In 2022, I reached my boiling point. The hypertension was controlled with medication, but my anxiety and depression were through the roof. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to step away and confirm what I suspected—that work was the biggest contributor to my mental health crisis. This marked the beginning of my job burnout recovery journey.

I decided to take FMLA for four months. One of the best career moves I ever made.

Here I was, making $180k per year, working only 14 nights per month, and spending the remainder of each month in a deep, dark emotional place that made me want to isolate completely. I had short-term disability income during those four months, and I made getting back my mental and physical health my full-time job.

The first few days off felt surreal. I could literally feel the weight of years of stress lifting off my shoulders. For the first time in years, I wasn’t accountable to anyone but myself. I was getting quality sleep and waking up refreshed instead of jolting awake in a panic.

I watched everything I ate and took 2-4 hour walks in nature every single day—I didn’t miss one day in four months. My weight dropped from 164 to 147 pounds. I looked better and felt like a human being again. My panic attacks subsided. My depression lifted significantly. By the end of those four months, I was feeling like a normal person instead of a zombie. Something I hadn’t felt for years.

As my FMLA neared its end, I faced a decision: go back to work and risk falling into the same destructive pattern, or leave it all behind. I teetered back and forth for weeks, talking myself into and out of various options. Finally, I negotiated with myself: I’d return to work with the non-negotiable promise that if I started falling back into that dark place, I was done. I’d saved enough money that I could at least lean FIRE, if not retire completely.

The moment of truth came at the end of my leave. Looking back at where I’d been just four months earlier, I thought: “Damn, what the fuck had I been doing to myself all these years? It doesn’t have to be this hard.”

I went back to work in the best mental health state I’d been in for over a decade. Life wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad—and that’s all I was hoping for. I was enjoying the work again and felt refreshed.

But within two months, I saw the writing on the wall.

That feeling of being a human and not a cog was already diminishing. The endless high expectations returned. The pointless meetings scheduled right after night shifts. The constant message that I wasn’t good enough because I didn’t jump through some arbitrary hoop like a show dog. By two months, I was almost completely back where I’d started.

I wasn’t the only one struggling. The boss I’d had before I took leave also took time off for her mental health. The executive who’d contributed so much to the toxic micromanagement? He took time off too. This wasn’t just my problem. This place was systematically killing employees while expecting us to be martyrs. That’s not what I signed up for.

Four months after returning from my four-month break, I made another change. I ended full-time employment and went per diem (healthcare industry talk for basically part-time). Just four shifts per month was the requirement. I figured I could endure anything for four shifts. I did that for about a year. Even those four months got to be nagging.

A friend who I worked with before he broke off and started his own agency offered me contract work. Better pay, no pointless meetings, no career ladder politics, and I could make my own schedule. While keeping my four per diem shifts, I added six contract shifts per month.

After six months, I ended the per diem work and went full contract.

It was a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, like everywhere else in this industry, the workload became crushing. Resources got thinner. My mental health started suffering again.

I was starting to recognize a pattern. Every step of the way, I’d find ways to escape problems that seemed to chase me from one place to another. I kept thinking I could find a better situation, but the truth was becoming clear: this wasn’t about finding the right employer. The entire industry was broken.

I decided to travel more and work less. In 2023, I took two months off in a row. In 2024, four months off. I used these breaks as self-imposed FMLA—time to refresh, renew, and assess my life.

In 2025, I’m taking more than six months off. At the end of my last four-month break, when I found myself dreading going back to work, I knew the truth: even contract work wouldn’t save me. No amount of schedule flexibility or better pay could fix what this industry does to people.

I really don’t want to go back. I want to take care of myself instead of being constantly stressed by nonsense. The pattern was clear. Geography wouldn’t fix it, per diem wouldn’t fix it, contract work wouldn’t fix it.

The only solution was walking away entirely. True job burnout recovery for me meant leaving the industry behind.

DISCLAIMER: This is my personal experience and shouldn’t be considered professional advice. If you’re experiencing severe workplace stress, burnout, or mental health issues, please consult with qualified professionals including therapists, doctors, or employment attorneys as appropriate. FMLA eligibility and workplace rights vary by situation and location. Every workplace and personal situation is different.