I Built a Career Teaching Self-Care But I'm Burning Out

From the Embers & Ashes advice column: Wisdom for the Quietly Disillusioned

How do you set boundaries when your entire worth feels tied to how completely you can disappear into service? What happens when the work of caring becomes a hungry beast that needs constant feeding, and you're the only food source?

Dear Chandra,

For the past decade, I've built a thriving therapy practice centered on helping people heal from burnout and establish healthy boundaries. My clients tell me I've changed their lives. My calendar is booked months in advance. I've even been invited to speak at conferences about sustainable caregiving.

But I'm writing to you from a hotel room where I've been sobbing between client calls. The absurdity of me being a burnt-out burnout coach would be funny if it weren't so painful. I'm completely depleted. I haven't taken a real day off in months, and it makes me feel like a total hypocrite when I hear myself saying things to clients that I'm incapable of applying in my own life.

I know what to do in theory: set boundaries, practice self-care, ask for help. But it's like my self-preservation instinct is broken. I keep pushing until I collapse, recover just enough to function, then do it all over again. I'm afraid to let anyone see this side of me. What kind of burnout therapist burns out?

My practice has become this hungry beast that needs constant feeding, and I'm the only food source. I don't know how to stop without letting everyone down. But I also don't know how to continue without losing myself completely.

How do I break this cycle when taking care of others has become my entire identity?

— Healer, Heal Thyself

Dear Healer, Heal Thyself,

I want to speak first to the woman sobbing in the hotel room, not to the therapist between client calls...

Not the carefully constructed professional who knows all the right words about boundaries and self-care, or the expert who can map another's healing journey with clarity and compassion. Just you – the human with a body sending emergency flares, a heart running on fumes, a spirit that knows there should be more to life than this endless giving.

I'm sure you know this already, but teachers often teach what they are learning to master. Mastery is not a linear process but a spiral, with each revolution a deeper, more nuanced understanding is embodied.

You're not failing, and your body is not betraying you; you're awakening to deeper truths about yourself and your work through breakdown. Those tears between sessions? They're not weakness – they're wisdom.

Listen to me. The work you do for others is not more important than your own life. We live in a world that would have you believe that what you give and how much you sacrifice equals being a valuable and worthy woman.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

We must look at the deeper pattern that taught you your value lies in how completely you can disappear into service. The one that whispers you must earn your right to exist through endless giving. The one that confuses martyrdom with worth.

Where did you learn that self-sacrifice was the price of helping? Who taught you that your emptiness was less important than others' fullness? Who would you be without this?

What other deeper ideologies are moving you to override your self-care and give to the point of depletion? What are the hidden benefits of self-sacrifice?

These aren't rhetorical questions. They're archaeology. Dig there.

This cycle will not be broken by pushing through, using better time management apps, or more efficient systems. No progress will come of shaming and judging yourself. Moving beyond this pattern starts with radical self-permission to be as humanly imperfect as the clients seeking your help, and by speaking the truth.

Start with one truth-telling. Find a trusted colleague, friend, or mentor, and say these words aloud: "I am not okay." Feel how your body responds to finally being acknowledged. Notice what happens when the gap between your public self and private experience narrows, even slightly.

Then, ask yourself, your body, your spirit: what do I really need right now, in this season of my life and career? What would it take for me to give that to myself?

When you're ready, speak your truth to your clients. You don't have to give an unfiltered breakdown, just honest humanity. Something like, "I'm taking the next month to focus on my health and practice what I teach", or whatever you decide you need.

Some will be disappointed and others might leave, but the ones who stay will receive something more valuable than constant access to you; they'll witness what real self-honoring looks like in action.

Your fear whispers that everything will fall apart if you step back – that's the old programming that tied your worth to your usefulness. The reality is that systems adapt, people find resources, and the world continues turning even when you stop holding your breath.

There's a brutal clarification that comes with burnout this severe. You're being asked to decide what actually matters. Not what you've been told should matter or what looks good on your website, but what your one wild heart truly needs to beat with purpose again.

The greatest gift you could give your clients right now isn't more of your depleted energy. It's the courage to visibly, imperfectly practice the very healing you preach. Show them what it really looks like to draw the line between service and sacrifice, and your practice will only be fortified in the long run.

Remember: The wound and the gift share the same root. Your capacity for deep care is beautiful, it's just been twisted toward self-abandonment. The way forward isn't to care less, but to finally include yourself in the circle of your own compassion.

You haven't failed. You've just been initiated into a deeper understanding of your work, not just as a clinical concept but as a lived experience. That's wisdom that can't be found in any textbook.

The wild in me recognizes the wild in you,

Chandra

If you're carrying questions too heavy to hold alone or wrestling with uncomfortable truths that don't fit the narrative, send your letter to contact@chandranicole.com with "EMBERS & ASHES" in the subject line. 

Your submission may be selected for a future column. All letters will be kept anonymous, with identifying details changed to protect privacy.

For those seeking more personalized guidance on the journey of undomestication and liberation from gilded cages, private mentoring offers a deeper dive into reclaiming what's truly yours.