Trueform Therapy

Tag: mental health

  • Burnout vs Autistic Burnout: Why They’re Not the Same

    “Burnout” has become a catch-all term. People use it to describe everything from being tired of work to feeling completely depleted. This overuse can be misleading because not all burnout is the same, and making that distinction matters for how you recover.

    In therapy, I often see people who have taken time off, rested, even tried to “reset,” and yet nothing really improves. In some cases, the issue isn’t that they haven’t rested enough. It’s that we’re calling two different experiences by the same name.

    What most people mean by burnout

    When people talk about burnout, they’re usually referring to work-related burnout.

    This is the version described in research using tools like the Maslach Burnout Inventory. It typically includes:

    • Feeling emotionally exhausted
    • Becoming more detached or cynical about work
    • Feeling less effective or capable

    A simple way to think about it:
    Your job is taking more out of you than it’s giving back.

    If that’s the case, stepping away can help—at least temporarily. A holiday, sick leave, or reduced workload can create enough distance for your system to settle.

    What autistic burnout is and why it’s different

    Autistic burnout is something else entirely.

    It’s been described in research (e.g. Raymaker et al., 2020; Higgins et al., 2021) as a state of deep, long-term exhaustion combined with a loss of functioning, caused by chronic life stress and a mismatch between a person and their environment.

    A more everyday way to understand it:

    It’s not just that you’re tired of what you do.
    It’s that the way you have to live is costing you more than you can keep paying.

    Close-up of “no signal” message on a dark screen representing cognitive shutdown, loss of functioning and mental exhaustion in burnout

    This isn’t limited to work. It affects:

    • Daily tasks (cooking, hygiene, planning)
    • Communication
    • Social interaction
    • Sensory tolerance

    People often describe it as “losing skills they used to have.”

    Where they overlap—and where they don’t

    Both types of burnout involve exhaustion. That’s usually where the similarity ends.

    With typical burnout:

    • You’re drained, but your basic abilities are still there
    • The problem is often tied to a specific role or environment (e.g. your job)

    With autistic burnout:

    • Exhaustion comes with reduced capacity
    • Things that were once manageable may no longer be
    • The impact is across your whole life, not just work

    An analogy I often use:

    • Typical burnout is like your phone battery running low.
    • Autistic burnout is like the operating system itself starting to fail.

    Charging the battery helps in the first case. It doesn’t fix the second.

    The role of “mismatch”

    A key difference is what’s driving the burnout.

    Typical burnout is often about too much demand—too much work, too much pressure, not enough control.

    Autistic burnout is more about mismatch.

    For someone with autism spectrum condition, everyday environments can involve:

    • Constant sensory strain (noise, light, unpredictability)
    • Social demands that require sustained effort
    • Expectations to function in ways that don’t come naturally

    Over time, that builds into chronic overload.

    It’s not just “a lot.”
    It’s a lot of the wrong kind of demands, for a long time, without enough support.

    Masking: the invisible workload

    One of the biggest contributors to autistic burnout is something called masking.

    Masking means:

    • Hiding autistic traits
    • Forcing eye contact or social responses
    • Copying others to appear “typical”

    It often helps people function day-to-day. But it comes at a cost.

    Imagine acting in a play all day, every day, without ever leaving the stage.
    Eventually, something gives.

    There isn’t really an equivalent to this in typical burnout. That’s part of why the experiences diverge so much over time.

    Why time off often doesn’t work

    This is where confusion happens.

    With work burnout, time off can help because it removes the stressor.

    With autistic burnout, time off often doesn’t lead to real recovery. People might feel slightly better while demands are reduced, but the improvement doesn’t last.

    Why?

    Because the underlying issue isn’t just workload. It’s the fit between the person and their environment.

    Crowded street market with blurred movement, bright colours and dense crowds illustrating sensory overload and environmental overwhelm linked to autistic burnout

    If nothing about that changes, going back often means:

    • The same sensory strain
    • The same expectations
    • The same need to mask

    So the burnout returns quickly.

    This is why people sometimes say:

    “I rested, but I didn’t recover.”

    When it gets misunderstood

    Autistic burnout is often misinterpreted as conditions like depression or anxiety disorder.

