Introduction

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Benjamin Franklin

Squinting into the bright sunlight as I stepped out of the Dash‐8 aircraft onto the tarmac, a tingle of excitement ran through my body. We were here! A week‐long break stretched out before us in which to relax, refresh and restore on the magical island of Lord Howe, off the New South Wales coast.

It had been a busy year, with work taking me to speak at conferences at a range of different destinations around Australia, New Zealand and beyond. While I love travelling, particularly to places I don’t know, the long hauls especially can be tiring and the jet lag debilitating. It can often be lonely too. After a while all the hotel rooms start to look the same and eating alone, even in a nice restaurant, isn’t much fun, especially when you’re missing your family.

I’d had a number of personal issues to deal with as well. My dad had died at the beginning of the year and Mum, who had been his full‐time carer for five years, went into a steep downward spiral mentally, cognitively and physically, until we thought we were going to lose her too before the year was out.

Taking this time out with just John, my hubby, was important for both of us. We had both been so darn busy with all our ‘stuff’ and needed to rejuvenate our relationship after spending so much time like ships passing in the night. Our plan was to devote this precious break to the activities we’ve always loved in beautiful locations — swimming, snorkelling, walking, climbing and cycling.

Best of all we were in an Internet‐free zone with no mobile coverage, so we were on a digital detox! My smartphone was now relegated to being just a camera. Initially I found I kept picking it up as if to reassure myself it still worked, though all it showed was ‘No service’. Clearly I’m more of an addict than I realised.

Enjoying our technology‐ and media‐free interlude quickly led to a rapid reduction in stress levels. I couldn’t remember feeling so relaxed and happy for years.

I’m sure you can relate.

Have you been hanging out for time off? Are you fed up with feeling chronically tired, sleep deprived, frustrated by your own shortcomings (and those of other people) and more than a tad anxious about what your future might hold?

It’s no secret. Our world of constant and rapid change, new technologies, high expectations, economic uncertainties and geopolitical upheavals has placed a heavy weight on our shoulders and we’re paying a high price for it. When we’re under too much pressure it’s harder to find the patience, kindness and compassion we need to flourish. We treasure the idea of changing course towards being happy and healthy, but our perpetual state of busyness means those good intentions packed their bags and left the building some time ago.

As a medical practitioner and lifestyle medicine physician I’m deeply concerned by the growing levels of chronic disease, poor mental health, unhappiness and loneliness in our society. Why is it that while all our cleverness has allowed us to achieve so much, we appear to be going backwards in terms of self‐care, mental wellbeing and human connection?

The irony for me was that what I do gave me particular insights into just how much I needed that holiday, which is the problem for many of us. Hanging out for that weekend away, short break or scheduled time off reflects our need for more ways to ensure we can refresh and restore in our everyday life, rather than waiting until we’re on the brink of exhaustion. Sustainability is the name of the game we need to play.

I wrote this book not just to share my holiday itinerary (though I’m happy to show you the pics any time), but to provide you with a guide to what you can do to increase your own happiness and wellbeing in order to truly flourish as the best human being you can be.

Think of it as a resource of reminders to help prevent you from getting caught up in the melee of overwork, burnout and poor health, because none of us are immune.

I know this to be true because I chose to wear my superhero cape for a while until, like Icarus, I flew too close to the sun and plummeted back to Earth.

When I found myself stuck in bed, unable to summon the energy to get up, let alone get dressed, it was hard to come to terms with what was happening. Waves of panic, disordered thinking and suicidal ideation blinded me to the understanding that I was simply burnt out.

The more I tried to be ‘normal’, the worse I felt. The more I sought to keep everything on track, the more I failed.

I didn’t want to believe the reality, because hey, I was invincible. I was a superhero. Having strived hard, I had created and ran a successful group medical practice. I had two beautiful children and a loving husband who was a rock of support and unconditional love. I had it all.

The irony of falling foul of burnout despite ‘knowing’ how to stay happy and healthy was not lost on me. It compounded my sense of ignominy and shame. Call yourself a doctor? Didn’t they give you the manual at medical school on how to look after yourself?

No one chooses burnout, and it doesn’t happen overnight.

For months I had ignored the tell‐tale signs that I had been pushing too hard for too long. Yes, I was tired, but what did I expect? I was working full time, and the responsibilities of being a business owner meant it wasn’t finished when the last patient of the day had gone and the door to the surgery closed. I had no training in the administrative demands of running a business so I had to learn as I went along, and this consumed a good deal of my down time after hours and on weekends.

Managing my staff meant I was at once a diplomat, a counsellor and a peacemaker, while at the same time inspiring the highest standard of service to match my own perfectionist tendencies. When an associate called in sick or took leave, I filled the gap.

Taking time off was tricky, and I found I was still thinking about work when away from the office. Work lost its sparkle. Having put so much of myself into creating the practice of my dreams, I now dreaded the drive to the surgery. I found it harder to be as interested in my patients and felt like a fraud.

When did I stop caring?

With little appetite for my work or food, I lost nine kilos in weight. Patients were quietly asking the receptionist, ‘Is Dr Jenny all right?’ Or even ‘Is it cancer?’

Compounding my distress was the worst business decision I ever made. I took on a business partner who even before the ink had dried on the contract I knew to be completely incompatible with my values and beliefs around how a successful medical practice should run.

When the waves of panic started to surge, I disassociated from them. Hmm, so this is what a panic attack feels like? No worries, I know they won’t kill me.

The suicidal ideation was more concerning. I started to have recurrent thoughts around the idea that my kids would be better off without me, that my husband would find greater happiness with someone not as screwed up as his current wife, and I wondered what it would be like to run my car off the road into a tree.

Distressed by these thoughts yet unwilling to admit I needed help, I kept my pain to myself.

Having looked after some of my patients who were victims of disordered thinking, I could relate to how they came to feel such a lack of self‐worth.

Fortunately, something unexpected happened before my depression took too firm a hold. The smack on the head I needed to get help occurred during an appointment with a therapist, while seeking treatment for the chronic neck and shoulder pain I’d been experiencing.

I passed out.

After coming round, I gathered my thoughts and took myself home thinking, it’s a long weekend, I’ll be fine for Tuesday, I just need some rest.

That rest turned into what I came to call my Gap Year.

Recovery from burnout is slow. Fortunately, I had help from a wonderful and highly compassionate psychologist who wasn’t afraid to ask the challenging questions. His ‘And how did you contribute to the situation?’ knocked me out of victimhood. My choices to put everything and everyone else before my own needs and self‐care had indeed contributed to my eventual burnout.

Over the months my husband and beautiful friends continued to support my recovery.

As a doctor, perfectionist and people pleaser I felt I had let everyone down, including myself. I felt stupid. Learning self‐acceptance and self‐compassion was hard and remains a work in progress today.

My story of burnout, anxiety and depression is hardly unique, but shame kept me from talking openly about it. For a long time I chose not to share what had happened out of fear of being judged, of being seen as weak, incompetent, a failure.

I buried it deep.

But life has moved on and I now find myself in a new role as a workplace consultant and keynote speaker specialising in brain health, mental wellbeing and mental performance. Ever...