Within a few weeks on the job, they promoted me into my first leadership role. Now I had people reporting to me, I was living in a swanky condo in downtown Toronto, and I was driving a red Mercedes. I had created the life of my dreams. My life was all about the big job, big city, fancy car, cocktails with friends, business travel all over North America, and the freedom to take luxury vacations.

So why, then—even on my “good” days—did I not feel happy?

For years, I was highly motivated to keep climbing the ladder, and I liked that about myself. I enjoyed working hard, and I always believed that with hard work I could make anything happen. I hadn’t gotten here by mistake; I had envisioned the life I wanted and made it happen. But still, I didn’t feel happy.

Too Busy to Look Back

This wasn’t the first time I’d been an overachiever without really knowing if I was happy. Looking back, I’ve always been a multitasker. In high school, I participated in theater, sports, and music while running my own manicuring business and taking advanced math and science classes. It was the same in college. I was the first female project manager for the Formula Society for Automotive Engineers team, building a race car to compete against other schools from around the world. Oh, and did I mention part-time tutoring, a busy social life, and a boyfriend? I was constantly juggling extracurriculars, finishing a big project, or setting a new goal.

When I was studying for my master’s degree, my grandmother was spending her last days in the hospital. To ensure I didn’t cut my workday short, I would head in before 7:00 a.m. to make up for the lunch hours I’d spend with her, then come home late to study for my courses even later into the night. I was a master at staying on the fast-moving treadmill, although it came with occasional consequences. I remember one time waking up to an excruciating toothache, which turned out to be a molar that I’d cracked while grinding my teeth in my sleep after studying until three in the morning for an exam.

I thought that better scheduling would make it all work. We only have twenty-four hours in a day, and I wanted to make the most of every single one of them. So instead of feeling motivated by my to-do list, I would dwell on a mental “didn’t get it done” list. From the second I left the office, I felt guilty about the dozens of things left on my plate. If I didn’t get every single thing done, I’d spend time beating myself up for not being disciplined enough. Once, I remember telling my boss, “I have seventy-four things on my to-do list this week,” and I wasn’t exaggerating. It was impossible, but I thought that if I could just be better, I could get all those things done. Looking back, it’s amazing how much mental busyness we can create for ourselves.

In addition to my busyness, I struggled to get clarity on decisions. I was always trying to analyze my relationships, wondering “should I stay, or should I go?” None of my decisions could just be—they had to be carefully and perpetually analyzed. It was a mindset of constant mental strain, debating whether that relationship was right, or this comment meant something more or how this other thing was frustrating. The smallest things, if we stew on them long enough, become a huge burden that we can’t even lift anymore, let alone get rid of it. I carried so much baggage from my past and expectations for my future that it felt like trying to live in the past and the future at the same time. I wouldn’t let anything go. My inner critic was loud and had silenced my inner champion.

Too Busy to Breathe

So back to feeling unhappy. Through hard work in consulting, I’d just been voted manager of the year and awarded another promotion with a larger team and more responsibility—my first recognizable award for leadership, and a clear career high. Ironically, the night of our company event and the same night that I won that award, my long-term relationship crumbled before my eyes. Within a few days, I was in the middle of an unexpected and painful breakup, while my expectations at work were greater than ever. I started traveling every week, using planes, trains, and automobiles to get from task to task and team to team. Sunday nights were filled with dread. Monday morning, I’d wake at 4:00 a.m. to be packed and on a 6:00 a.m. flight to Newark, New Jersey, and make it home late on Thursday after hours of travel delays. On Fridays and through the weekend, I would lead a local project team in Toronto and get caught up on everything that didn’t get finished through the week. I opened up my laptop in the morning and usually didn’t close it until late into the evening. Each time a new task came across my plate, I’d take it on, and the creep of depression was edging in.

I lost interest in the things that normally made me feel alive. My sense of humor, my love for people, my creativity—it all started to fade away. I’m naturally extroverted and love people, but eventually I lost my passion for all the things I once knew. I knew I was depressed, so one weekend, in an effort to fire myself up again, I decided to go to a Tony Robbins event. As someone who has a love for inspirational speakers and the energy of big events, I figured it would be just the ticket. Within an hour after the event started, Tony Robbins asked us to turn to the person next to us and start a conversation. For some reason, this simple task felt like it was too much. I didn’t want to talk to people—I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t have the energy to deal with that kind of thing, and I got up and walked out.

I had ambitions for life outside of work, too, but by the end of the day, I didn’t feel like doing anything. I stopped exercising. I didn’t feel like reading my inspirational books. I didn’t feel like doing anything at all. There were so many commitments I couldn’t manage to keep—calling my mom or my best friend, taking care of myself—but all I could do was sleep until it was time to get up and do it all over again.

Oh, and the inner critic was so loud! In my mind, I would constantly harp on all the ways I was weak, a failure, and simply not good enough. I felt like a complete and total fake—like someone was going to find out that this outward success had been awarded to the wrong person. I kept thinking over and over again about how I was completely failing at my job, failing at relationships, and failing at life. I never shared these thoughts—I kept it all to myself, like a dirty little secret.

No one in my company could know that I wasn’t holding it together, especially after I’d been promoted and had people looking up to me and reporting to me. This was my dream life—exactly what I’d wanted and built. The last thing I could show was vulnerability. I was sure that they would find out that I wasn’t smart enough or good enough to be in that position. They’d see the weaknesses I constantly told myself that I had and would stop listening to me. That’s what I told myself, anyway. But eventually, the inward stress appeared in outward forms.

I started to have strange physical symptoms that I was not well. In the rare moments when I did have a chance to catch my breath, I found that I physically couldn’t do it. In meetings, on the plane, at home—no matter what I was doing, I couldn’t seem to get a full, deep breath of air. It felt like someone had placed a stack of books on my chest. It seemed to get worse at times, where I’d just keep reaching for a deep breath. After my morning flight on Monday, I’d check into my hotel room early and just lie on the bed for a few minutes, trying to catch a breath before heading to my client’s office for my meetings for the day.

When that feeling would grow the strongest, I’d focus on my lungs and pull in as much air as I could, only to still feel like I couldn’t get enough air, or enough release. Outwardly, this sounded like a deep, audible sigh. Over and over again, I’d heave these deep breaths into sighs, to the point where people would assume I was simply irritated or impatient with them. It wasn’t uncommon for people I worked with to suddenly backpedal on a point they were making or ask me why I disagreed with them—meanwhile, I realized that I had taken a big, huge sigh and they assumed my body...