I Thought Silicon Valley Burnout Couldn’t Happen to Me, But Then It Did

And I worry my friends in San Francisco are on the same path

Photo: Carlina Teteris, Getty Images

When I started at a hyper-growth startup in San Francisco, I was brimming with excitement. I would wake up eager, happily rushing to start my workday in the morning.

I rarely pushed back on work requests and found time to do everything asked of me plus additional projects I came up with. If I couldn’t finish the work during the week, that was okay — I had the weekends, too. It didn’t matter to me how much time I spent working; I was learning a lot and it would set me up for success in the long term.

At night, I’d lay in bed struggling to fall asleep with a million thoughts about work racing through my head. I’d often start drafting emails or to-do lists on my phone. I might jump up and grab my laptop to finish something quickly, which would end up taking an hour. I’d get emails past midnight and respond immediately. Reading has been a part of my bedtime routine since I was little — always fiction or fantasy. I switched to management books.

I woke up thinking about work, I went to work, I worked, I fell asleep thinking about work, I dreamed about work.

Sign up for The Bold Italic newsletter to get the best of the Bay Area in your inbox every week.

At the beginning, I had so much energy — and work just gave me more. I rarely took PTO, but if I did, I would still happily check my email and respond to questions. I was always excited to come in in the morning and take on the day’s challenges. I’d accomplish what I set out to do and get recognition for it.

I heard “you’re doing great” and “we’d love to hire more people just like you.”

I had just moved to the city, so I had to make a new circle of friends. I felt lucky that I joined a company full of fun, interesting, similarly driven people that I easily connected with. I jumped into organizing board game nights in, Friday nights out, Saturdays in Dolores Park, and Sunday brunches.

I felt a little guilty when I’d spend time having fun instead of working, but I was able to justify it to myself. For one, building these relationships outside of the office made it easier to collaborate on the job. Second, we were always talking about work, giving me insight into interpersonal dynamics and competing cross-functional priorities. This context was helpful for me and my manager. When the topic at hand wasn’t work, I was often just in my own head, planning out my next project. I patted myself on the back — even when I was having fun, I was being productive.

The main reward for doing good work just seemed to be getting more work.

I technically knew something was off-balance. I’d heard I was putting myself at risk for burnout. If I was burned out, I’d struggle when a high-priority project with a short deadline came up. It’d be better for the startup if I saved late nights for the really important things. A manager told me that she can tell when someone will only be around for a handful of years — if they aren’t trying to make the role sustainable for themselves, they’re aren’t picturing themselves staying for the long term. The company would much rather have employees who will remain for an extended period of time.

I heard all of that and thought it made a lot of sense — for other people. I didn’t actually think I’d burn out. I kept on functioning the same way.

However, to appease others, I began hiding some of my work habits. I didn’t want to set a bad example for the more junior team members or have them absorb the same unhealthy expectations I had for myself. I also didn’t want the leadership team’s confidence in my work to become tainted by concern.

My performance allowed me to take on more responsibilities. I had always started workweeks with a clear set of priorities. But soon, by the end of the week, I had an inbox full of new requests and wasn’t able to complete half of what I originally planned. The opportunity to learn was what compelled me to join the startup in the first place. Now, I was learning less than I had at my previous job — I was getting more and more work I had already done, in areas I was already proficient in. I went along with it because I wanted to be a team player. Ironically, this proved to be isolating: Others got less involved because my work was already fine.

The main reward for doing good work just seemed to be getting more work.

When I joined, I had a general sense of the team structure, my day-to-day role, and promotion opportunities. After multiple re-orgs, all of those things had changed. Now, I was constantly on edge about positioning myself for the career path I wanted.