    There is overlap—especially in fatigue, withdrawal, and low motivation. But the underlying mechanisms are different.

    This is important because some standard approaches (like pushing activity levels up) can actually make autistic burnout worse rather than better.

    What actually helps

    For typical burnout, helpful changes often include:

    • Reducing workload
    • Setting clearer boundaries
    • Taking proper rest

    For autistic burnout, recovery tends to look different:

    • Reducing overall demands, not just work demands
    • Addressing sensory needs
    • Allowing less masking rather than more “pushing through”
    • Adjusting environments to fit the person, not the other way around

    In other words, it’s less about “building resilience” and more about reducing the cost of functioning.

    Person walking a dog along a quiet coastal path surrounded by nature, representing low sensory stimulation, recovery, and reduced demands in burnout and autistic burnout

    Why this distinction matters

    If we treat all burnout the same way, people can end up stuck.

    They take time off, try to rest, follow advice that works for others and still don’t feel better. That often leads to self-blame:

    “Why isn’t this working for me?”

    In many cases, it’s not a failure to recover.
    It’s a mismatch between the explanation and the actual problem.

    Burnout is not one single experience.

    For some people, it’s a signal that work needs to change.
    For others, it’s a signal that their whole environment needs to fit them better.

    Knowing the difference is what makes recovery possible.

    If this feels like your experience

    If you’re reading this and recognising your own experience—especially the loss of capacity, the constant overwhelm, or the sense that “rest isn’t helping”—it may be worth looking at this more closely with the right support.

    Autistic burnout is often misunderstood, which can make it harder to get the kind of help that actually fits.

    You don’t have to keep pushing through or trying to adapt to something that isn’t working.

    If you’d like to explore this in a way that takes your needs and environment seriously, you can book a session through my website. The focus is on understanding what’s driving the burnout and finding ways to reduce the overall strain, rather than expecting you to simply cope better.

  • Feeling Stuck Before Change: A Common Psychological Pattern

    People often talk about being stuck as if it were a malfunction. As if something in them is failing to do its job. They know what needs to change. They’ve thought about it carefully. They may even be tired of talking about it. And yet, nothing shifts.

    Sitting with someone in that place, I’m rarely struck by a lack of effort. More often, I notice how much pressure they are already under — usually from themselves.

    Stuckness tends to appear when different needs collide.

    On the one hand, there is usually a clear sense that something cannot continue as it is. A situation feels too heavy, too constricting, or too painful. On the other hand, change is not neutral. It asks for something in return. Sometimes what it asks for is obvious. Sometimes it isn’t. Either way, the system notices.

    One reason people get stuck is that change involves loss. This is not always a dramatic one, but it’s always present. A familiar role might need to be loosened. A relationship might shift in ways that are hard to predict. A certain image of oneself — capable, agreeable, reliable — might no longer hold in the same way.

    When those losses come into view, slowing down can be a sensible response.

    Another reason stuckness shows up is emotional exposure. Change often brings people closer to feelings they have organised their lives around not having to feel too much. Grief, anger, fear, disappointment. If distance from those feelings has been protective in the past, hesitation makes sense. Pausing here can be a way of checking whether the ground is solid enough to finally allow space for those feelings.

    There is also the matter of habit, though not in the superficial sense people usually mean it. Ways of thinking about yourself, others, and the world tend to run on well-worn tracks. They require very little effort. New ways of responding take more energy, more attention, more tolerance for uncertainty. Knowing this does not make the old tracks disappear.

    This is why insight alone rarely produces change. Most people already understand far more than they can easily live by.

    Familiar patterns also have the advantage of being predictable. Predictable is not the same as comfortable, but it is often treated as safer. People routinely choose what they know how to manage over what might work better but feels less certain. They may complain about this choice at length, while continuing to make it. This is just human behaviour, not hypocrisy.

    Stuckness is not a single emotional state. It can include frustration, resignation, fear, numbness, or a strange flatness that doesn’t quite have a name. Sometimes these states alternate. Sometimes they sit alongside each other. None of this is particularly elegant. Psychological processes rarely are.

    What tends to complicate things further is pressure. When people decide they should not be stuck, they often respond by tightening the internal screws. More self-monitoring. More rules. Less patience. This approach is understandable, but it usually has the opposite effect. Systems that are already cautious tend to become more so under threat.

    Seen this way, stuckness is often doing something. It may be buying time. It may be preventing a loss that feels too large. It may be holding the line until something feels possible rather than merely necessary.

    This does not mean staying where you are indefinitely. It means recognising that immobility can have a function before trying to dismantle it.

    From the outside, being stuck can look like nothing is happening. From the inside, there is often a careful, if uncomfortable, negotiation underway. When that negotiation is understood rather than overridden, movement — when it comes — tends to be slower and more stable.

    Sometimes nothing moves because something important is being held in place.

  • Burnout in January: How to Navigate Comparison, Shame, and Pressure at the Start of the Year

    The Pressure of a New Year

    If you’re heading into January and everyone around you seems to be rewriting their habits, setting goals, or talking about the year ahead with excitement, you might feel like you’re supposed to join in. You might notice the pressure creeping in from conversations, adverts, or even just the tone of the month. January is often framed as a time for momentum. A reset. A new beginning.

    But when you’re burnt out, it rarely feels like that.

    What Burnout Does to Your January

    Burnout is often dismissed as simply being tired, when in reality it develops over time as a result of emotional and physical exhaustion. It’s the sense that your internal resources have been running at a deficit for a while. When you’re in that place, January can arrive with a sense of heaviness. Instead of feeling like a beginning, it can feel like another demand you don’t have the capacity to meet.

    You might wake up and realise you still don’t feel rested, even after time off. Your brain may feel slower, your mood flatter, and your patience thinner. These are all common experiences when stress has been high for too long. Nothing about feeling like this makes you weak or inadequate. It just shows that the strain has been there for a while.

    Why Resolutions Feel Impossible

    And when that’s your starting point, the idea of setting resolutions can feel impossible. You might look at the people around you and think, “They’re starting new routines. Why can’t I?”


    It’s understandable to think something is wrong with you when motivation doesn’t appear on cue. But burnout affects the parts of you that handle planning, concentration, decision-making, and drive. When your energy is already low, trying to force motivation doesn’t work. It can even make you feel worse.

    The Loop of Comparison and Shame

    This is usually where shame sneaks in. You notice other people looking energised and ready for the new year, and suddenly you start measuring yourself against them. You might worry you’re behind or that you’re missing a chance to “fix” things. That worry is there for a reason: when we’re exhausted, our brains are more likely to focus on what we’re lacking rather than what we have. The more you compare, the worse the shame feels, and that shame just makes you compare even more. It becomes a loop that feeds on itself, making it difficult to step back and breathe.

    Rest Is Not Avoidance

    Here’s the part I want you to hear:
    When stress has gone on for a long time, rest becomes necessary rather than optional. When your body and mind have been overextended, restoring what’s been depleted involves reducing demands. You’re not doing something wrong by needing a slower start to the year. You’re responding to what your system is able to manage right now.

    Giving Yourself Permission to Step Back

    So if January feels like too much, you’re allowed to step back. You don’t need to set resolutions, redesign your habits, join challenges, or reinvent yourself right now. You don’t have to pretend you’re ready for a big push when you’re still trying to come back to baseline. Instead, you can give yourself small ways to ease into the month: take a longer lunch break, go for a short walk, or spend ten minutes journaling without any goal in mind. Let yourself say no to social events or extra commitments that feel draining. Listening to music that soothes you, savouring a cup of tea, or working on a jigsaw puzzle can be enough to ease the load on your system and support recovery.

    What January Can Be Instead

    January can be something else entirely. It can be a month where you give yourself permission to move at a gentler pace. A month where you check in with what you need instead of what you “should” be doing. A month where you focus on small, grounding things that help you feel a little steadier, rather than forcing change you don’t have the energy for.

    When Support Might Help

    If the exhaustion has been going on for a while and it’s affecting your day-to-day life, that’s usually a good moment to reach out for support. You don’t need to carry this on your own; reaching out is part of taking care of yourself.

    January doesn’t need to be a sprint. It doesn’t need to be a transformation. It can simply be a quieter beginning while you find your footing again.